Rule Breaker

by Haven Rose

  I want to be a part of the solution. I want to have the opportunity to save people. I am more than what my parents believe me to be. I am more than a woman who happened to be born to a rich family. Some would label that as the luck of the draw, but honestly, I disagree. That whole cliché about the grass being greener on the other side?

  Fucking bullshit.

  Chapter Three

  Keller

  December 20th…

  I’ve been on desk duty for almost a month and I’m losing my fucking mind. Training doesn’t start until after the new year, so the mayor took great joy in telling me to sit my rule abiding ass in my chair, then proceeded to have my co-workers give me all the paperwork they needed completed, as well as a list of any calls they had to make. They were all sympathetic, yet also thankful to shove it at me as it means they didn’t have to deal with it.

  The thing is, even knowing the outcome, I’d do it again. If getting shit on means I can live with myself, then so be it. Of course, what that little pissant Mayor Jackass, err Jackson, doesn’t know is I’m using this time to gather the evidence I need to cut him and his yes men off at the knees. It’s shocking how much you can find in old files and by asking the right questions.

  To make it even better? I’m getting paid to do it. By the end of my shift, I’ve connected a few more threads, but there’s still quite a bit to do. Not to mention all the progress I’ve made is regarding their pasts exploits, I haven’t even started on their present misdeeds.

  After closing my current files and pocketing the notebook that’s for my eyes only, I shut down my computer and grab my coat. Leaving the building, I head toward my pride and joy, a fully restored sixty-seven Mustang. It’s old as hell, but it’s a classic, and honestly, newer cars just aren’t the same. Plus, it was the only thing I could afford when I graduated high school.

  Dexter offered to match what I’d saved, allowing me the opportunity to purchase a car that wouldn’t require as many repairs, but my heart was set. Plus, while it needed work, the upside to that was Dad helped me with them. It strengthened our bond.

  Thankfully, today’s weather wasn’t that bad, allowing me to drive it, but when it is, I have to bust out my old Bronco, yet another project for Dad and I. Mom teased me once about intentionally buying what she termed re-start vehicles for that reason, and I realized she was right, I just hadn’t realized it until then. I’d worried that it came off as me using him, however, she’d quickly reassured me that wasn’t true. She said he looks forward to it, perhaps more than I do, and that he’d been eyeing a car in need of some serious care before I’d stopped by with the Bronco because he missed our father-son time.

  Not feeling like cooking tonight, not that I really ever do, I stop at Chester’s. The place is a dive. I don’t recommend the meatloaf and using their john could be hazardous to your health, but it has the best damn burgers in town.

  Opening the door, I wait for my eyes to adjust to the dim lighting inside, the joke being they do that so the patrons can avoid seeing the chipped pleather covering the seats, the coasters under chair and stool legs, the menus that haven’t changed in at least a decade.

  Flora, one of the seasoned waitresses, hollers at me to find a spot and someone will be with me shortly. I find a corner booth and settle in for the wait. Surprisingly, it isn’t but a couple minutes, rare for this joint. When the waitress greets me, I know immediately that she’s new as I’m a pretty regular customer and it’s easy to see she doesn’t belong here.

  Being a cop, I can always be called in or have to deal with some asshole even when I’m off duty – which I never really am – so I never have more than one beer, refusing to risk being impaired if either occurs. As she takes care of that, I observe her, wondering if her hair is as soft as it looks and how she can smell like apples and cinnamon after what has clearly been a long shift if the tiredness that surrounds her is any indication. Despite that, she delivers my beverage with a smile and even a joke.

  “Our special tonight is whatever Chuck,” he’s actually the cook, the diner is named after his great-grandfather, Chester, “decides to serve you.” She’s not wrong, though. For some reason they continue to act as if they truly have a special, however, they never stick to it. After a couple plates of it, Chuck gets bored and just starts sending out a dish he chooses for you. It could be eggs, pancakes, a burger, or a steak. You just never know. If you make a fuss or the server complains about your attitude, Chuck will give you the meatloaf, then sit there while you eat it with an evil grin on his face. I’ve never been faced with that torture, but I’ve seen him do it to a piece of shit that insisted on being a dick to Flora.

  I laugh, my dick jumping when her eyes flare at the sound and her tongue peeks out from between her lips for a second. The fact she apparently likes my reaction makes me happy, as well as a bit nervous because I don’t do it a lot. “Well, I’m feeling brave, so I’ll take the special.” Honestly, I want a damn burger, but gave that response instead in the hopes I’d get a smile out of her. And fuck, it worked. She’s gorgeous, I won’t deny that, but now I can see a crooked top tooth. That slight imperfection makes her adorable, and I find that I like her better that way.

  And when she giggles, stating, “I hope you survive,” then walks toward the kitchen, I can’t help but wonder what the fuck is happening to me. I don’t do this. I can’t remember the last time I spoke with a woman where it didn’t have to do with my job. That’s not to say I haven’t dated, it’s simply been…I pause, needing to think about that. I might need more fingers to add up the years. A decade at the least. When I was younger, I tried, but gave up after I discovered I would never be fully invested in any relationship. I was too focused on achieving my dream of becoming a cop. In my opinion, there was nothing and no one that could hold the same appeal, so why bother. I’m suddenly questioning that resolve, wondering if perhaps I’d been unconsciously holding out for this woman. Part of me likes that idea and thinks there’s merit to it, the other is calling me an imbecile, reminding me once again I have a goal to accomplish, and a female will only get in the way of that.

  Determined to not succumb to whatever the fuck is going on, the twinkle in her eyes as she sets the burger I’d been craving in front of me destroys that plan. I’m a bastard in more ways than one, but not even I can diminish the happiness I see in them. The very thought of doing so makes me want to kick my own ass.

  That doesn’t mean I’m also not telling myself to tread carefully.

  I’m just not sure if that warning is for her sake or mine.

  **Emerson**

  After my parents had kicked me out, though they’d termed it as teaching me a lesson, they’d stopped giving me money. The funny thing is, I hadn’t touched a dime of theirs in two years, so it remained in the account they’d opened and had control over while I used the one only in my name they didn’t know about. Yes, I lived in their house, but I paid for my food, I purchased my clothes, the gas that went in my car was done so by my hand and with cash I’d earned. I can admit the vehicle I drive was a present from them a few years ago. However, I’d be stupid not to use it. It provides the transportation I need to and from my job, volunteer work, school, and eventually the academy.

  The loan was paid in full on the day of sale, and I know it was a bribe. Essentially, pay attention to this and not the fact we forgot your eighteenth birthday until a week after the fact. And only then it was because I had to inform them I was officially an adult and no longer had to do anything I didn’t want to, namely listening to them drone on about a “woman’s place” in the world and her “responsibilities.”

  “Emerson,” Flora tells me as she passes me while carrying a tray of drinks, “you’ve got a customer at table five.” I take a deep breath, already tired from being on my feet all day, before pasting a smile on and turning. My eyes take in the bulk of the man with his back to the wall, his gaze taking in everything around him. And when he looks up, I have the strangest thought as my hand shakes
. It’s not from fear, though, at least not of him, but anticipation.

  If he’d been among the numerous men my dad and mom have tried to match me with, I would’ve tripped over my own feet in my haste to accept. He’s not traditionally handsome, but the word arresting comes to mind.

  After taking his order and delivering both his drink and food, he remains on my mind while I help the other customers. His voice is rough, as if he’s gargling with rocks while trying to speak. His mouth seems hard, though his lips could easily cushion mine as we kiss, and I know how contradictory that sounds, but it fits him perfectly. There’s a softness to him, but he appears to do everything he can to hide it from the world, and that’s where the scowl comes in. Oh, I’m not saying he doesn’t have a chip on his shoulder, only that he feels he has a reason for it, and it leads him to put up a barrier between himself and everyone else.

  How can I break down a man I’ve spoken to for a sum total of three minutes?

  I have that same need for self-preservation, just in a different way. I imagine people see him and immediately move, unwilling to be perceived as an obstacle, whereas they see me and instantly relegate me to being nothing more than fluff. Hard versus soft. Offensive versus defensive. It all breaks down to the same thing when you get to the heart of it because that’s the very thing we’re both protecting.

  Chapter Four

  Keller

  December 23rd…

  Once more, I find myself heading to Chester’s after my shift, but this time, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say I’m doing so eagerly, and that can’t be right. The only thing I look forward to is going to work and seeing my parents, not some scrap of a thing that would fall over if I breathed in her direction. I immediately feel bad for that, as if I’m assuming she has no substance based upon her appearance, but it’s there nonetheless. Doesn’t stop me from being attracted to her, though. And that shocks me because I’d figured long ago that part of me was defective as no woman had any impact on me…or it.

  When I walk in and the bell above the door announces me, the heads of the employees near the door turn, waiting to see if the newcomer needs help or if he or she will choose their section. But hers? Call it wishful thinking, something I didn’t believe I was capable of, yet I swear there’s more than professional courtesy. Her eyes light up, her lips, the bottom fuller than the top, tilts, and her gaze follows me as I search for a seat. I already know I’m going for the same as before as it’s her area.

  This feeling is foreign, as is the fact no one has ever been happy to see me, aside from my parents, and now her. And, never being able to resist a puzzle that needs to be solved, the idea that she might’ve been hoping I came in has me wondering why.

  The thing is, that isn’t even a reflection on her, but me because I simply can’t fathom why someone, especially a woman that not only looks as she does, but also seems inherently nice, would want a damn thing to do with me. I hate that I instantly turn to the dark side, assigning an ulterior motive to her actions, and I have to remind myself not everyone is like my father. I hate that he still has such an impact on me thirty-five years after what he did, but I accept that he does.

  Does that say more about me or him? In this moment, I’m thinking the former as I’m the person judging an innocent woman, labeling her as guilty for doing nothing other than smiling.

  Or perhaps it’s merely because she’s doing so to me, and as that makes no sense, I automatically think she’s up to no good.

  And if she is, my dick seems to chime in, let’s be bad with her.

  **Emerson**

  “Excuse me,” I apologize to the man whose chair I bumped into. Thankfully, it didn’t jar the table or the cup in his hand. I know they say the customer is always right, but it truly is the case in this instance. I’d been walking toward the booth Grumpy Face seems to prefer, then literally stumbled when he actually smiled. Or what passes for one where he’s concerned, meaning his lips twitched for three seconds, yes, I freaking counted, before returning to his usual…Well, it’s not exactly a frown, more like his resting face. Reaching him, I tell him hi, then, unable to stop the words from escaping, I ask how his day has been so far.

  As if me having the nerve to do that wasn’t enough of a surprise, I’m floored when he responds, stating, “It was a bit slow, which isn’t a bad thing in my field,” and gives me a nod as if he appreciates the inquiry. What the hell is going on? Am I in an alternate universe? I mean, not only did he kinda smile, but he’s now willingly talking? Surreptitiously, I hope, I pinch my right arm, wincing when the pain registers. Okay, extreme, but now I know this is real.

  “Have you been drugged?” Oh hell, where is a sinkhole when you need one? I’d really like the ground to swallow me and get me out of this. But nope, not happening. Not as if life has gone my way up to this point, so why did I expect it to now?

  “That’d be against the law, so unless you’re confessing,” he indicates the water I’d brought and he’d almost emptied in one gulp, “and I don’t recommend that, I have to say no.”

  “You’re a cop? Wait, never mind, that’s a stupid question. I should’ve known you were.” Then he asks why and I shrug before womaning up and stating, “Sitting with your back to the wall, choosing a booth where no one can sneak up on you. The way you carry yourself, as if you know you can handle any threat that comes at you, should someone be stupid to try.”

  His jaw drops, and I feel my cheeks catch fire, suddenly embarrassed because I have to admit how closely I’ve been watching him during his previous three visits, this being his fourth. But it doesn’t stop me from doing so again as he sits there, trying to work out how I possibly could’ve put that all together. However, my blush soon turns to anger as he jumps to the wrong conclusion. “Ahh, you have or had a family member on the job. A dad, uncle, or grandfather.”

  “I’ll be right back with your order,” I inform him, despite the fact he never told me what he wanted. My shoulders dip, his answer pushing them down as I realize he looks at me and sees what everyone else except my brother does.

  Fluff.

  Nothing to offer.

  Useless.

  Merely a decoration.

  Unable to contribute.

  That’ll teach me to get my hopes up, to believe anyone, let alone a man such as him, could see beyond the outside to the core of me, the part I don’t let anyone except Edison see. Not that anybody else has ever tried.

  Perhaps my parents are right after all.

  Chapter Five

  Keller

  December 26th…

  This will be my first visit at Chester’s since Monday, the holidays not allowing me to return until now. But that might be a good thing as far as Emerson, or phoenix as I’ve begun referring to her, is concerned. She glared at me as if picturing my death. I tried to brush it off, even long after I’d gone home, assuring myself it didn’t bother me. I’m not a liar, so I finally admitted it did. If it had been anyone else, I wouldn’t have given a shit, but it wasn’t, and I did.

  Hopefully, I’m not about to make a colossally stupid mistake. Patting my inner pocket, satisfied at the slight bulge, I walk in and seek out her gaze. Feeling my eyes on her, she glances my direction and gives me a smile, though not the one I want nor that I’ve gotten used to.

  When she comes to my booth, she greets me, but it’s impersonal, and I fucking hate it. I know we didn’t have much seeing as we only interacted four times and it was in a professional capacity, but it was ours and I want it back.

  Grabbing the small box from its hiding place, I set it on the table and nudge it toward her, forcing my hand to remain steady lest she realize I’m nervous. “What’s this?” She asks, surprise and curiosity in her tone.

  “I, uh, I don’t know what I did wrong the other day, only that I did something.”

  “So you got me a present?”

  “When my dad surprises my mom with a gift, it makes her happy, and I figured that’s what you do,” I rush out, my voi
ce growing thicker the more I talk because I’m so far out of my depth I feel like my feet can’t touch the bottom.

  “You wanted to make me happy?” I’m not sure why she keeps trying to find an explanation for this, but it seems important to her, so I nod. When she lifts the box, I notice she slowly removes the bow and drops it in her apron pocket, but eagerly rips the wrapping paper off it. It’s a little peek in to how she thinks, and I tuck it away to examine later. She gasps when she sees what’s inside, and my muscles almost seize, worried I fucked up, but she removes the contents carefully, reverently. “It’s a barrette.”

  “When I’m here, you’re always pushing the right side of your hair behind your ear, as if frustrated. I was worried I’d come in and see that you cut it.” Then I shake my head and mutter, “That’d be a damn shame.” Clearing my throat, I add the rest, “I thought this would help.”

  “Why silver?”

  “It suited you better than gold.”

  “Why the amber gem?”

  “Matches your eyes.”

  She stands in front of me, then asks, “Can you put it in for me?” We both know she can do it herself, but her wanting me to instead is a big deal. I don’t know if I’m forgiven quite yet, but her smile as I rise is genuine, and it isn’t until see it that I discover I missed it more than I knew. Lightly grasping her hair, I move the strands until they’re completely out of her face then attach the barrette. When I withdraw my hand, I graze her cheek, something in my chest squeezing when she leans into it. “Thank you…” She trails off, and even realizing we never exchanged names, and I’d checked her apron for hers, doesn’t break the spell around us.

  “Keller.”