Until You (The Redemption, #1)(58)
I nod, her words hitting me harder than I ever imagined. How many mornings did I come off shift and my time off was dictated by what happened on shift? How many days was my time spent with the girls overshadowed and ruined because I couldn’t put the job to sleep?
Fuck.
Just fuck.
“While we’re on the subject of happiness and metrics, have you talked to Justin yet? Really talked to him other than superficial bullshit as you call it?”
“What does that have to do with any of this?”
“Perhaps once you clear the air with him, the guilt you feel will abate and that will become another metric to look at.”
“You talk to him too. What does he say?” Even I can hear the defensive nature of my tone.
“You know I can’t divulge that information to you, Crew. But I can say that maybe that conversation will help you get over that final hurdle. It might be awkward and uncomfortable. The comradery you had over the years might feel off—but that’s okay. It’s expected for a while. But once you actually talk, hear his version of things, and compare it to yours, perhaps it will help fill in the blank spots you seem to have.”
I’m about to argue that I don’t have blank spots, but that’s bullshit, and she knows it.
“Maybe that’s what is holding you back.”
We end our teletherapy call, and I sit and stare at the blank screen for some time, mulling over her words. My head often feels more messed up after our department-mandated sessions than it does before them. Too many thoughts. Too many suggestions. Too many doubts.
This house is too quiet with the girls gone. Tenny volunteered to take them to dance and art since the time conflicted with my “business meeting” as I told her. I’m so used to the noise—the girls chattering, Tenny murmuring to her manuscript as if it will convince the words on her screen to change, the soft hum of music or TV that always seems to be on here—that when it’s this quiet, it’s almost deafening.
I shove up out of my chair, needing something, anything, to do to quiet my head. To feel useful and purposeful.
I tackle the shutters. Now that they are freshly painted, I busy myself with hanging them. Each whirl of the screw gun, a memory from that night I try to work away. But even the physical exertion doesn’t help. I’m still restless. Still worked up.
“Now it seems you’ve found a different metric, and I think it’s extremely important you realize that. Being a cop is and will always be a part of you, but it seems like it’s no longer the measure of who you are as a person.”
Is Adele right?
I was a cop before I ever became a father. Have my priorities been that screwed up that I was so truly focused on my job that I never fully owned being a dad as my number one priority? Did I let the girls down? And if so, does that mean I was an absent husband too?
Fuck.
Just fuck.
But hasn’t being away from the force pushed me to realize this with or without Adele’s inserted opinion? My whole focus has been on getting well, on being a dad. I’ve fucking loved every damn minute of being with my girls, of being more present and in the moment with them. Am I further wrapped around their fingers? Without a doubt. Do I feel like I’m a huge part of their life instead of standing on the periphery like I used to be? Definitely.
It’s funny how I never took the time to truly realize that before.
So maybe I knew what Adele was saying all along but needed to hear her say it to make me realize it.
“It sounds to me like you have your life back—at least compared to what it was when we first started meeting.”
Funny how the definition of getting my life back has suddenly shifted. What exactly is it, though? It sure as hell includes the girls, but what about the force? What about Tenny and Redemption Falls?
What will it mean to truly have my life back?
That’s the new question, isn’t it, Crew?
Fuck me. Just when you think you figure one thing out, more questions need to be answered.
I have the sudden urge to do something that will put me closer to the world I now feel so left out of. To test that new definition I’m attempting to find the parameters to.
My cell rings and interrupts my thoughts.
“Dusty.”
“What’s the story, brother?” Dusty asks.
“I have what you asked for. It took me a little longer than normal, but I think you might be surprised that I think you’re looking at the wrong guy.”
“No shit?”
“No shit.”
“The money trail leads to your suspect, but when you burrow down into the details, it seemed like it was too convenient. So I traced it backwards and found a few peculiar things.” I go on to explain to him what I’ve been chasing most nights.
Chasing, that is, until the girls are fast asleep and Tenny slides into my bed.
It’s then that I can forget the world outside.
It’s then that everything seems a little easier.
It’s then I can lose myself in a woman who feels like she is slowly becoming more than an infatuation and more like an addiction.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Tennyson
Something’s off with Crew.
Maybe if I hadn’t been living under his roof for the past two weeks, I wouldn’t have caught it. But it’s the subtle way he’s sitting back tonight. Observing rather than participating. The murmured answers instead of lively responses that always has at least one of us laughing. The comments about whether dinner is going to be another disaster as we may or may not have had a few more of those over the past week.