Until You (The Redemption, #1)(28)

She came to bring the girls gifts, and she stayed. Not because the girls badgered her to have a slice of pizza, but because I asked her to this time. And truth be fucking told, I really wanted her to.

Because this woman is doing things to me that I’m not sure I want undone.

First, she is incredible with the girls.

Second, she’s fucking hot.

Genuine.

And . . . nothing like Brittney.

Is that my requirement now? That not a single thing reminds me of her? Am I that pathetic?

“Do you miss it?” Tennyson asks.

I know what she’s asking right away as before the girls returned to the pool, they were telling Tenny some of the funny—and PG rated—things I’ve come across as a cop over my tenure. The job. The adrenaline. The life that goes with being a police officer. I take a sip of my beer and stare at the bottle as I contemplate my answer. “I thought I would. I mean, I have and I do . . . but at the same time, a weird part of me breathes a bit easier now.”

“What do you mean?” she asks with a sincerity that tells me she really wants to know.

“Lightning rarely strikes twice, right? So now that I’ve been through all this, then I don’t have to worry about it happening again.” I shrug and meet the compassion in her eyes. “Or at least that’s what I tell myself to help me put one foot in front of the other some days.”

“Was the recovery long?”

My long exhale is a sound of triumph and frustration combined. “It’s going on six months now. Not gonna lie, the first two were pretty fucking brutal. I was in and out of surgery a lot. Chained to a bed—or at least that’s what it felt like. The girls felt like they were a million miles away.” I cringe, thinking back to the frustration, the pain, the unknown. “Then it was making sure what they sewed up stayed that way and that we staved off infections. Now it’s . . . now it’s making sure I can still handle the job and not jump at my own fucking shadow.”

“I’d think jumping at shadows is to be expected when you were swallowed whole by one for some time.”

Her words hit me hard. Not being cleared to go back on the force has been hard enough—especially when it’s because of the PTSD.

But truth be told, the guilt is even harder.

How can I protect and serve when I couldn’t even protect my own partner? When I hesitated long enough for him to get hit?

“Yeah, but if you’d asked me a year ago if I believed the head takes longer to heal than the body, I’d tell you that you’re full of shit. And my department is full of guys just like the old me. They don’t understand, and I don’t ask them to. For all they know, I’m still dealing with the aftermath of the surgeries.” I shrug and smile as Addy calls for us to watch a dive she makes.

We hoot and clap in encouragement at her wonky dive.

“What happens after?”

“After, as in if I don’t get cleared, or after as in when I collect my pension after my time served?”

“Take your pick.”

I blow out a long sigh and shift in my seat. I don’t talk to people about this part of my life. My aspirations. My goals. They’re mine, and I often feel ridiculous putting a voice to them, but for some reason, I want to tell Tenny. “At first, I thought maybe I wanted to delve into cybersecurity. I did a stint in it and enjoyed myself. The trying to copy footprints and find hidden information. But I soon found out that my skills are amateur compared to what is needed to get the job done properly.”

“So if not cybersecurity, then what?”

“Personal security.”

“Like . . . bodyguards? That type of thing?”

I nod. “Yep. Like that kind of thing.”

“That is most definitely not what I was expecting you to say.” She laughs, and it melds with the sound of the girls’ in a way that makes me stop and take notice.

This feels more natural than it should.

“Why’s that?”

“Doesn’t that mean famous people? Dignitaries? Notorious criminals?”

“Something like that.”

She gives me a look that says she’s trying to place the person who might do that with the man she sees before her. And truth be told, I don’t see it either, but I know it’s what my future holds.

Helping people is in my blood. My calling. And if I can’t be on the force doing it, then this would afford me the opportunity to be behind the scenes facilitating when people need help the most.

“Tell me about it,” she says.

“Why do I feel like I’m answering all the questions here?” I lean back and put my feet on the chair across from me and cross my ankles. “What about you?”

“You’re way more interesting than me.” She taps her wine glass to my bottle neck. “Going back to the cybercrime for a minute. Was that a warning that I need better passcodes to my laptop so you can’t break in and see all the nasty emails I’m saving up for my landlord?”

“Yes. You should. And if you did open your email, then you’d see that your landlord sent you one saying I’m waiting for the plumber to get back with me, but it most likely will be next week sometime.”

“Remind me to tell my landlord thank you.” She offers me this shy smile that shouldn’t be a seduction, in and of itself, but that somehow is as she sits there with moonlight dancing in the strands of her hair.