Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 91961 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 460(@200wpm)___ 368(@250wpm)___ 307(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91961 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 460(@200wpm)___ 368(@250wpm)___ 307(@300wpm)
“I don’t think I was nearly as annoying as you when I said the same shit.”
“You think wrong.”
“Yeah, but the difference is, I didn’t just get out of a marriage. Evan and I aren’t interested in each other that way, and I’m very active on Grindr, fuck you very much.”
“You have to let me get my hits in when I can, though.”
Jackson’s phone beeps. He looks at it right before a big-ass smile spreads across his face. “Apparently, they saw a puppy hood that caught Derek’s attention.”
There’s another beep, and Jackson reads the message. “Well, shit. He said he was going to get it, but he has a feeling Evan’s going to go back for it first.”
“Shut the fuck up.” I have no problems picturing Derek giving Evan crap about a damn puppy hood. The thought of Evan as a pup, wagging his tail is crazy…isn’t it? No way…he can’t be into that kind of kink without me knowing. I sure as shit can’t imagine him doing it with Peter. I have to admit I don’t know a lot about puppy play and have never participated in it myself but from what I’ve heard, a lot of it’s about care. Peter is too much of a selfish prick to care about anyone other than himself.
The image of Evan on his knees, head in Peter’s lap jumps into my head and my arm twitches. No…there’s no way. I would have known. Evan would have told me that shit. He knows he can trust me.
Before I have any more time to think about it, we get a call—a domestic disturbance, one person injured, and Jackson’s eyes immediately clash with mine.
I shake my head, and Jackson and I are out the door, jogging to the bus.
My pulse slams against my skin. My head sweats under my beanie so the second I get in the bus, I pull it off. I hit the siren and jerk out of the parking lot just as Jackson asks, “You good?”
“Fine,” I reply shortly. He knows how much this shit affects me and why.
The police are already on scene when I pull the ambulance up in front of a two-story, white house with a picket fucking fence. We grab the bags, and bed, my heart beating so hard everything else is muffled. I can’t feel my body, but it somehow feels too tight at the same time.
We get into the house and one of the officers is kneeling in front of a woman who’s sitting at the bottom of the stairs. She has a black eye and is holding her right arm close to her body and that quickly, my blood runs cold and my vision swims.
Jackson squeezes my shoulder, but I shake him off and go to her.
“What happened?” I ask as I take the officer’s spot in front of her.
Her words echo in my head as she explains that her boyfriend hit her and shoved her to the floor before taking off. “We’ll take care of you, okay?” I tell her as she cries and nods. “I promise you, we’ll take good care of you. We’ll treat you just like our own.”
I get her arm wrapped up with some support and then clean up her eye. She thanks me, cries harder, and refuses to lie on the gurney, so Jackson and I help her walk to the ambulance. She hit her head when she fell, so I tell her how important it is she gets checked out when she tries to say she’s okay.
Once we get her into the back of the bus, she shakes her head. “I just…I feel so stupid. How could I not have known what a monster he is?”
My stomach drops out, and it takes everything in me not to cry myself. Gently, I put a hand on her shoulder. “It’s not your fault, do you hear me? None of this is your fault. They’re good at what they do…they’re good at making sure you trust them, at giving you no other choices other than them. This is on him, not you. Just like it wasn’t my mom’s fault either.”
It’s not something I talk about much, but I see the relief in her eyes, see that in that moment, I made her feel less alone and that’s all that matters.
The rest of the night goes by in a blur after that. We get her to the hospital, give our report, head back to the station, and clean the bus. Jackson asks me once if I want to talk about it but when I say no, he lets me be. He’s good about that, about giving space.
There are no more jokes or lightheartedness the rest of the night.
It’s a few minutes after six thirty in the morning when I get home. My body is exhausted, but my mind is too heavy to sleep, so instead, I make coffee, pour myself a mug, and sit at the table.