by Aly Martinez
“Oh my God, I killed her. I killed Manda!” she yells, slapping her hand over her mouth and dropping her chin to her chest.
“Hey, stop! You didn’t kill her. Even if you were driving, you did not kill Manda.” I move closer, trying to find a part of her body to rub that isn’t covered in a bruise. I fail miserably, instead deciding to just lean my forehead to hers.
“Get out,” she whispers from behind her hands.
“I’m not going anywhere, baby.”
“Get the fuck out of my room. I don’t want to look at your face right now.” Her tone is filled with hate, a strain in her voice that, in all of our seven years together, I have never heard her use.
I look around the room, clueless as to what to say or why her rage is aimed at me. Just as I decide that maybe leaving is the best option if she is going to be this upset, she starts hitting the nurse call button and screaming for help. I stand rooted to the ground as she unravels in front of me.
Kicking and screaming, she tries to get on her feet. She hysterically starts to remove her IV and other monitoring wires but only succeeds in reopening the gash on her arm. I watch, frozen, as blood drips down to the floor. Finally, I snap out of my stupor and grab her battered body to restrain her movements.
“Jesus, Sarah, what are you doing? Stop it. You’re going to hurt yourself.”
“Get your fucking hands off me. Get out!” She starts flailing her legs and banging her head against the back of the bed when I manage to pin the rest of her body down.
The nurses run in, pushing me out while they try to sedate her. I stand outside her room in a fog, replaying the last few minutes over and over in my head. Despite how long I stand there, I can’t figure out what set her off like that. Did I say something, or is this just survivor’s guilt running its course? I can’t imagine what I could have said. She didn’t even react that wildly when we told her Manda didn’t make it.
A few minutes later, Dr. Lee walks out and stands directly in front of me. “She’s asleep,” he says, shoving his hands into the pockets of his scrubs.
“What the hell happened in there?”
“Mr. Sharp, I have no idea. You have to understand Sarah’s body and brain have gone through a lot. She is grieving the loss of her friend while trying to heal herself. Sometimes the heart takes a little longer than the brain to heal.”
I swear to God, the doctor is standing here giving me his own version of Chicken Soup for the Soul while talking about my wife, who just lost her goddamn mind because she didn’t want to even look at my face.
“I’m sorry, but I’m going to need to request a second opinion from a doctor who actually attended medical school instead of the Kumbaya Academy of America. What the fuck just happened in there?” I yell, frustrated beyond all reason.
“I don’t have any answers for you tonight, Mr. Sharp. Let’s let Sarah sleep for a while, and we will reevaluate her physical and mental state when she wakes up. You can go back in now. She has been sedated and should be asleep for at least six hours. I’m sure, when she wakes up, she would like it if you were by her side. These kinds of things happen after traumatic events. Don’t read too much into it.”
“Right.” I nod in absolute disbelief.
I have no idea what happened inside that room, but it’s nothing that six hours of drug-induced sleep is going to fix. I saw the look in her eyes when she told me to leave. Those weren’t the eyes of my loving wife, even if she was grief stricken. Those were the eyes of my worst enemy, and I have no idea how to even begin processing that.
Instead of going back into her room, I walk down the hall to see Caleb still sitting in the waiting room.
“Hey,” I say as I stop in front of him.
“How is she?” he asks but never looks up at me.
Running my hands through my hair, I let out a loud sigh. “I don’t know, man. Something’s not right, but she’ll live.”
“Well, that must be nice.”
“God, I’m so sorry. I wasn’t thinking. I—”
“I can’t leave,” he interrupts, dropping his head into his hands and ignoring my apology.
“Come on, man. You need to go home. You want me to call one of the guys to give you a ride?”
“I can’t leave. Not while Manda’s still here.”
“Caleb, Manda’s not here anymore,” I say as my voice catches at the admission.
“Yeah, she is. The body that I held in my arms every night is just downstairs. I know every single inch of that body. The tiny freckle on her chest. The birthmark on her hip. There is even a bruise on her left leg where she ran into the nightstand last night.” He pauses, taking a deep breath, trying to fight back the inevitable tears. “The worst part is, I’ve been in that morgue so many times while investigating. I know it like the back of my hand, and I can’t close my fucking eyes without imagining someone pulling Manda out of a drawer. I can’t go home and leave her in there—alone.” With that last word, he breaks down into gut-wrenching sobs.
I have no idea what to do in this situation. Since I’m a detective, you would think I would be used to the sadness that comes when someone experiences an unexpected loss. I’ve informed dozens of people that their loved ones were gone. I’ve witnessed death paralyze far bigger men than Caleb, yet I’m at a loss for what to do now. This just hits too close to home. It hurts to think that Manda is gone. When I think back to a few hours ago to when I thought it was my wife who lost her life, the panic nearly cripples me. I can’t even begin to imagine how shattered he must be feeling. So I do the only thing that makes sense. I squat down in front of my heartbroken best friend and wrap him into a hug, holding him while he cries over the loss of his one love.
I’m glad I did, because seven months later, Caleb would return the favor.
Chapter Six
Brett
Four Years Later…
“WELL HELLO, officer.”
“Hey, Jesse.”
“The usual?” she asks, reaching over to grab the fruit and granola I eat every morning.
“You know it.”
“Did you see the Packers won last night?” she asks over her shoulder while making my coffee.
“Yes,” I reply, giving her nothing. I know she’s just prodding me for a reaction.
“Remind me again which team you bet twenty dollars was going to win?” She saunters over, handing me my coffee, not releasing her hand even after I grab the cup. “Because as I recall, it wasn’t the Packers.” She smiles a stunning, white smile.
“All right, all right. You win! Here’s your damn money,” I say jokingly, slapping a twenty-dollar bill down on the counter, but walk away without paying for my coffee. “The least you can do is buy me breakfast if you are going to steal all my money,” I say as I sit down at the table closest to the counter.
“Hey, you’re the one who keeps betting against Green Bay. Seriously, Brett, they are six-and-oh. When are you going to learn? Though in light of my newly padded pockets, I will happily buy you breakfast.”
“Gee, thanks. You are just too kind.” My voice drips with sarcasm. Damn, I hate losing, but Jess walks away giggling, and I can’t help but smile.
“What was that all about?” Caleb asks as he pulls up a chair across from me.
“Nothing. Just losing my life savings to the football shark posing as a barista,” I say loud enough for Jesse to hear, earning me yet another laugh from behind the bar.
“So when are you going to get off your ass and ask her out?”
“Who? Jesse?”
“Yes, Jesse, you dumbass.”
“Newsflash: I’m married!”
“You might still be married on paper, but you and I both know you haven’t been married in a long time.”
“I’m not talking about this right now.” I wave my hand, trying to dismiss the topic.
“It’s been four years.”
“Wow. Thanks for the reminder, asshole. What would I ever do without your mathematical genius?”
&
nbsp; “Whatever. You can be a dick all you want, but it only further proves my point that you need to get laid.”
“Christ, Jones. Can you lower your voice?” I whisper-yell, annoyed that he just announced my sexual status, or lack thereof, to the entire coffee shop.
“Oh come on. Jesse is hot in that girl-next-door, sexy-librarian kind of way.”
“Oh, Jesus.” I shake my head while looking around to make sure no one is listening to our conversation. “Well guess what, Jones. You’re not married. Feel free to ask her out yourself.”
“Nah. I’m still seeing Lisa. She would lose her crazy monkey shit if she thought I was even looking at Jesse.”
“You need to cut that one loose. Preferably before you end up chopped into tiny pieces, buried under her floorboards.”
“She isn’t that bad. Besides, when she isn’t using it to bitch at me about not taking her out in public, her mouth is spectacular! Seriously, she does this thing with her hand and her mouth…” He pauses, making a hand motion and kissing sound like an Italian chef before saying, “Benissimo.”
I groan at this ridiculous conversation.
I know, better than anyone that Caleb is still hung up on Manda. In the four years since the accident, he has never been in another relationship. Don’t get me wrong. He’s had plenty of women to warm his bed, but never anything more. Last weekend, I drove past the cemetery and saw him lying on her grave playing with a little black box. I have no idea what’s inside, and no desire to ask him about it either. I just know that box meant something to him and Manda, because he never goes to visit her without it. I ran into his sister the other day, and she told me he still goes to “talk” to Manda three to four times a week. I worry about him, but I understand how he feels. I can’t seem to move on either.
“Come on. We have a meeting in fifteen minutes, and I know you didn’t finish your paperwork from last night.” I slap him on the arm before heading to the door. “Thanks for breakfast, Jess,” I say holding up my coffee.
“No prob. See ya tomorrow.”
Jesse
UGH, WHY does he have to be so hot? I watch him stride out the door, and I can’t help but check out his butt as he goes. I’m sorry, but the man has a good-looking rear end. I love when he wears his suit and tie for work, but my favorite is when he comes in on the weekend on his way home from the gym—all sexy and sweaty, with his shorts and tight T-shirt pulled across his perfectly muscled chest. I have got to stop checking him out every time he comes in here. One day, he is going to catch me, and I won’t be able to control the eleven shades of red my face will turn.
Detective Brett Sharp is my idea of the perfect man. Tall, dark, handsome, nice dresser, employed, and since he is a cop, I’m assuming he doesn’t have a criminal record. On second thought, he’s every woman’s perfect man. Which could be precisely why he doesn’t seem to notice that I’m single, available, and very interested. I’m sure he probably exclusively dates six-foot-tall, blond runway models. He’s never brought anyone in with him before or even ordered an extra coffee for someone possibly waiting at home.
I don’t just sit around staring at him though. I’m going to make this dream a reality. I have been devising a plan for months to ask him out. Women can ask men out these days…right? Girl power or something like that. Well, one day, I overheard him talking to Caleb about how excited he was for the upcoming Bears season. So I called my brother and asked if he could get me tickets. His company has a big box they use to impress clients. The only problem is, I know absolutely nothing about football. If you want to know the honest truth, when I asked my brother for Bears tickets, I thought they were for a hockey game.
My plan is to pretend I just happen to have an extra ticket and ask Brett if he would like to go with me. The game is this weekend, so I’m really cutting it close. I would have asked him sooner, but I needed to make it believable that I would actually attend a game. I’ve spent weeks of studying nothing but football in order to pull off this ruse.
Two weeks ago, I asked my brother his prediction on the game so I could make a flirty little bet. Luckily my brother isn’t as stupid as I thought he was when we were growing up, and I’ve won both bets I’ve made with Brett. The forty bucks I’ve won only proves that this is an awesome plan. Tomorrow is the day I’m going to launch my stealth operation. I’m so nervous that I may need to come to work drunk in order to actually follow through, but regardless, I’m doing it.
“That is one fine piece of man,” I hear from behind me as I try to stop thinking about his butt.
“Yeah he is,” I say a little too dreamy.
“So when is the big day?” Kara asks.
Kara Reed is my best friend. She got me this job at Nell’s Coffee House six months ago when the family I was a nanny for moved from Chicago to Colorado. We first met in college three years ago when she was forced to attend the same “picking your major” seminar given by our advisor. We were surrounded by ten high school seniors. Kara and I were not new to college, but we had been in school for five years and kept changing our major, thus never actually earning a degree. Apparently his seminar wasn’t very effective because, after eight years in college, neither one of us has settled on a major. Unlike Kara, I did actually collect enough credits in one area to apply towards a diploma. I just didn’t see a future for myself utilizing a bowling alley management degree, so the very next day I reenrolled.
“Tomorrow,” I reply to Kara’s question.
“I can’t believe you are actually going on a date with that man!” she yells, jumping up and down.
“Well he hasn’t said yes yet, but what man could turn down box seats to the Bears game? He’ll probably be so excited by the invitation that he snatches me up and kisses me on the spot,” I joke while picking up a rag to wipe down the counter.
“Can you imagine? Oh my God, I’m so jealous I actually want to punch you right now!”
“Well, if you are going to get violent, make sure you aim below the waist. I don’t want to look like Rocky Balboa for our date on Sunday!” I wink, walking over to refill the chocolate muffins.
“You don’t think he will see you below the waist?” She raises a questioning eyebrow.
“Jesus, Kara, I’m not a slut!”
“Okay, so if Detective Nice Ass tries to get you into bed on Sunday, you would turn him down?
“Yes!” I lie, knowing there isn’t much I would turn down from Brett. Smiling to myself at the very idea of feeling his hard body, I let out a little laugh.
“Liar!” Kara screams, causing the three customers we have in the shop to pause and look.
“Would you shut up?” I whisper, trying to get her to calm down.
“Jess is going to get some. Jess is going to get some,” she quietly taunts.
“It’s official. My best friend is twelve.” I pretend to be exasperated, but inside, I’m screaming like a twelve-year-old too.
* * *
THE NEXT morning, I got to work thirty minutes early. I couldn’t sleep last night, so I took the extra time this morning to actually iron my white button-down work shirt. I wish I could have worn something a little more flattering today. Instead, I’m stuck in this horrible uniform, waiting for God’s gift to women to walk in so I can ask him out.
I must have cleaned the tables by the windows a hundred times, hoping to catch a glimpse of Brett before he arrives. I’m a nervous wreck, knowing that in only a few minutes, I will have to go against every rule my mother ever taught me about being a girl. I have to ask a guy out on a date. Before I can obsess about it any longer, he comes sexily strolling in, walking directly to my register.
“Well hello, officer,” I tease the same way I always do. Only today, I am so nervous that I have to fight to keep my voice from cracking.
“Hey, Jess.” He smiles, revealing his perfectly straight white teeth. Seriously, this man is beautiful.
What the heck am I doing thinking he would want to go out with a short girl who has far too many
curves? I do have good boobs though. Darn it! I should have worn a push-up bra today, attracting his attention to the good curves and away from the bad. Ugh, this outfit is bad enough, but a push-up bra totally would have helped.
“Um…Jess?” he asks, snapping me out of my thoughts.
“Oh sorry…what can I get you today?”
“Same old, same old,” he replies in a bored voice.
Oh God. Here we go! Come on, Jesse. The worst he can do is say no, effectively stomping on your heart and crushing your dreams. Okay, that might be a little dramatic. You can always quit your job, move to Oklahoma, and marry a rodeo cowboy. Those still exist, right? Crap! Just take a deep breath and spit it out. He’s only the hottest guy you have ever met. No biggy. Do it, Jesse! Just ask him to the game!
“So, Brett, my, um, brother gave me two tickets to the Bears game this Sunday. I was wondering if maybe you would, uh, want to go?” I finally stumble out.
“Oh, um, this Sunday?” He stands with his hand frozen behind him reaching for his wallet.
“Yeah, I know it’s short notice, but he just gave them to me last night. His company has some sort of box or something. But it’s no big deal if you can’t go. I’m sure you already have plans or have to work or something…”
“He can go,” I hear Caleb say as he walks up behind Brett. “I’d be happy to cover for him at work, ya know…or something,” he finishes, winking at Brett and grabbing one of the free apples off the counter before walking over to a table.
Chapter Seven
Brett
OH. MY. Damn. It’s official. I am going to kill Caleb Jones. I hear being a cop in jail is tough, but for the stunt he just pulled, the satisfaction of killing him with my bare hands would be completely worth it.
“Oh, okay, great. Thanks, Caleb!” she shouts to my ex-best friend.
He smiles, taking a bite of his apple and waving his hand in a way that signals ‘no problem.’