One Lucky Girl

by Natasha L. Black

  9

  Blair

  I’d shot him. He was going to shoot me, and it was the right thing to do, and I’d shot him.

  All I could do, I found, was stare at him as he twisted back and forth.

  The tall guy, Francis, was yelling at him. “You idiot, why did you have to do that?”

  The short guy’s eyes were closing, as I reached for my radio.

  “This is officer Collins, badge number 2432. Shots have been fired by the police at…”

  I glanced at Jeremy. “374 Clair Creek,” he said.

  I relayed that to the dispatcher and clicked off my radio. My gaze shot to the ground, where the suspect wasn’t moving.

  I kneeled down, peering in closer. “Shit, is he….?”

  Jeremy’s hands went on my shoulders.

  But I couldn’t feel anything. Couldn’t see anything. Actually, all I could see was the guy’s lifeless face, slung to the side.

  Behind me, I heard, “That was my cousin, you bitch.”

  The other man lunged at me, but Jeremy caught him before he could reach me. Digging the muzzle of his gun into the guy’s neck, he said calmly, “And that’ll be you if you take another step .”

  The guy didn’t move, but his eyes bore into me, full of fire and hatred.

  “I swear,” he said, “you’re going to regret that.”

  “What?” Jeremy let out a bark, a short laugh. “When you’re sitting in jail? Not likely.”

  And yet, despite Jeremy’s easy confidence, I couldn’t adopt it for myself. My whole body felt like lead, on edge. I knew I was in shock and I had to get ahold of myself and do my job.

  When the far-off wail of a siren sounded, I was the first to hear it, striding over to the door. There, I met the EMT’s rushing in with the stretcher. I spoke to the one in front who had eyes that seemed too caring for the job.

  “I had to,” I said nonsensically. “He pointed a gun at us and…”

  Jeremy put his hand on my arm. “Hey. They understand. You didn’t have a choice.”

  But I wasn’t so sure. All I could do was stand and hover anxiously, like a mother over her sick child, and watch as one kneeled to take his pulse. The next few seconds seemed to happen in slow motion. Jeremy's rhythmic, almost imperceptible squeezing of my arm. The lopsided stash of the ambulance man, the smooth curve of his upper lip, his head tilted up to give the sentence.

  “He’s dead,” he said, and everything ended.

  --

  Next thing I knew, I was in the comfortingly familiar, no-nonsense surroundings of Chief Fallow’s office. Everything was as I remembered it to a tee: the grey on grey wallpaper, the absence of any sort of decoration, plant or otherwise. And, of course, Chief Fallows, with her signature scraped-back ponytail and hard eyes.

  “You did good, Collins,” she said. “I know the first one can be a shock. But just know that you did the Department proud today.”

  Her words couldn’t seem to land. I noticed, with a little jolt of surprise, that Jeremy was beside me, his leg leaning against mine under the table, unseen by Chief Fallows. Risky, yet necessary. I wasn’t sure what I would’ve done if that small contact hadn't been holding me up, like a toothpick under a broken chair. Destined to snap, but useful for the time being.

  The chief nodded. “Always the toughest, like I said. Take the day off.”

  I gave a fake a smile as I rose. “Thank you.”

  The Chief rose for a moment, nodded again, more to herself than anyone, and sat back down.

  Evidently dismissed, I saw myself out, followed closely behind by Jeremy. As soon as the door was closed behind us, he took a step forward, his eyes feeling like prickly laser beams scanning me. “You okay?”

  The question seemed something foreign from an odd tongue. How was I even supposed to begin responding to that?

  “Blair,” he said, in a voice laced with concern.

  Right now, all I could feel was how the fluorescent lights were burning sweat beads off the back of my neck, making the walls feel like they wanted to embrace me tightly too. My stomach thrashed.

  “Thank God, you’re okay.” It was Peter and Noah, Peter having been the one who spoke. His face was a cross between furious and feverish, while Noah just looked plain worried.

  Peter came upon me as if to hug me, stopping part way as he remembered himself. “Jeremy texted us. Are you ok?”

  “She probably just wants to get home,” Noah said, and I could’ve kissed him.

  Home. Home, with the afghan my Gran had made me painstakingly over Christmas last year even as her fingers were failing her. Home with good old Netflix and some popcorn. That was what I needed. Not to be here another second.

  I glanced down at my hands. Really, Noah had just given me the easiest out on Earth, and yet I couldn’t get on with actually leaving. There was something reassuring about the brothers, and the way their concerned eyes rested on me. Almost like a protection squad. There was no telling what would happen to me when I was out of the precinct.

  And yet, I was being ridiculous, I knew.

  My gaze resting on my hands, I shuddered. These were the hands they had killed the man.

  “Guess I didn’t expect it to be like…” I said weakly.

  With that, I spun around. No more of this indecisiveness, of acting like the weak newbie caught up, just because I could afford to. I was better than this. I was a cop.

  I’d known this day was going to come, the moment I’d signed up for the Academy. The moment I decided to be a cop even. There were prices to be paid when protecting people. And I was prepared to take every one of them.

  As I strode back, I took one last look back at the brothers, smiling to calm their worried faces.

  Yes, I had done what I had to with that robber back there. In order to protect the people, prices must be paid.

  --

  Back at home, no amount of TV or food could soothe my rattled mind. It seemed as though the images on the screen were piercing deep into my retinas, while the static rattled against my head, jumbling the thoughts. Even as I watched my favorite show, NCIS, the only thought that kept piercing through me was that I’d killed a man and I could never bring them back.

  The only thing to do was to get into bed and hope for sleep.

  Disrupting the neat folds of the sheets I had made earlier that morning seemed sacrilegious and, once again, tragic. The bed was made by a woman who had no idea of what was coming. Of what she was going to do. Still, dipping my head under the covers felt good, right.

  It was what I had done as a child, seeking refuge under the swells of my duvet whenever something bad happened. It was almost like a little world there, one where I could cry and, somehow, where the full horrors of the outside world couldn’t reach.

  As I drifted off to sleep, there seemed no better place in the world for me than there. I woke up to his face. Startling, how detailed it was: fleshy and unsuspecting, not as mean as you’d expect from a hardened criminal. Was he, even?

  His eyes were a touch too close, and his lips too fleshy, with stubble that erupted amongst his pockmarks like an uneven landscape. And yet, it was in a face of evil. The eyes showed signs that they were capable of genuine joy, while he been wearing some sort of bracelets, supporting a good cause. This was the man I was going to kill.

  The one who might have killed you and the others, a small voice reminded me.

  But it was lost in the tidal wave of grief that went through. Finally, the tears that had been pricking at the back of my eyelids ran free. It was a relief, I guess. All I could do was hope to cry it out and hope that tomorrow would be better.

  Embarrassing as it was - I was supposed to be a cop who had it all under control - maybe it was necessary. The brothers certainly hadn’t been surprised by how shaken I’d been. Jeremy had been trying to tell me something as we stood in the hallway there with his brothers, about how the first time he’d killed a guy, he had to go to the bathroom and throw up.

  At that tho
ught, my stomach roiled. Staggering and stumbling out of bed, I got to the toilet just in time for me to dry heave over it. Nothing was coming out. Probably because I hadn’t eaten anything. All that my body was trying to get rid of was the grief, overpowering and suffocating like a fist around my windpipe. A glance at the IKEA clock on my wall found that I had thirty minutes to get into work.

  Work. I shuddered. The word got me to my feet, but I stayed there, shakily.

  Luckily, checking my phone, I saw a message that made the day somewhat bearable.

  It was from Jeremy: “Chief Fallows says take tomorrow off too.” It had been sent last night, followed by another: “You are okay though, right?”

  I frowned. Again, the question. Putting the phone away unfortunately didn’t put the question away too. Going back to bed was reassuring but didn’t remain so. As it was, it seemed like only a few minutes, but a glance at the clock revealed it to be almost an hour. There was knocking on my door.

  Getting up, I went over and opened it to find Jeremy.

  There he was, shaggy hair seeming a bit more askew than normal. His smile on his left side not convincing, not yet.

  10

  Jeremy

  “Hello?” I said.

  My gaze did the rounds of her: bedhead, sleep shirt, mouth unsettled between upturned and down-turned. Yep. This was a bad idea.

  My hand was clenched on the outline of my phone in my pocket because Blair hadn’t responded to my text last night, and I was worried.

  “Hi,” Blair said.

  She crossed her arms in front of her chest, drawing my gaze to her breasts. Concentrate, idiot, I told myself.

  “I can go,” I said quickly. “In fact, I will. Just wanted to make sure you were okay and… Clearly you are.”

  Blair nodded, saying nothing. I turned to go.

  Her “wait” stopped me.

  Before I knew what was happening, I was adding, “And you should know, that as shitty as you feel right now, you’re going to feel better – just give it time. It was really brave, what you did there. The reflexes were spot on. Not sure I could’ve when I was new at the job.”

  But, instead of my words producing the effects I’d intended, when I glanced at Blair, there was a deep furrow carved into her forehead, and her head was shaking. “I’m not so sure.”

  “Seriously,” I said. “When I was new, you should’ve seen me. I basically jumped at the first sound of gunfire. Noah and Peter still josh me about that one.”

  Blair looked like she was about to smile, but instead just shook her head. “That's not what I meant.”

  “I know,” I said. “But I was serious about before, too. Don’t beat yourself up. When it comes down to it: who would you rather be dead — that guy, who would’ve gone on to commit a whole bunch of other crimes, most likely? Or us, two cops doing their job, and a little innocent old lady?”

  “You forgot the cats,” Blair said.

  I reached out, my hand stopping midway. “There’s a smile.”

  It struck me how stupid I was being. But I couldn’t help it.

  When I’d met her, Blair had seemed the picture of having it all together. It made her sexy, sure, but this vulnerable side wasn’t helping things. It felt like every time I spent more time with my new partner, I was being shown a new side to her. And I found that I liked each new side even better than the last. Without allowing myself to think about it, I closed my arms around her. “I’m glad you’re taking another day off. Part of me thought you’d be so stubborn as to storm right into work.”

  “I wanted to,” Blair admitted. “But there’s no point in me coming in if I can’t handle it.” She felt good in my arms. Her hibiscus scent was thick, probably because I had my nose dug into her hair.

  It seemed as though we sunk closer and closer together with every passing heartbeat. Hers seemed faster than mine, or maybe that was mine I was sensing through her. At any rate, I didn’t want to let Blair go, although I knew I desperately needed to. But it seemed inevitable, irresistible.

  Drawing away, I was quick to rip my gaze off her too, focusing it on a picture on her mantel.

  “That your sister?”

  Rubbing her temples, Blair nodded. “That’s Ella with the grand piano she won in some kind of contest.”

  “Some kind of contest?” I raised a brow.

  Blair went over and flopped on the couch, although she was smiling in spite of herself. “Yeah, she’s a brilliant pianist. Super talented. She enters over fifty events a year.”

  I went over to sit a hands distance away from Blair.

  “Wow. That’s a lot.”

  Blair nodded and rubbed her temples again. “Headache,” she explained, getting up. “The best thing for them I found is warm cider actually.”

  In the kitchen now, she said, “Want some?” I nodded, and before I knew it, Blair was coming back with mugs that looked more like soup bowls. Accepting mine, I had to chuckle.

  “When I said that cider helps,” Blair explained, “I meant a lot of cider.”

  “Yeah, no kidding.” I lifted my cider mug and we said cheers. As she sipped, I watched her over the rim of my cup. If I was smart, the time to go would’ve been after that hug, or even before it. Problem was, being around Blair was akin to being electrically shocked every few seconds. No smart thoughts happened there.

  The way her tongue slipped up and out to catch a stray droplet of cider had my dick twitching. The way she blushed, almost surprised to see me watching her like that. Almost like she had no idea just how sexy she was right then.

  And with the way we were only a hand’s distance apart.

  “Sorry my couch is so small,” Blair apologized, without looking at me.

  “It’s fine,” I said, stopping myself before adding, in fact, that I preferred it.

  Because Blair was my partner, and this was not happening. Sure, I was attracted to her. And sure, she was showing all signs of being attracted to me too. Right then, I had to just be there for her. And maybe leave, if it came to it.

  But my cider wasn’t done, and when Blair said, “Movie?” I couldn’t find a way to say no.

  My lips were all poised and ready, the “No” all ready to be let out. But just the slightest flicker disappointment in her eyes made me stop.

  “Here, I’ll go get some chips.”

  I set my gaze on the flat screen TV before me. It was well sized, not too big, not too small. Not overly ostentatious, yet classy looking, pleasing to the eye. Like Blair. She didn’t try to be hot or cool, she just was.

  “You’re not even going to look?” Blair chided me gently as she returned. I gazed up to see a bowl of ketchup chips plopped on my lap. I caught her eye, and we burst out laughing.

  “You had these on hand?” I asked.

  “Actually, yeah,” she said. “Can’t remember when I got more, but here they are.”

  “Great,” I said surely. “How long have you been in this place?”

  Knowing what was coming, Blair smirked. “Oh, just about five years or so.”

  I raised a chip to that. “I’m sure their elderly state will add a nice change in flavor.”

  Blair opened her mouth to protest, but I was already chomping down on the chip, which, thankfully, tasted regular enough to me.

  So, Blair started the movie, and we sat there, the self-control of not touching each other radiating between us. She was so close. So tangibly close.

  I rose. “I should go.” I kept my gaze on George Clooney, who was looking at Blair how I wanted to. How I knew I couldn’t if I was going to get out of here at all. “I mean, I took the day off, in case you needed anything. But I really should get going.”

  And there it was, not even a viable excuse.

  I took a step toward the door, but Blair called out my name. As I stood there, it was a look — like a lasso caught on my heels. I couldn’t help but chance a glance back, catch the disappointment drooping her face. And just like that, the last dregs of my self-control fell a
way. I swallowed the no back, and all I could do was obey the entreaty and that face. Sitting down, I faced her. There was no hands width between us now. Our legs were tight, side-by-side. There was no point in asking what she wanted, what she needed.

  It was all there in her still, waiting face. Waiting for me to do what, I saw now, had been inevitable since that first time I saw her in the hallway.

  I pressed my lips to hers.

  11

  Blair

  Holy hell. All this time, and his kiss was… that?

  The kind that ripped through me like a live wire.

  The kiss grew, swelled. He sucked on my tongue, pulled back my lower lip. All the pent-up attraction I’d had for him was breaking free.

  Lips and hands moving in tandem, Jeremy kissed my pajama shirt off me. The bare skin below his fingertips delighted in, swirling up and up and up until they glanced off my nipple

  Whoa.

  It seemed we were going both too fast and too slow at once. Like there was an underlying blueprint we were following that egged us on, even as we ached to savor what was happening. This long-overdue meeting of our bodies. Because we’d wanted this – it was in every harried touch – since the start.

  And now, finally, we were getting it.

  His fingertips fluttered over my ribcage like keys on a piano, my moans part of the tune. Our mouths feasted on each other, unable to get enough.

  Hip to hip, enlaced hand to enlaced hand, our bodies ground our building pleasure into each other. Our tongues tangled.

  His clothed chest was pressing onto my bare one, while his fingers strayed further and further up… until, finally, there.

  A gasp fell out of my lips as his cool fingers clasped down on my breast. We paused.

  There it was. Even after the kiss, we could’ve gone back, laughed it off as some stress-fueled whatever. But this? His hands on my breast, his other hand meandering downward? There would be no laughing this off, that was for sure.