by Rebecca Shea
“So, Jessica, tell me what brings you here.”
Staring at Dr. Peterson for what feels like a solid minute, I look down at my hands folded in my lap. My fingers are twitching from the nerves I’m overcome with. Feeling the tears I was holding in start rolling down my cheeks, I swipe a few away, wiping my hands on my pants. I can barely speak the words forming on my lips due to the giant lump in my dry throat that won’t go away.
“I’m starting over. I’m scared, and angry, and lost, and sad, and hurt, and afraid. And I’m worried that if you don’t help me, I may not be able to move forward,” I say. My voice not even recognizable as it’s overcome with emotion. I haven’t said those words to anyone before, including myself.
Taking a deep breath, I wait for her reaction, or next question, or anything. I want her to say something. Looking at the intake paperwork I filled out, she quietly sets down her notebook and pen and just looks at me. She looks at me like she doesn’t even know where to start. I officially feel like a fucking hot mess. Maybe I’m unfixable.
Glancing at the clock on the wall, she says, “Tell me about you, Jessica. Tell me everything that led to you walking through my door.”
A small, sarcastic laugh slips out of my mouth. Does she have four fucking hours on a Friday night? Because I’m pretty sure that’s how long it will take to tell her my story without her asking any additional questions. She saw my intake sheet. She saw what I wrote. She saw how damaged I am.
Reaching into my purse, I grab the bottle of water I brought with me from work. Taking a small drink of water to alleviate the dryness in my throat, I place the cap back on and set it down. Grabbing a tissue from her side table, I wipe my cheeks and take a deep breath. Closing my eyes for a few seconds, I will myself to open them and look at Dr. Peterson.
It is here that I will begin to unravel the insanity of my life. It is here where I hope to get control of everything that I seem to have lost. It is here where I hope to find a shred of hope, the beginning of a new chapter for myself. With tears falling down my cheeks, I begin talking. Reaching up to my neck, I twirl the ring I’ve been wearing on my white gold chain since I left California, willing it to give me the strength I need to get through the next hour.
Opening my car door, I slide into my seat and place my head on the steering wheel. My head is throbbing from crying, and talking, and reliving details of my life that I’ve never shared with anyone. I’m mentally exhausted and drained, and closing my eyes feels good. A soft beep…beep…beep, from inside my purse catches my attention. Raising my head, I sit back up and reach into my purse to pull out my phone.
Hi Doll! At Finn’s, 120 Main Street.
There is no way I’m getting out of this, but dinner with a chipper Lindsay is not what I want to do tonight. Flipping down the visor, I open the mirror, and the lights illuminate my almost dark car. I have dark circles under my eyes, and most of my make-up has been wiped away from the hour of crying I just did in Dr. Peterson’s office.
Reaching into my purse, I pull out a compact and brush some light powder over my face. I toss the compact into my purse and grab a tube of lipstick and dab some on my full lips. My cheeks are still red and splotchy from crying, and it takes forever for that to disappear. Hopefully the restaurant is dark, and Lindsay won’t notice I’ve been crying.
Driving to Finn’s, I recall the past hour, and even though it was hard to admit and say much of what I told Dr. Peterson, there was also something liberating about it. A small weight was lifted off of my shoulders, and for the first time I feel a glimpse of hope; a feeling that I might make it through this.
Opening the door to Finn’s pub, I glance around the crowds of people. The bar is full, and every booth and table is occupied. There are small groups of people gathered around talking, and drinking, and letting go on a Friday night. When I see Lindsay flailing her arms from a booth in the far corner, I wave in acknowledgement, and I move through the groups of people, zig-zagging through the tables. The booths are tall and a small pub light hangs over each booth, casting a muted light into each booth. Circling the last table, I’m almost to Lindsay’s booth when she jumps up and greets me with a giant hug.
“I’m so glad you came!”
“Me too,” I admit, pulling out of her over-eager hug.
Before I even look into the booth, I hear my name. “Jessica?”
“Officer….”
“Landon,” he says with a huge smile on his face. “Have a seat.”
Shit. I’m pretty sure my heart just stopped.
“So how the fuck do you two know each other?” I ask in between sips of my beer, looking back and forth between Lindsay and Jess.
“Jesus, don’t be such a dick. And I should be the one asking, how do you two know each other?” Lindsay tosses back, looking between Jessica and I. Jessica looks pale, and is fidgeting with her hands. I make her nervous. Good. She was so confident the other day, but now I see I have an effect on her. Fucking perfect. Jessica slides into the booth next to Lindsay.
“Well, I met Jessica last week. Seems our little California girl left the lights on in her car, Matt spotted it while we were patrolling her parking lot.” Jessica doesn’t make eye contact with me, but she glances at Lindsay and offers a straight, short smile.
“So that’s it?” Lindsay asks.
“That’s it,” Jessica says firmly.
Our waiter makes an appearance and is taking orders for drinks.
“What’ll it be Jessica?” I ask, hanging on the ‘s’ in her name. Looking at me, before turning to the waiter she answers to him, not me.
“Just a Diet Coke, please.”
“Diet Coke? It’s Friday night, let loose, live a little,” I command. Our waiter pauses for a second to see if she’s going to change her drink order.
“Diet Coke is fine. Thank you,” she responds again, as our waiter walks away. Before I can even give her shit about drinking a Diet Coke, she snaps her head at me, and snarls viciously, “I’m only nineteen years old. Diet Coke is fine. And don’t you fucking tell me to live a little, you know nothing about me, understand, pretty boy?”
Jesus H. Christ. Jessica is a feisty one, and she’s only nineteen. Holy shit. Why didn’t I notice this when I ran her plates?
“Got it,” I reply, taking a long drink of my beer. Lindsay lifts her eyebrows at me and smirks, letting me know that Jessica has clearly put me in my place. I don’t let women put me in my place.
“Looks like you two have worked this out. Now let’s figure out what we’re having for dinner,” Lindsay says, smiling and looking back and forth between Jessica and I.
Lindsay and Jessica make small talk across the table from me, pointing at different things on the menu while I spend the next few minutes intently studying Jessica. There is something different about her today. She looks sad, her eyes have lost some of the glimmer I saw in them last weekend, and it clearly looks like she’s been crying.
Lindsay shoots me a look from across the table again, that clearly says ‘play it cool,’ and I nod in acknowledgment of her unspoken message to me. Ordering dinner, we keep the conversation light and friendly. Jessica seems to have calmed down a bit and even laughs at something Lindsay whispers to her. I have a hard time paying attention to the conversation that is happening across the table, as I’m drawn into Jessica, just watching her, studying her.
“So, you moved all the way from California to work at a TV station in Wilmington, North Carolina, huh?” I say, trying to steer the conversation back to Jessica. I want to learn more about her. I need to learn more.
“Yep.”
Ok, then, she’s not going to throw me a bone here. I will fucking dig the information out of her if it kills me.
“Why North Carolina?”
“Why not?”
“Why not stay in California?”
“What’s wrong with North Carolina?”
“I didn’t say anything was wrong with North Carolina, I just don’t understand why you moved a
cross the country at nineteen years old for an internship.”
Lindsay’s eyes are darting back and forth between us like she’s watching a tennis match. There is tension in the air but not aggressive tension. I can hold my own with her, and she is clearly holding her own with me. Neither of us will back down. I’m really going to like this girl.
“Sometimes you just need a change,” she says quietly, dropping her eyes from mine.
“Explain.”
“I don’t have too.”
She’s not telling me the whole story, but I’ll get it out of her eventually. I always do. That’s why I’m a cop. I can dig and find shit out without people even knowing they’ve really told me. Thinking about how stubborn Jessica is, I inhale sharply,
“No, you don’t have too, but I’d like to know more about you.” Those words stop her suddenly. Her eyes widen, and I can hear her breath hitch.
“Why?”
“Why not?” I smile cunningly at her. I can tell what I’ve said has an effect on her. Good. I will break her down. It’s what I do best.
Lindsay’s had enough of our bantering back and forth. Grabbing her purse, she jumps up from the table. “Excuse me while you two play your little game of cat and mouse, but I need to pee.”
Jessica laughs at Lindsay’s reference, sliding out of the booth to let Lindsay out. Sliding back in, she grabs her Diet Coke and puts the straw to her mouth, wrapping her pink lips around the white straw. My eyes won’t leave her full lips. I envision what they taste like and feel like pressed against mine as I suck on her bottom lip. Releasing the straw, I catch the slightest glimpse of her tongue as it passes over her bottom lip, and I’m instantly hard. I want that tongue in my mouth and all over my body. I want to feel her lips pressed up against mine. I want to taste her, all of her.
Leaning forward across the table, closing the space between us, I whisper, “Tell me more about you, Jessica.”
Setting her drink down on the table, I see her hand shaking slightly. I love knowing that I get to her. Taking a deep breath, she opens her mouth to say something but then pauses, pressing her lips together. I can tell she’s thinking about what to say, struggling to find the words.
“Tell me,” I whisper again, leaning in a little closer just as she leans back slightly.
Offering me a half-hearted smile, she inhales. Raising her shoulders slightly, she begins, “I’m nineteen. I guess we’ve established that already huh?” She giggles nervously. “I’m from Santa Ruiz, California. It’s in Orange County. I spent most of my life in California, I moved there from Iowa when I was four, after my mom died.” She stops here, and I can tell she’s momentarily lost in thought. I wonder to myself how her mom died and if she remembers her. I want to ask, but it’s too soon to ask those personal questions. Her eyes focus intently on Lindsay’s half-full glass of white wine on the table. Shaking her head lightly, Jessica continues.
“I took dual-enrollment classes for most of my junior and senior years of high school. That’s where you take AP classes and get college credit at the same time.”
I nod in understanding while raising my glass of beer to take a drink. She’s fucking sexy as hell and smart. This could be the total package—and dangerous. I try to contain my smile, but she notices and narrows her eyes at me. I raise my eyebrows, a gesture urging her to continue on with her story. She either doesn’t get it, or is pissed.
“Continue,” I say.
“Well, I’m technically a first year college student, a freshman, but this is where it gets complicated. My academic advisor called me in a panic right before Christmas break. With the amount of college credits that I earned taking dual-enrollment courses, plus a full credit load my first semester of college, I’m actually, technically closing in on finishing my sophomore year of college, credit wise.” She takes a deep breath, and lowers her eyes to the table.
“Holy shit,” I reply.
Shocked at my response, she looks back up at me. “I know. It came as quite a shock to me too. Since I will be so close to completing my sophomore year, the requirements for my Broadcast Journalism degree required an internship. Since they are hard to come by, she suggested I not wait until next year, so I jumped at this opportunity. It just so happens to be across the country. So, um…here I am.” A small smile creeps across her face. She’s so fucking beautiful when she smiles.
“Well, smarty pants, tell me about your family,” I prod her for more personal information. I need to know more about her, aside from the fact that she’s brilliant, and sexy, and mine. Shit, not yet, but she will be.
Relaxing into our conversation a bit more, she smiles as she continues. “Well, it’s just me and my dad. He never remarried after my mom died. Honestly, our relationship is weird, I rarely see him. He’s a firefighter.” Jessica stops here and takes another sip of her Diet Coke. Twirling the straw with her fingers, her eyes gloss over slightly. “Actually, he’s the Fire Chief for the City of Santa Ruiz. He pretty much spends every free second at work. It’s how he coped with my mom’s death. He poured his life into his work.” Her eyes drop again, I notice she does this when something’s bothering her, or she’s thinking deeply.
I swallow hard. I understood the meaning behind those words, all too well. Her dad put his job before her. What a fucker. Changing topics, I ask, “Boyfriend?”
“Um. No.” A quiet sigh escapes from between her perfect pink lips. Her shoulders sink slightly, almost falling in defeat. “Not anymore,” she says, reaching for her drink again. She takes a long sip from the straw and sets the cup down again, not making eye contact with me. She’s suddenly quiet, so I will ask questions, and hopefully she’ll answer.
“You said your last name is Harper, right?” Finally making eye contact again, she smiles slightly.
“Yes, very perceptive.”
“It’s my job to be perceptive.” I smile back at her. “Then who’s Garcia?” I ask inquisitively.
She actually quietly gasps at that question, and I see her back straighten. I’ve struck a nerve, I can tell by the way she shifts in her seat, and fidgets with her hands. Who the fuck is Garcia?
“How do you know about the Garcia’s?” she asks, eyeing me closely.
“What?” Now I’m confused. I’m asking about a Garcia, singular, not plural “I was asking who Garcia was, not who the Garcia’s were,” I clarify.
Her concerned look remains planted on her face, and I can tell she’s not going to offer up information on Garcia easily. “The day Matt and I came to your condo to tell you about your car light, you were wearing a Santa Ruiz Fire Department shirt that said Garcia on the front.” She nods in recognition, closing her eyes and holding them closed for a few seconds.
“That’s the ex,” she says quietly. “Can we talk about you now?” she asks, looking uncomfortable.
I don’t want to talk about me. There is so much more I need to know about her. We’ve just scratched the surface, but I’ll play her game for now.
“Sure, what do you want to know, Jessica?” I ask coyly. She hears the innuendo in my question and the tone of my voice.
Rolling her eyes at me, she asks, “How old are you?”
“Twenty-eight,” I answer honestly.
Jessica’s eyes widen.
“What? Does twenty-eight scare you?” I say with a low voice.
“Why would twenty-eight scare me?” she snaps back at me, trying to seem unaffected.
“Next question,” I say. I want to continue getting to know her, not piss her off, so it’s best if we move on.
“What made you want to become a police officer?”
Fuck. Loaded question. Do I go with the real reason, or the safe explanation? I’ll go safe, for now. “Our dad was a police officer, and my uncle was too. It’s all I’ve ever known. From the time I can remember, it was always something I wanted to do.”
A small smile spreads across her face. “I like that answer,” she says shyly.
“Good,” I reply. “What else do you
want to know?”
“Have you ever been shot at?”
“Once.”
“Do you ever get scared?”
“Nah, not really.”
“What’s your favorite part of being a police officer?”
“Handcuffs.” God, the expression on her face is priceless. She squirms.
“Handcuffs? Did you say handcuffs?” she spits out. I realize I may have just scared the shit out of her.
Squinting my eyes at her, I lean in against the table again, “There’s something about restraining people that really gets me excited.” Fuck if that isn’t true.
She doesn’t seem amused. In an almost mocking tone she says, “You get excited handcuffing bad guys and tossing them in the back of your car?” No, I get excited handcuffing women to my bed and fucking them senseless.
“Yep.” I keep my answer short. “Jesus, I’m kidding. I love helping people. That’s what I love most about my job.” Rolling my eyes at her, I shake my head in amusement at how worked up she gets. “But I like handcuffs too,” I quip.
Silence fills the air between us for a few seconds as Lindsay strides back up. “At least you two didn’t kill each other while I was gone.”
Neither Jessica nor I respond to her remark. Just as Lindsay is getting settled back in at the table, our waiter reappears.
“Anything else I can get for y’all tonight?” We all glance back and forth to each other. Jessica shakes her head lightly, and Lindsay shrugs her shoulders.
“No, I think we’re all set,” I respond, wishing that one of the girls had wanted another drink. I’m not ready to let Jessica go home yet. I have a million more questions for her. I need to get inside that head of hers…and those pants. Reaching for the bill at the same time, Jessica’s hand just beats mine to it. I grab her hand firmly, holding it in place, “I’m picking this up.”
“Landon, you don’t have to do that. I can pay for myself,” Jessica counters.