To Love a Cop

by Janice Kay Johnson

  At the end, walking Jake out, Randall laid a hand on his shoulder and said, “It’s good to start getting to know you,” and Jake had stared at him for a minute thinking they didn’t know each other at all. But sure. Okay. The guy was getting paid to say things like that.

  Now Jake looked up at his mother. “I don’t want to go every week. It’s not going to do any good.”

  She dropped the fake smile and her eyes got steely. “Not going isn’t an option. And you’ll get out of it what you put in it.”

  She always said stuff like that. Like always, he ignored it.

  “You must have told him about Ethan,” he challenged her. “How come?”

  “How could I not, when Ethan’s the one who found you at the gun show, and taught the gun safety class—”

  “Hunter safety.”

  “—and it was his gun you went after,” she went on, as though he hadn’t said anything.

  He got this churning feeling in his stomach. “It wasn’t his fault.”

  “I didn’t say it was.”

  “You sound like you think so.”

  She looked at him for a minute, and he could see her trying to decide what to say. “I’m responsible for the fact that he was having dinner at our house. And I knew he carried a gun on the job and probably had it locked in the car.”

  “So?”

  “So, you knew that, too. It was a...temptation. In the past, I’ve never invited a friend over who was a gun owner.”

  He stared at her in shock. “He’s not a gun owner. He’s a cop! He has to carry one.”

  “I realize that’s true,” his mother said, sounding prissy, “but nonetheless...”

  “You don’t want him around anymore, do you?” Jake felt sick. Then he felt even worse when he remembered the last expression he’d seen on Ethan’s face. “Not that he’ll want to be around after what I did. So I guess it doesn’t matter, does it?” He jumped up so fast, his chair fell over. That made him so mad, he kicked it, then ran for his bedroom.

  Inside his nose burned, like he was going to cry, but he didn’t let himself. My fault, my fault, my fault.

  Why did I do it? he cried inside, where no one else could hear, and didn’t know the answer any more than he ever had.

  It had been so cool, having Ethan for a friend. Sort of a friend. Why did he have to start acting like a father instead of a friend? Like he could give orders and assign punishment and be disappointed in Jake? Why couldn’t he have just kept playing basketball with him and hanging out and taken him to the range to shoot the way he promised?

  And why, somewhere deep inside, did Jake wish Ethan was his father?

  But that answer, he knew: because Ethan was sort of like his real father, only better. Stronger. He wouldn’t have left his gun lying around where a little kid could get to it. He wouldn’t have killed himself, either, without thinking how his son would blame himself.

  And that made Jake feel awful, because he had a father who’d loved him. And maybe he wasn’t perfect, but Jake bet Ethan wasn’t, either. So he shouldn’t pretend he was, and make Jake want...something.

  To his horror, he realized hot tears were running down his face. He flipped over and buried his face in his pillow so Mom wouldn’t see if she came in.

  My fault, my fault, my fault.

  * * *

  PULLING UP IN front of Laura’s house, Ethan felt a lot of the same apprehension he had that first day, when he’d had a sullen boy at his side and had known how unhappy the mother would be when she found out what her kid had been up to.

  Now...damn. He had no idea whether Jake would welcome him or not. The part that really got him was that he was just as uncertain whether Laura wanted him there or not.

  Thursday night, when she called to tell about the counseling session, he’d said, “I’d like to come over and spend some time with Jake Saturday, if you don’t have other plans.”

  She was quiet just long enough to tweak his insecurities, then said, “Jake’s hardly talking to me, so I don’t know whether he’ll be happy to see you or not. But, if you’re willing, it’s worth a try.”

  And, yes, she’d offered him lunch, too, but the reserve he’d sensed the other day was still there.

  The only positive was that after a week of drizzle, it wasn’t raining today.

  He muttered a profanity and got out.

  It was Laura who came to the door. Her hair was pulled into a ponytail that, along with her freckles, made her look about seventeen years old. Old jeans and a shapeless T-shirt were paint-splattered.

  He raised his eyebrows. “The deck railing?”

  Her look of polite inquiry dissolved when she scrunched up her nose. “What else? I am going to be so glad to be done. I’m aiming to do a coat this morning and, if the rain holds off, a second one this afternoon.”

  “Jake know I’m coming?” he asked as he stepped inside.

  She closed the door. “Yes. He looked sort of...” Her hesitation was obvious. “Shocked,” she finally concluded.

  Ethan shook his head. “He and I have some things to get straight on. Did he think I was dumping him because he did something that disappointed me?”

  “You looked pretty mad.” The restraint in her voice cranked his tension a little tighter. And, yeah, made him mad.

  “You never get mad at him?”

  “Of course I do!”

  They pretty much glared at each other for a minute, until they both heard Jake’s bedroom door open.

  “Mom? Oh. Uh, hi.”

  Ethan gave the boy a crooked smile. “Hey. You ready to play some ball?”

  The expression of naked hope on his face reminded Ethan uncomfortably of the one he’d seen over lunch Monday on Laura’s face.

  “Yeah,” Jake said. “I mean, if you want.”

  Ethan had to clear his throat. It took an effort not to look at Laura. “Of course I want. Big question is, do we go to the school or use your home court?”

  Turned out, Jake didn’t know if anyone else was going to be at the school, and he peered dubiously out the front window at the gray sky and said they could get out of the rain quicker if they stayed at the house.

  Ethan laughed. “Grab your ball, then.”

  Laura backed away. “I’d better go paint quick, too.”

  Jake’s skill level had regressed a little, maybe because the rain had kept him inside, maybe because he’d chosen to sulk in his bedroom instead of getting out there this week.

  Ethan limited conversation to a few remarks like “Loose in the knees, remember?” and “Good one” until they were both warm and had just completed a vigorous game of Horse—which, Ethan having handicapped himself, Jake had won.

  Holding the ball, he asked, “How’d the counseling session go?”

  The flash of anger took him aback. “Didn’t Mom already tell you?”

  “Her perspective and yours might be polar opposites,” Ethan said mildly.

  The kid’s shoulders sagged. “Sorry,” he muttered. “It’s just...she keeps asking me, and I wish she wouldn’t.”

  “I probably shouldn’t say this, but you know you don’t have to tell her.”

  Jake’s brown eyes widened. “That’s not what she thinks.”

  Ethan allowed himself a grin. “You’re wrong. She knows it won’t work if you don’t feel like you can say things to the counselor and be confident none of it will get back to her. She’s just worried about you and wanting to fix everything. You know that, right?”

  “Yeah, yeah.” He sprang forward and stole the ball, sending it up in an arc that shocked them both by catching nothing but net. “Hey!” he exclaimed.

  Ethan jogged forward and retrieved the ball, then offered a high five. “Good job. That was from behind our free-throw line.” He’d measured and they had determined that one of the seams in the concrete was close enough to the free-throw distance.

  If only for this moment, Jake was high on himself. “It was, wasn’t it?”

  “So, the couns
eling,” Ethan reminded him.

  “Do I have to tell you?” The question was more honest than spiteful.

  Ethan shook his head. “Nope. Not a word if you don’t want.”

  “Oh.” Jake watched as Ethan drove in for an over-the-shoulder layup, dribbled it back out and shot from the foot of the driveway. Swish.

  “The guy seemed okay,” Jake said unexpectedly. “His name is Randall. He’s a doctor, but he said to call him by his first name. Like with you.”

  Ethan nodded.

  “I think he wanted to know about you.” This sounded shy.

  “Because he wonders what kind of influence I am on you?” A thought struck him. “Or because the gun was mine?”

  “I don’t know.” That came out worried. “It was me, not you. Why would anyone blame you?”

  Ethan shook his head, but he was wondering— No, damn it, he knew. Laura blamed him. She’d remembered everything threatening that he represented.

  “Are you upset with me?” he asked.

  Jake shook his head. “It was me.” And then he mumbled something that Ethan only half caught.

  “What was that?”

  The boy twitched a little, and then mumbled it again. Ethan just waited. Finally Jake yelled, “It’s always me! Okay?”

  “No.” Ethan set the basketball down on the grass and walked over to the boy. He gripped his upper arms and said, “Look at me.”

  The tumult in those brown eyes made Ethan’s chest constrict. Defiance and pain, old and new.

  “This is the kind of thing you need to talk to that counselor about. But I’m going on record right now to say it’s not always you. What you did Tuesday night, that was on you. You chose to do something you knew you weren’t supposed to. You need to take responsibility for your own wrongdoing.” He held that wild stare. “But your cousin dying was not your fault. You may not like me saying this, but the truth is your father was to blame.”

  “I’m the one who thought it would be fun to play with the gun.”

  “You were five years old. Jake, Monday at school take a look at the kindergarteners. There must be some who ride your bus, or you see them going out to recess.”

  He swallowed hard and nodded.

  “They are little kids. That’s how old you were. All you’d ever done was play. You had no idea what could really happen if you pulled that trigger. How could you?”

  “Dad said never to pick it up,” he whispered.

  “That’s good enough when a parent is talking about something breakable. A glass vase that was a Christmas present from Grandma. If you pick it up anyway and it gets broken, you feel really crummy and next time maybe you steer away from things Mom or Dad tell you not to pick up.”

  Jake was listening.

  “A handgun is a deadly weapon. Your dad carried a Glock that didn’t even have a safety. It didn’t allow for an ‘oh, oops,’ for you to learn a lesson. He didn’t mean anything bad to happen, either, but he was the adult. A law enforcement officer, no less. He screwed up. It doesn’t mean you can’t love him, that he wasn’t a good man. But that one terrible thing was his fault.”

  Tears filled those brown eyes. “I never meant...”

  “I know you didn’t.” Ethan pulled him into an embrace. As the boy sobbed against him, he knew he was crying, too.

  “If I hadn’t done that, he’d be alive!” Jake wailed.

  Damn you, Matt, wherever you are.

  “Jake.” Ethan gave him a small shake. “Stop. Listen.”

  The shudders and sobs slowed, and finally Jake pulled back and swiped furiously at his cheeks.

  “Two things. Let’s change what you just said. If your dad had kept his gun locked up so you never got your hands on it, he’d still be alive. He made the mistake, not you.” Man, he hoped this was sinking in.

  Jake stared at him, seemingly mesmerized, eyes red, wet and swollen.

  “The other possibility is, it happened, and your dad lived with the consequences. They would have been bad. Probably he’d have lost his job. From what your mom says, he was pretty devastated by the way his parents and brothers and sisters turned their backs on him. But he still had you and your mom. Again, he made a choice. You didn’t make it for him. If you could have, if he’d asked you, you would have begged him to stay around, wouldn’t you?”

  Jake’s teeth chattered, but he nodded.

  “You are not to blame, Jake. Not for any of it. I know it’s hard to convince yourself, but I’m also sure your mother has told you the same thing.”

  He kept nodding, as if he couldn’t stop.

  “That’s because it’s true. Not because she wants to protect you from the knowledge that you did something bad. You didn’t. The mistake was your father’s. Only his. Do you hear me?”

  Tears ran freely down Jake’s lean face, so like his father’s. “I wish—” he licked away tears “—he hadn’t.”

  “Yeah.” Damn. Ethan grabbed the hem of his T-shirt and wiped his own eyes and face. “I wish he hadn’t, too.”

  Except then he’d never have met Laura and Jake, or, if he had, the circumstances would have been completely different. If he’d felt that jolt of attraction, of recognition, the first time Laura smiled at him, he’d have had to pretend to himself he hadn’t. He would never have had the hope of making these two his family.

  But seeing the depth of misery on this boy’s face, he knew if he could wipe out that one horrifically stupid thing Matt Vennetti had done, he would. Of course he would. He’d give Jake back his father, Laura back her husband, Matt the life and job he’d loved.

  He knew something else: if Matt had truly loved his wife and son, he’d want them to get past this. He’d want someone to take care of them, love them. He’d be pissed as hell at his family, not to mention at himself.

  Ethan blinked, realizing suddenly that some of the moisture he was feeling wasn’t tears. He looked up, and his face was bathed with cool drizzle.

  He wrapped a long arm around Jake’s neck, gave him a quick, hard hug, and said, “I think we just ran out of luck. What say we go in? I’ll run interference with your mom if you want to go take a shower and change into dry clothes.”

  “Oh.” Exposing a skinny, pale torso, the kid imitated him and used his shirt to scrub his face. “Yeah. Okay. I don’t want Mom to see me.”

  “I figured.” Ethan smiled ruefully as they started for the front door. “I didn’t mean this to get so heavy. But I want you to think about what I said, okay? I’m telling you the truth. None of it was your fault.”

  “Except for sneaking out and unlocking your glove compartment so I could see your gun,” Jake said as if by rote.

  “Hold my gun. Seeing implies no touching.”

  Jake made a face at him. “Yeah, yeah.”

  Ethan laughed and lightly cuffed him at the exact moment he heard the sliding door open. “Uh-oh. Better run.”

  Looking alarmed, Jake fled.

  * * *

  LAURA GOT ONE good glimpse of her son’s distraught, tearstained face before he rushed past her and into his bedroom. That look was enough to rouse the mama bear in her.

  She advanced toward Ethan, not caring that her hair was probably hanging in wet strings and she’d splattered paint on her face. “What did you say to him?” she hissed, in a voice she hoped Jake wouldn’t hear through his bedroom door.

  The lingering laughter on Ethan’s face vanished; his expression shut down faster than she’d known to be possible. After a minute, he said, “Nice assumption.”

  “You were laughing at him.”

  He stared at her for the longest time, something moving through his eyes she didn’t understand.

  And then he shook his head, his lip curling. “I’m outta here.” Just like that, he turned and headed toward the front door.

  “What do you mean, you’re out of here?” On a burst of alarm—oh, no, what did I do?—Laura chased after him.

  “You heard me.” He paused with the door opened and looked at her one
more time. “Tell Jake he can call me anytime. Assuming you wouldn’t rather he not see me or talk to me.” His laugh felt as if it was stripping skin from her flesh. “And to think I wondered why Matt’s friends in the department weren’t there for you.”

  And then he was gone, the door closing sharply in her face.

  Frozen in shock, Laura gaped at it.

  “What did you do?” her son cried, behind her.

  Her teeth wanted to chatter. She clenched them, hearing the deep-throated engine start out on the street, the sound receding a moment later. Not fast—Ethan was too safety-conscious, too self-controlled, to speed no matter how angry he was.

  Jake barreled into her, knocking her aside. “Get out of my way! I have to talk to him!” His voice was thick with tears.

  “He’s gone,” Laura heard herself say in a stunned voice.

  He wrenched open the door nonetheless to look out at the street, then spun to fix her with an agitated, accusing stare. “Why would you do that?”

  She felt remote, as if she were dying but still had a need to understand what was happening.

  “I saw your face. You’ve been sobbing. He had to have said something.”

  “He said none of it was my fault!” Jake yelled. “That it was Dad’s! And I cried, okay? Because I always think it was me, that I killed Marco and Dad, too. Only I could tell Ethan meant what he said, that he really thinks it wasn’t me.”

  A sound escaped her throat. It might have been a whimper.

  “And now he’s gone and he won’t come back and it’s your fault!” Anger and bewilderment apparent, he turned and ran for his room again. When the door slammed, she flinched.

  She retreated a step, and when she felt the wall at her back, she slid down it until she was sitting, knees drawn up, arms wrapping them. As small as she could become. As small as she felt inside.

  Despair poured through her, and she didn’t even try to block it. Her mind stayed blank for a very long time.

  When thoughts finally started edging into it, she could only catch sidelong peeks at them before they whisked out of sight.

  Even as she fell in love with him, a gentle, patient, strong man, she had also held him responsible for everything she associated with guns: hideous violence, terror, gut-wrenching grief she hadn’t thought she’d survive.