by Mila Nicks
Juliette swallowed, mouth suddenly dry. Eyes closed, she rubbed her temples as if plagued by a headache. “I’ll…I’ll make sure everything is perfect.”
“Thank you, honey. I love you. And who knows? Maybe you and Winston will decide to speed things up and get married soon. That way you can work on giving him his grand babies…”
“Yeah…right…maybe…”
The call ended with the bleating tone Juliette couldn’t stand for longer than a second. She dropped her phone into her purse and slumped against the brick wall of a dry cleaners. It was difficult to pinpoint exactly where to begin processing her conversation with Mom. Her head throbbed thinking about what was going on and what was to come. What had she just gotten herself into?
2
The others in Vice called Preston the black sheep. When their shifts were over and they headed to the bars to blow off steam, he took off as a lone wolf. His reluctance to spend time with the guys was largely considered problematic, and so as time wore on, they cut him out. He became the division’s known loner.
Not that he had a problem with that. His duty as a Detective for the Atlanta Police Department was out of motivations rooted in childhood trauma. He’d grown up an only child in the care of his Aunt Edna and Uncle Kevin. His parents died when he was young during a mugging turned lethal. Since he’d vowed to someday try his hand at making communities safer. That was it.
Everything else was extra.
He liked spending time with himself. His family ties were minimal outside Aunt Edna and Kevin. His loyalest companion happened to be Tank. His partner Abbott Cooper was a friend too, by default, after dozens of shifts pulled together. Then there was Juliette Lowry. The only person in his life he chose out of volition and not preset circumstance.
That morning he strode into the station house ready to throw himself into his work. Cooper waited for him at his neighboring desk, indulging in his usual coffee and donut. Preston plopped into his chair and picked up the case file he’d been working after dark.
“Good night? Bad night? Can never tell with you,” Cooper said. He bit into his glazed donut and chuckled through the mouthful. “You might as well be Batman, you know that, Brooker?”
“Okay night. The usual. Didn’t do much. How about you?”
“The wife and kids made me play Monopoly. You ever play Monopoly? Like really fucking play that damn board game? Shit lasts for hours! Started out dolphin smooth and wound up with a caveman beard by the end.”
Preston's blue eyes glinted with light humor. “Shoulda played Candyland.”
“Shoulda, coulda, woulda.”
“You hear back from Riester about this Winslet file? Figured if not we can pay him a visit in person. That usually does the trick.”
“You know I’m all about making shit weird. Let’s do it.”
“Brooker!”
The Captain called out to him across the squad room. He looked up as did many others at their desks, curious as to what would cause Captain Hamilton to yell his name in an abrasive tone. Preston said nothing. He wheeled his chair away from his desk and stood, zig-zagging through the desks to meet Hamilton.
“In my office.”
The door closed behind them. Captain Hamilton motioned to the seat opposite his desk. Preston obliged only because of protocol. Not because he truly wanted to sit and chat with his boss.
“Is there something you wanted to discuss with me, Captain?”
“Yes. We’re three-fourths of the way through the fiscal year.”
Preston stared long and hard with nary a blink.
The Captain barely noticed. “That means we need to stay on top of all things budget. I was looking at Vice’s leave days. Everyone’s on track except you.”
“I don’t need the days I’m allotted. I’m fine as is.”
“Not in today’s force,” Captain Hamilton cut in. “Today’s A.P.D. culture calls for every officer to utilize his allotted leave days for mental health purposes. We’ve eliminated the end of the year payout for days unused. Do you know how many you have racked up, Brooker?”
“No, but I’m sure you’re about to tell me.”
“Sixty-two.”
“Oh.”
“Oh, is an understatement. Oh means you have just over three months to take those days. It means for the next sixty-two days, you are involuntarily placed on leave.”
“That’s a bad call! I’m in the middle of the Winslet case—”
“I’ve already paired Shamhart with Cooper. That’s taken care of.”
Preston sat back against the chair and stared flabbergasted at his boss. “Just like that? Even if I’m telling you I’m fine without the vacation days or payout?”
“It’s out of my hands. Department guidelines.” Hamilton spoke without sympathy, skirting his gaze to the stack of papers on his desk. His felt tip pen poised between his fingers, he launched into signing whatever documents required his attention. “You’re off duty, Brooker. Take off your badge and get out of here. I don’t want to see your face for the next two months.”
Preston's jaw squared to bite back the smart-assed rebuttal he had lined up. He stood and dismissed himself from the Captain’s office instead. His obedience didn’t mean he agreed. Far from it. The guys bitched about not having enough vacation days. He usually bitched about having too many.
Where was he to go on vacation, anyway? The little family he had to visit were busy with their own lives. He had no friends to go visit either. He wasn’t the type to indulge in solo travel. That meant his leave days were usually spent going mad in the local area. There were only so many walks he could take Tank on or so many miles he could run on the treadmill at Fitness Zone before he tired of the monotony.
His job was what kept him on his toes. Without it, he was an aimless man incredibly bored. Deep from the pits of his lungs he drew a frustrated breath. The air left him in a force that slouched his shoulders as he climbed into his truck and stuck the keys in the ignition.
Sure tonight he had dinner with Juliette to look forward to, but what about the other sixty-one days? What the hell was he going to do with himself? Take up knitting?
Alexandria Olson noticed Juliette's deflated demeanor after a single glance. She eased the door to Juliette's office shut, twisting the lock for privacy purposes. On her walk to the button-tufted sofa, she said, “Day in, day out, you move a mile a minute. Today you’re slouched at your desk staring out the window. Explain, A.D.A.”
Juliette shifted in a feeble attempt to sit up straight, but then gave up with a shrug as half-hearted. Alexandria spoke the truth. Since arriving earlier, she hid away in the confines of her office, prying apart each sentence from her earlier conversation with Mom. The result had her in serious need of a glass of wine.
“I should probably go home early.” She sighed and opened the drawer with her purse.
“Not before you tell me what’s going on. Is this about Winston? So what if he’s seeing some new chick. Word on the fourth floor is that she’s an assistant secretary. Assistant, Juliette. Not even a real secretary,” the blonde said spiritedly. “You’re Atlanta’s star A.D.A. Give it a couple years, you’ll be elected D.A.”
“Alex.”
“And you’ve got a killer body. Serious body goals.”
“Alex!”
“And you’re a great cook—what?”
“You don’t need to build me up with that whole girl friend praise. Remember the week after we broke up? You already told me how amazing I am and how Winston is missing out on the best thing that ever happened to him.”
“Well, he is!”
“I talked to my mom earlier. Gigi’s wedding is in two weeks and she decided now was the time to tell me my dad’s heart condition has gotten worse. They’re performing another surgery.”
Alexandria's hands shot up to her mouth as she gasped. “Oh, no! Jules, I’m so sorry. When is the surgery?”
“A month from now. It’s after the wedding. That’s the fun part,�
� Juliette said, voice dripping with dark sarcasm. “My mom then asked me to help make the wedding perfect for Gigi and Dad. In case anything happens to him after.”
“Wow.” Alexandria plopped down on the sofa and stared wide-eyed at her fellow A.D.A. and friend. “So what does your mom mean when she says make everything perfect?”
“Keep Gigi from losing her head. Keep Dad calm and happy. They still think I’m engaged to Winston, Alex.”
“You suddenly dropping that bombshell on ‘em definitely isn’t perfect.”
“What other choice do I have? I don’t want to disappoint my dad, but it’s not like I can grab a stranger off the street and get him to pretend to be Winston—at least for the wedding—to make him happy.” Juliette flinched when she visualized Dad’s crestfallen face and her heart ached. “Now I get to be the one that ruins everything.”
“Wait a second. You’re onto something. Why can’t you do that?”
Juliette's brows rose. “Ruin everything and possibly make my dad’s heart condition worse? Why would I want to?”
“No. No, I mean why can’t you find somebody to be Winston? Hell, ask Winston! He’s down the hall.”
“Alex, Winston and I are broken up. We speak only when we’re forced to about work. Otherwise it’s radio silence.”
“At some point you guys loved each other, right? Sort of? A little bit? You never know. Maybe he’s willing to do you a favor in your time of need.”
“I don’t need anything from him.”
“Put the pride aside and think about your family. I’m not even related to you, and even I know about how much your parents were rooting for you to get a ring and start popping out babies. It’ll make your dad happy.”
Frustration pinched Juliette in her neck, causing her to roll her head on her shoulders. “Then what comes after? They’re going to find out eventually that I’m not really engaged and getting married.”
“Worry about that after the wedding—after the surgery. You can break it to them once Papa Lowry is nice and healed and Gigi is Mrs. Brosman.”
Juliette sat in silence. The more Alexandria explained the ruse the more she made sense. If she could convince Winston to accompany her to Gigi’s wedding and play the part of a happily engaged couple, was that so bad? Surely it would give Dad peace of mind going into his major operation…
“You think he’d do it? He’d help me?”
“For sure! You broke up with him. You’re amazing. You’re smart and beautiful and—”
“Alex, not this again. I get it, and I appreciate you gassing me up. But I should probably go talk to Winston now.”
Alexandria blushed and nodded. “Good point.”
Juliette left her office and traveled across the building floor to the door that read ‘Winston Carter’ in black letters and gold outlining. He answered her faint tap at the door, telling her to enter. Inside he sat at his sleek desk with a headset covering his ears in the middle of a conference call. The sight of her in his office earned a wide grin, but he held up his index finger to silence her.
“Ha, ha! Too true, Reg. Tell you what, you beat me next time on the green, and I’ll do you that favor,” Winston boasted as if for camera. “Uh huh. Yep. That’s right. See you then, buddy. Alright. Talk to you soon. Take care.”
Ten seconds in his presence had her tempted to roll her eyes. Her initial attraction to him had been undeniable, but these days? His face annoyed her. His bark of a cocky laugh. The way he liked to patronize and prove himself superior to those around him. How had she wasted a year of her life with this arrogant jerk?
She shook these thoughts from her head, and breathed in and out. Right now, she needed said arrogant jerk.
“Juliette.” Winston laughed, leaning into the leather of his large chair. His left and right fingertips touched as his showy grin continued. “I’m honestly surprised you’re here.”
“I was hoping to find you so that we can talk about something.”
“Here I am. Imagine that. In my office. Who would’ve thunk it?”
The subtle condescension forced her teeth to grind. “You’re not too busy, are you?”
“I’m always busy. The real question is, is it something worth interrupting my busy time?”
“Of course,” she said stiltedly. Each word posed a struggle, as if she was lowering herself just to ask for his help. “I was hoping to ask you for a favor.”
His grin doubled in length. “Ask me for a favor? Juliette. Really?”
“Really what?”
“I know what this is about.”
Juliette frowned. “You do?”
“Uh-huh. It’d take a simpleton not to figure it out. It’s been, what? A month?” he asked without waiting for an answer. “I know it hasn’t been easy. Our breakup was hard. It’s normal for a backslide or two.”
“Backslide?!”
“I’m free after eight. Drinks at the Fireside Lounge? You know my place is about a block away.”
Disgust swooped in as nausea in her stomach and her face contorted into a scowl.
“Never mind!”
Winston laughed. “I didn’t mean to come across presumptuous—”
“I said never mind!”
The door slammed shut and she strode down the hall, glaring at anyone nosy enough to stare in her direction. She snatched her purse from her office and didn’t bother finding Alexandria to tell her how horribly the plan backfired. Instead she beelined straight for the elevator, rode to the ground floor, and called it a day.
A change into comfy clothes and a bottle of wine awaited her in her apartment. At least then she could stress and worry about Dad, the wedding and her predicament in tipsy solitude.
Come six o’clock, Preston locked up his house and headed for his truck. He pulled out his cell phone once seated behind the wheel and texted Juliette about their dinner plans. He was running late and hoped she hadn’t changed her mind. Being a loner, he didn’t go out for dinner with friends often. Dare he say he looked forward to these outings with Juliette?
When he texted, she didn’t reply but left him on read. He stared with head tilted at his phone. That wasn’t like her. She usually texted back or called him. He selected the telephone icon under her name and decided to find out firsthand. After a couple rings, she answered with quiet reluctance.
“Hey,” he rasped, trying to sound casual. “Is everything alright? Are we still on for Wing King?”
Juliette's sigh over the phone was so soft it was barely audible. “You can go without me. Sorry; I’m not in the mood.”
“You okay?”
“Today was kind of rough.”
“Some beer and wings might make you feel better.”
“Not this.”
“Wanna talk about it?”
“That’s okay,” she said. “No use ruining your night too. I think I’m going to stay in and be a lazy sack on my couch.”
“How about I pick up some dinner and come be a couch potato with you?”
“If you don’t mind being around me like this then okay.”
What he wanted to say was that he never minded being around her, but he caught himself with the words on the tip of his tongue and changed his response. He teased her and told her he’d take the risk and that he’d be there in thirty. She thanked him and they hung up.
A couple minutes over a half hour later, he stood outside her apartment door and knocked. She answered with glum eyes, posture more curved than usual, and dressed in a faded t-shirt and cotton shorts that looked to be from her college days.
“Hope you’re hungry ‘cuz I got us the Ultra Jumbo Wing King combo. Fifty wings. Ten sauces. Three sides. Lots and lots of napkins,” he joked. His aim was to improve her spirits and sneak a smile out of her. In his life he’d never had too many friends to know for certain, but cheering her up felt like something he should do for her. It felt natural.
She led him to the kitchen, where she opened the cabinet and grabbed plates.
“I’ve
already started on wine, but wings and beer can’t hurt.”
“Alright. You’ve gotta tell me. What’s going on? You lose a case?”
“It’s nothing work related. Tell me about your day. I need some good news.”
“Nope. Not ’til we get to the bottom of your problem,” he said stubbornly. They slid onto the stools positioned in front of her kitchen island and began unpacking the food cartons. “Start from the beginning. Maybe talking about it’ll help.”
Juliette sucked in some air only to release the breath as a sigh. She launched into a hesitant explanation, recounting each detail. She told him about her sister Giselle’s wedding in the Florida Keys and the revelation made by her mother. She ended with an embarrassed confession about keeping her breakup with Winston from her family, and the dilemma that caused. Preston listened patiently, taking in the extent of his friend’s problem.
“So I went to Winston. Then I remembered why we broke up. I already knew what I’d be setting myself up for, and I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t ask him.”
“He’s a jackass anyway. He should feel lucky you’re still willing to even breathe in his direction.”
“You sound like Alex. According to her, I’m the best thing that ever happened to him.”
Preston hid his amused smirk behind his beer bottle, going for a swig. He didn’t want to pry on the subject, but he happened to agree with Juliette's friend. Throughout her relationship with Winston, he’d often wonder how a woman like her had settled for a jerk like him. He chased that line of thinking away and focused on providing support.
Juliette had taken to absentmindedly dipping a celery stick in some blue cheese, clearly worried about her father. The sight gnawed at him and he racked his brain for a solution.
“I’ll do it.”
She looked up at him with naked curiosity, confused by the sudden remark.