Total pages in book: 132
Estimated words: 129408 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 647(@200wpm)___ 518(@250wpm)___ 431(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 129408 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 647(@200wpm)___ 518(@250wpm)___ 431(@300wpm)
Luke shuddered inwardly at the memory of his friend’s face when he’d been at the hospital after watching the love of his life almost bleed out in his arms. Watched the life seep out of him as he entertained the possibility of existing in the world without her.
Existing. Not living.
Luke knew, at least in part, what that was like.
He’d been existing for a year.
Without her.
Fuck, if he wanted to be honest with himself, he’d been existing for thirty-five fucking years.
Without her.
He’d been lying to himself for that long. Then when he was prepared for the truth, no matter how ugly it was—because even ugly would turn beautiful with her where she belonged, with him—when he finally got that, it was just in time to lose her.
Not that he’d ever really had her.
There wasn’t much worse than only half living your life and not realizing what you were missing out on, but barely living at all and realizing why was way fucking worse.
Which was why he’d handed in his badge.
He’d expected a lot from his father. Disappointment. Anger.
What he didn’t expect was pride.
“Well, it’s about time.”
Luke almost choked on the whisky he’d poured himself upon entering his father’s den.
“What?”
“You’ve lived life on the straight and narrow, son. Enforced the law to the letter. By the book. Saw it all in black and white like a good cop does.” He paused, clipping the end of his cigar. It tumbled away onto the carpet, making its escape. His father’s nimble hands snatched at it with a deft speed that betrayed his almost seventy years. As did the sharp look he gave his son. “You tell your mother about this, I’ll take my badge back just to send you to lockup,” he promised.
Luke smiled. He wanted to chuckle, but he didn’t feel like it right at that moment. Hadn’t wanted to in a long time. He wondered if he’d remember how.
His father leaned back in his weathered and peeling La-Z-Boy, sucking at the end of the unlit cigar.
“All those things,” he continued on his tangent, picking up right where he’d left off like nothing had happened. “Yeah, they make the perfect cop. Problem is you can be a perfect cop, but in order to be that, you’ve got to be an imperfect man. You can’t be a perfect man. It’s in our nature. We’re all works in progress.” He took the cigar from his mouth, twirling it in his fingers, regarding it. “Heck, maybe one day I’ll learn to stop enjoying the things that may one day kill me.”
He shrugged, reaching for the gold Zippo Luke had gotten him for his sixtieth, lighting the cigar and taking a long inhale.
“Maybe I won’t.” He blew out a plume of smoke that smelled like nostalgia to Luke. “Got to die somehow. I’d much rather it be because of something that gave me small amounts of joy for most of my life.” His eyes went to Luke. “What I’m trying to say, son, is life ain’t meant to be lived on the straight and narrow, by the book. I’m proud as hell of the man I’ve raised. The cop I’ve trained. Thing is the perfect cop isn’t what I want my son to be. ’Cause he ain’t gonna be the man who finds joy where he can, even though he knows exactly where to find it. Exactly where to find her. That man won’t do that because that cop won’t let him. ’Cause that joy is lying in a place that ain’t black or white. Nor is the life that comes with it.”
Instead of feeling better with his father’s sage wisdom and perception floating in his mind, Luke felt like he’d chewed barbed wire.
How fucking stupid had he been?
He didn’t hesitate.
As soon as he’d left his father’s house, he’d left.
Left Amber, and the life that had seemed so fucking important for his entire life. The purpose he’d clung to, ruining the gang that he thought were evil. Maybe he’d been so intent on destroying them not because of their crimes, not even because of their responsibility in Laurie’s death.
But because of Rosie.
Because of that little five-year-old girl with wild hair and combat boots. The one who he believed didn’t have a chance to be innocent when she was surrounded by guilt. That little girl who’d turned into a wonderful woman, the woman he wished had more.
And he’d been so fucking blind because he didn’t see that she had more. She was more. That gang he’d been so intent on villainizing weren’t even the worst.
He was.
He would’ve thought it would’ve been hard to end a lifelong vendetta, to leave behind all the hard work, hate, and sleepless nights.
It was the easiest thing he’d ever done.
He hadn’t known where he was going until he ended up sitting in front of Keltan Brooke at the Greenstone Security offices six months back.