by Maria Luis
Owen scrubbed a hand over his beard. “Yeah, I don’t know if it’s all that fancy or not.”
“What does he do?”
“He really hasn’t mentioned any of this to you?”
Was she missing something here? She checked over her shoulder, searching for any sight of the man who’d captured her heart. Nothing, not yet anyway. “No, he hasn’t.” What could she add? We’re taking it really slow, as in, usually I have to browbeat the information out of him. Or, alternatively: we’re really just fuck buddies, but I made the mistake of falling in love with him, even though I knew it was a bad idea. Oops!
Yeah, neither of those would go over remotely well.
Shaelyn gently bumped her shoulder. “Brady’s mentioned it a few times in passing, I think. Cure for Blue and Red, maybe?”
“Care,” Owen said in a low voice, “it’s care, not cure.”
“Oh, yeah. That’s right.” Keeping her shoulder pressed to Lizzie’s, Shaelyn added, “Brady said it’s been great for a lot of the city’s first responders. Providing hotline services for those who need to talk anonymously. Therapy sessions at their facility . . . I can’t remember where the office is based out of, but it’s local. I didn’t realize Gage was the man behind the curtain, so to speak.”
“He keeps a pretty low profile. Generally keeps media focused on the organization as opposed to his involvement with it.” Again, Owen stared at her, and this time Lizzie knew that something had to be up. “You’re really sure he didn’t mention this at all to you?”
She bristled at his incredulous tone. “He didn’t, no.” Lizzie ignored the sting. How many times had they slept together now? How many times had they spent minutes, hours, in his truck just . . . driving? Enough. Not that she’d show her ace, not in front of everyone. “I think it’s great,” she said, twisting and untwisting the bottle in her hands. “I mean, sometimes we all need a little help now and again. I’m glad Gage is able to do that with . . . CBR? Right, CBR.”
“CBR?” said Jade as she strolled up to them, waddling like a penguin after a long stint in the water. “Nathan’s mentioned them a few times over the last few years, and that he often saw Gage at one of the therapy sessions.” She paused, her dark eyes blinking back at them from an array of the false lashes Lizzie had stuck on. One was askew, a clear sign that Jade had already scrubbed her eye without second thought. “Is Gage the one who runs it?”
“Yes.” How had everyone known but her? Had she lived under a rock for the last however many years?
No, you’ve just been involved in the makeup world.
Great, now she sounded shallow even in her own head.
“What aren’t you saying, Owen?” Dark eyes flicked away, strained, and Lizzie pressed on. “I don’t get why this is such a big fuss or a secret. It’s good that Gage does this for the NOPD. I mean, isn’t that what we want our officers to be? Healthy, both mentally and physically?”
“It’s not the fact that he runs it, Lizzie, it’s the why behind it all.”
The why behind it all? That didn’t even make sense.
God, between the twin Harvey brothers, she was tired of constantly going in circles. Whatever they said had a secret meaning—hell, two secret meanings—and it was exhausting. “Owen, just spit it out, would—”
His voice cut over a microphone, and Lizzie whirled around, the start of a smile already on her face. It faltered when she saw him, still dressed in his black BDU’s, his NOPD hat drawn low over his head, shielding his eyes.
His shoulders, the line of his spine all indicated that he was done.
Shit went down at work—hadn’t he said that in his text earlier? She knew from watching her brother and stepfather that living the life of a cop was more than a little difficult.
Unable to stop herself, she stepped forward, closer to the raised stage, closer to him.
“Sorry, y’all,” came his rugged, west Louisiana-tinted voice over the mic, “I unfortunately had some minor difficulties at work. Actually, they were pretty major—I’m already rambling.”
The crowd laughed lightly, as though charmed to have a rough and handsome police officer within their midst.
“I had a speech,” he continued, “and obviously it’s at my house, along with my civilian clothes. I guess y’all are gonna have to put up with whatever I come up with for the next few minutes. If I ramble, just . . . don’t ignore me.”
“You’re too sexy to ignore!” shouted a female voice from the back of the pack.
Lizzie glared, then tugged on the hem of her dress again. Guess she wasn’t the only not-quite-professional person they’d let inside the doors tonight.
“Yeah, thanks.” Gage laughed awkwardly, brim of his hat tipping down as he looked at the stage floor. “First, just want to give a quick shout out to Savannah Rose for letting Care for Blue and Red sponsor tonight’s activities. Drinks are on me, y’all.” There was more enthusiastic clapping. “All right, so, for those of you who don’t know, CBR is a local organization geared toward supporting all first responders and their families. We’ve been runnin’ strong for six years now, providing help to those who need it. In our line of work, a lot of the scars aren’t on the outside. I mean, we’ve all got those, too.”
The water bottle crinkled in Lizzie’s hands. Why had he kept this a secret? The question ran on repeat in her head, refusing to move on. Be calm, girl, don’t leap to conclusions.
Gage unhitched the microphone from the stand and stepped back. “So yeah, we have those outer scars. No one really notices the ones that seep beneath the skin, though, sometimes not even our own friends and family. The increasing alcohol intake, the sleepless nights, the fact that we become so ingrained in the job, that we leave and can’t turn off that part of our brain. Anyone in here know a first responder? Firefighter? EMT?”
Hands raised.
Lizzie’s hand stayed wrapped around her water bottle, unwilling to draw attention to herself. She wanted to hear what he had to say—without him noticing her presence.
“How many times have you heard a cop say, ‘hold on, something ain’t right up there’ just before he or she goes out of their way to approach a situation? Or maybe you see a person at a scene. They’re dressed in plain clothes, but are barking out orders to passerby. I’ve seen it multiple times over. An EMT, off the clock, rushing forward to lend a hand.” Gage let out a self-deprecating laugh. “We are never off the clock, and it takes a toll on ourselves and on our families. I founded CBR in the hope that first responders would have a place to go when they feel anxious or the first threat of depression takes hold. Because at the end of the day”—in that customary way of his, he turned his hat, all Southern charmer—“if our first responders aren’t healthy, if they aren’t at the top of their game, it affects every single one of you. The quality of your calls of service, your wait times when you call 911, everything.”
The water bottle popped in her hand, she’d squeezed it so tight, and Gage’s gaze swung in her direction.
There was nothing she could do, nowhere she could hide.
And so she lifted her chin up and refused to look away.
She watched his chest inflate with a sharply inhaled breath, heard it crackle over the mic, and then he twisted away, commanding the crowd’s attention with his smooth voice, the passion behind every word he uttered.
“CBR’s done well over the last few years to spread the word, but we’d like to push out of Orleans Parish, and for that we need investors. Much as I’d like to say my salary would allow for multiple facilities in multiple towns, I’d be lying.” There were a few hollers of agreement, some cat-call whistling, and another round of applause. “Savannah agreed to set me up tonight and offer more information to anyone willing to contribute. I’d promise payment in response, but the organization doesn’t make a dime. However, I did arrange for a calendar spread with my unit. Shirts were not harmed in the making, and I can guarantee every cop is shirtless and lookin’ good. Anyone have any questions I can
answer?”
“What month are you?” a guy shouted. “I’m hoping for December because I’d love to unwrap you.”
Shaelyn spit out her drink beside Lizzie. “Oh man, I’m sorry. So good, though, so good.”
“September,” Gage said, dark eyes concentrated on the guy who’d asked the question, “I believe I was givin’ September by the photographer. Any other questions?”
“Yes, I do.”
Everyone in the room whipped around to face Lizzie, and it was all she could do to keep from sinking into the floor.
Back up, stand straight.
Just like all the times she’d sat around in her pajama pants, a cute top, and her hair and makeup done up to the T for a tutorial.
Lizzie stepped forward, only to be tugged back by a masculine hand around her wrist.
“Don’t,” Owen muttered, fingers letting her go, “if you love him, don’t do that to him. Not in front of everyone.”
She cradled her hand to her chest as though it’d been seared. Don’t do that to him. Clearly, she didn’t have as much of a poker face as she’d like to believe. Yes, she loved Gage Harvey, but was it too much to hope that he wouldn’t shut her down and shut her out?
Owen was right. The EOCC wasn’t the place for her questions, and so she faked a laugh, her old YouTube laugh, and called out, “I bet the photographer had an amazing time with you as the model!”
The crowd erupted into laughter.
Her friends remained quiet at her side.
And Gage, the man who had the ability to ruin her, lifted the mic to his mouth and said, “She did. The time of her life, I believe, and the feeling was mutual.”
Lizzie squashed the fluttering in her heart and turned to Jade. “I need air.”
Her friend’s hand wrapped around hers. “You want company?”
“You’ll be kicked out for good.”
With a wry smile, Jade shook her head. “No one’s going to fight a pregnant woman, mi hermana. Do you want me to go with you?”
No. Some things had to be handled alone, and she suspected even that wouldn’t last for long. As she wound her way through groups of people, she heard Gage calling out her name, following behind her.
She only stopped when she’d entered the hallway, ducking off to the side so that she wouldn’t be slapped by the door each time someone stepped out.
Which Gage did, not even ten seconds later.
Exhausted. As she took in the shadows under his eyes and the stubble on his jaw, it was the only word to come to mind. He looked utterly exhausted.
Well, so was she when it came to playing his mind games.
“Fancy seeing you here,” she said, crossing her arms over her dress. “Quite a surprise.”
His throat worked with a swallow. “Lizzie, let’s not do this.”
“Do what?” she threw back at him, hating the bitter note in her voice. It wasn’t her. Even when she’d dated Scott, the bitterness had never seeped in and taken root. She was not a bitter person. Taking a calming breath, she tried again. “I feel like you’re constantly winding me up in half-truths, Gage. You pull me in, push me away. Why wouldn’t you tell me about CBR, about an organization that you founded? I mean”—her hands flew up with frustration—“you’ve had plenty of time to do so. You had seven hours stuck in a car with me, and you never mentioned it.”
Mouth flattening, he pressed his hands to the top of his head, over his hat. Chest inflated, shoulders rose up. He looked ready to crack and splinter down the middle.
“I don’t want to be in a relationship with someone that I’m constantly forcing to talk to me.”
There, she’d said it.
“We aren’t dating, Lizzie.”
Oh. Was that the sound of her heart breaking? No, just a random female screaming from the EOCC meeting? Perfect.
Lizzie squeezed her eyes shut. Nope, totally her heart. Four little words and he’d successfully managed to slice it in two and toss the carcass onto the grill for a little pop and sizzle. Might as well get her while she was down, of course.
“You’re a jerk,” she ground out. “I hope you’re aware of that.”
He gaped at her. “Because I told you something that you already knew?”
“No.” She stepped forward, jabbing him in the chest with a finger. “You’re a jerk because you knew all along that I’d fall for you, and that you’d fall for me, and that you would still never let us happen.” Another jab, then another, and another. “You’re a self-sabotager, Gage.”
“That’s not even a word.”
“Does it look like I care?” Fury set aside the hurt and disappointment. Fury at him for putting her in this position, and fury at herself for once again setting herself up for heartbreak. This time it was worse, though, because this time she’d actually allowed herself to picture a future with Gage. Double dates with her friends. Marriage. Kids. The damn white-picket fence that no one had in New Orleans, not that she’d ever seen, at least.
Anger planted her hands on his chest and shoved. He didn’t budge, not even the slightest waver, and that ticked her off even more. “I hope you’re happy, Gage. I hope that when you’re old and gray, you’ll look at this moment and think, damn, I screwed that up. You could have come out here and explained why Owen looked like I’d about run over his dog when I raised my hand. You didn’t. Instead you waltzed out here to inform me that we aren’t dating and you don’t owe me a damn thing.”
The door to the ballroom creaked open, and Gage wrapped a hand around her arm and tugged her down the hallway. He opened a door three over, poked his head in, and gave her a little shove inside.
“You push,” he growled, shutting the door shut behind him, “and you push. Did it ever occur to you that maybe I didn’t tell you for a reason? That maybe I liked seeing you look at me with something other than pity?”
“Pity?” Lizzie scoffed, and then bit back a squeak when he cornered her against a desk and a set of chairs. “There’s no reason to pity you, Gage.”
“No? Then let me tell you a story.” His hand came down on her shoulder, directing her to one chair, sitting her down like a good little student. “You want to know the whole, gritty truth? The reason why I created CBR? The reason why, you and me, we’ll never make this official?”
Her knees squeezed together at his sardonic tone, and yes, that was her heart picking up speed, tumbling over itself in pain.
“My grandfather was a cop,” he started, “as was his father. Main difference being that my grandfather died on the job, a traffic stop gone wrong. My grandmother did what she could to raise my dad on her own, and imagine her horror when her only kid decided he wanted to join the NOPD, too. I suppose it’s a stroke of good fortune that she passed away before my dad did.”
As she watched his almost manic hand gestures through the air, Lizzie worried that she’d pushed him too far, that she’d requested a story that would ruin her, just as it had ruined him. Sweat beaded on his forehead, and his jaw clenched and unclenched with every step he took, pacing the room like a caged lion.
“My parents separated when I was nine. She loved him, both Owen and I could see that, but my dad’s job took a toll on everyone. Overtime. Details. She’d sit by the damn radio at home, tuned into his district just to hear his voice. To make sure he was safe.” A masculine hand flipped off his hat, tossing it on the chair opposite hers. “When he was at home, it was worse. She begged him to quit. Apply to a different department, she’d ask. Every night for years on end, she pled her case. Until she stopped. That’s when she took us to Hackberry. Sent us to Dad every weekend with letters written to him in our handwriting, even though she dictated every damn thing we wrote.”
“She loved him,” Lizzie whispered, hands curling in her lap. “You can’t fault her for that.”
Black eyes narrowed, and he averted his face. “Yeah, well, he loved the job more. I dated a girl from Hackberry in high school, and after. Sweet, quiet. She dreamed of becoming a nutritionist of all
things, and I’d always planned to follow in my father’s footsteps. Work for the NOPD, work for S.O.D. It was in the plans, and then it all went to hell.”
It was on the tip of her tongue to beg him for information, but this was his story, his pace. He hadn’t rushed her when she’d opened up about her father, and it seemed unfair to cut into his now.
He stopped behind the chair across from hers, hands gripping the back. “He died up on the I-10, with the Superdome in sight, doing his job. Helping some lady with her car, even though he’d already gotten off the clock.” Lashes fluttering down, his nostrils flared. “There wasn’t any chance to revive him, not even to tell him the news. The plan was to visit him at work that Monday, when he’d be out patrolling, and I’d be able to sneak away for lunch during the academy.”
Weakly, she asked, “What was the news?”
“I’d proposed to my girlfriend that very evening back home in Hackberry. I’d planned it all out; September was her favorite month.”
September, the month he’d chosen for the calendar. Something told her he hadn’t done so because of his ex, though, but rather in honor of his father’s passing. She hadn’t thought it possible for her heart to crack any more, but here he was, proving her wrong. “What did your mom say about your proposal?”
His expression turned pained. “She celebrated. Wine, toasts, the whole shebang. I went to Michelle’s apartment for the night, but something . . . I couldn’t sleep, so I went home early the next morning. Four a.m., maybe, and I found her there in the living room. Gunshot to the chest, blood everywhere. No cell phones back then, but my dad’s sergeant had called Mom’s house phone with the news.”
“Gage.” His name broke on her tongue, and he hardened before her, jaw locking, temple pulsing. “Gage, I—”
“I know,” he grunted, then shut his eyes. “I sat there, you know, not understanding what had pushed her to take her life. No one had called me, and my mom was dead, and I didn’t even know why.”
She couldn’t take it—she shot off the chair and stepped in front of him. She’d been right that he’d ruin her, but he’d been wrong about the pity.