Cuffed

by K. Bromberg

  Without preamble or pretext, he makes the first move when he steps forward and pulls me into his arms. And just like that, we cling to each other as if we can’t get close enough.

  “Grant, I—”

  “Shh,” he says right before slanting his lips over mine. “Please.” Another brush of a kiss. “I just need you, Em. Now. Here. All of you.”

  His lips are on mine again. It’s the same man kissing me, but it feels so very different this time around. Something has shifted between us, changing us intrinsically without changing us at all.

  It’s just him. And me.

  No past.

  No future.

  Just the moment.

  I get lost in his kiss. In the feel of his skin and the taste on his tongue. In the unspoken need and unchecked desire.

  We don’t walk to the bedroom. We remove our clothes in subtle movements, as if we’re afraid to ruin the magnitude of the moment, and lower ourselves to the rug.

  We react in sighs and moans.

  We feel in emotions.

  We revel in the connection.

  We make love for the first time.

  I watch him.

  The sun is barely peeking over the horizon, but I can’t sleep.

  And haven’t been able to.

  My mind won’t shut off. I try to process everything that has happened in the last twenty-four hours.

  I see Keely and the terrified look on her face and wonder if she slept last night. Did she have nightmares? Was she scared of the dark? Will someone show up today and make sure she’s okay? In ten days? In six months?

  I try to come to terms with the fact that the whole reason I came to Sunnyville is now gone. I wonder what I should do next. If I should let the wind blow me wherever it wishes.

  But there’s Grant.

  I attempt to wrap my head around how I feel about the man snoring softly beside me. I itch to reach out and touch him, make sure the mix of emotions I feel are real, but if they’re not, I don’t want to ruin them with reality. They’re scary and euphoric and I don’t think I’m built to handle this.

  I revel in how it felt last night to make love to him. To feeling closer to him than I’ve ever felt before without us having to utter a single word. To moving from the floor to the bed where he gathered me in his arms and didn’t let go. To how it took well over an hour for his breathing to even out while I wondered what he could possibly be thinking about.

  The clock tells me I need to get to work, my first class is coming in just over two hours, but when I pull open the covers, he reaches out and tugs me against him, my back to his front.

  “Uh-uh,” he murmurs as the heat of his body warms me in more ways than one.

  Sinking into the feel of him, I’m reminded immediately of his raw and honest need last night. I settle my hands atop his on my waist and fill the silence. “Are we going to talk about last night?”

  He rests his forehead against the back of my head. “What’s there to talk about?”

  “Well . . .”

  “I did what I had to do, and it wasn’t enough.”

  “It was everything,” I say as tears spring to life. “You gave her hope, Grant, when hope is a scarce commodity for her. You showed her there are men willing to protect her instead of hurt her. And while she may have gone back into her house last night because that was what the law demanded, you also made it so no one will ignore her again.”

  “I didn’t save her,” he says, the statement holding so much weight in it.

  “But you did. You let her know she’s worth something.” I link my fingers with his and pull his hand up to my lips so I can press a kiss to his knuckles. “You can’t go around saving every little girl because you see me. It’s honorable. It’s admirable. It fills my heart in ways you could never imagine. It’s why—” I love you.

  I can’t say the words aloud just yet, their power too much for even me to handle right now.

  “Why, what?”

  “It’s . . . why you need to stop blaming yourself. What happened to me was not your fault. You couldn’t have stopped it if you tried. It was my dad’s fault. I’ve accepted that, and I’ll continue to deal with accepting it the rest of my life . . .” I fumble with getting the things out I need to say so that he can stop beating himself up over this. So that we can move forward. “My dad stole so much from me, but I learned a long time ago that I can either let it define me or I can let it fuel me. I choose to let it fuel me, Grant. I choose not to let the fear own me or deprive me of what every woman deserves. Happiness. Some thrills. A good sex life.

  “Am I perfect? No. Are there days when a new memory comes back and I’m rattled for a bit? Yes. But when it comes right down to it, I can’t keep moving forward, I can’t keep chasing the moment, if those around me who know about it keep looking to my past to manage expectations. That’s not fair to me.”

  “You don’t need to know the details of her past to love her heart in the present,” he murmurs . . . or at least that’s what I think he does because he says it almost to himself before pressing a kiss to my shoulder.

  The words hit my ears nonetheless and give me hope that he heard and understands where I’m coming from.

  “I didn’t open the file, Emerson.”

  “I believe you.” And I do.

  “And I’ll always blame myself for not saving you—I’ve been told it’s called a hero complex or something.” I can feel his mouth curve into a smile as he presses it against my shoulder. “But I’ll use it to help others.”

  I snuggle in closer against him. My head is finally quiet, allowing me to fall into a dreamless sleep.

  I wake with a start. For a minute I’m disoriented, but then I realize Grant’s still behind me, arm draped over my waist.

  Crap.

  “I have to get to work,” I say but make zero attempts to move.

  “Call in sick,” he says in a sleep-drugged voice that sounds as tempting as his morning hard-on pressing against my backside feels.

  It has never sounded more appealing than right now. “I can’t.”

  “You’re picking work over me?” He chuckles.

  “I’m picking money over you.”

  “Pretty soon, the place will be yours, so does it really matter if you’re there today or not?”

  The pang is instant. Having to speak the words aloud even more painful. “I didn’t get the loan.”

  His body stiffens before he untangles himself from around me and sits up. “What did you say?”

  “I didn’t get the loan.”

  His face falls from shock to worry. “What does that mean?”

  I slide out of bed. “It means I need to earn my paycheck while I can because I don’t know who bought Blue Skies or what they intend to do with it, if anything. For all I know, they’re going to raze the place and put something else in its spot.”

  “Em . . . I don’t know what to—”

  “There’s nothing you can say. It’s okay. Really. I’ll figure something else out.” I force a tight smile, always mindful of how my life goes from one extreme to the next, as I pull on my clothes. I haven’t really even had time to process it all, so talking about it makes me itchy.

  “If it’s a money thing, Em . . . you know I’ll—”

  “Thanks, but from what I overheard in the station last night, you’re suspended, so I assume you’re not making a paycheck, either.” I shrug and pull my shirt over my head. “I’m a big girl, Grant. I—”

  “Can handle yourself,” he finishes for me.

  “Chief Ramos,” I say, shocked to see his name on my cell. “This is an unexpected surprise.”

  “So is what you did,” he says.

  “What can I do for you?” I will not apologize, not even to my boss, for my actions.

  “I know you talked to Deputy Chief Castro last night, but I have to give you the official company line. What you did was wrong. You went against protocol. Became the scene instead of managed it. Yadda, yadda, yadda. You got
all that?”

  “Sure,” I say, biting back my smile at his cavalier attitude.

  “Good. Now I can say what I want to say, off the record, of course.”

  “Of course, sir.”

  “You’ve caused quite a stir around here. So much so, that I have to have an official investigation, but before it even begins, I can tell you the results will be inconclusive. Were you in the wrong? Yes. Is there anything to charge you with or permanently ding your record with? No.” I stand, suddenly needing to move. “Your suspension ends in five days, should I assume you’ll be back here the following Monday?”

  “What?” This is not what I expected. I expected weeks of internal affairs dragging their feet while I sat home, twiddling my thumbs bored out of my mind.

  “Monday? Yes or no?”

  “Yes. Definitely yes.”

  “Good. Now that I have your attention, I need to go over a few other things. Once reinstated you are not allowed to answer any calls—or non-calls—to the Davis residence.”

  “How is she?” I ask.

  “Why are you so attached to this little girl, Malone?”

  “She reminds me of someone I once knew.” I think of Emerson’s words yesterday as she lay in my arms. Define or fuel. She chooses fuel.

  “She and her mother have been moved to a battered woman’s home. They are undergoing counseling there for a bit while their family in Oregon makes arrangements for them to come live with them.”

  “And the dad?”

  “We can’t win every battle, Grant. We have to take the victories when we get them and hope the good guys win out the next time.”

  So, if I can’t frequent the Davis residence, that means he still lives there. Still able to meet another woman and mistreat her the same way. The endless cycle.

  But Keely is safe.

  Keely is saved.

  What I did mattered.

  “I need your word that you’ll avoid the residence in question?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Good. Now, on to the promotion. I’m sorry, but I had to give it to Stetson,” he says, regret heavy in his voice. “You were clearly the better candidate for the job, but I can’t reward insubordination.”

  “It’s on me,” I say. Just because I knew this was coming, it doesn’t make the sting of it any easier to take.

  “It is,” he agrees, “but that doesn’t mean you can’t go for it next time the position opens.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “Monday, Malone.”

  “Monday.”

  I end the call and put my hands on my hips as I look around my house and try to digest what I just heard.

  It’s good news.

  It’s great news, in fact.

  Especially considering what I’m trying to pull off.

  Glancing down at the papers scattered all over my table, I know I can’t do this alone. I’ve been trying to these past few days, and now I need to kick it into overdrive.

  I pull up my contacts on my phone and hit dial.

  “If it isn’t Officer Sexy.”

  “I need your help, Desi.”

  “Seriously? That quick?” I look at Travis, who’s standing in front of my desk, and my jaw falls lax.

  “I know. I’m sorry. I tried for more but—”

  “Thank you for getting me the two extra months. That’s better than immediately.” I force a smile as the bottom drops out and reality hits.

  Not only is my job most likely going to be gone—because who knows what’s going to happen since the new owner hasn’t said—but my apartment is, too. I have two months and a savings I know will be gone before I can blink an eye.

  “You okay, Em?” Leo asks after Travis leaves the office, shoulders sagging, to begin his task of emptying out the old owner’s belongings to make way for the new owner’s stuff.

  “As okay as okay can be given the situation, I guess.” I sigh. “I’m just having a hard time wrapping my head around the fact that this is all over. I’ve never stayed in one place for this long. I’ve never thought about tomorrows and futures, and it’s like when I finally did, the universe tells me to quit adulting.”

  He chuckles, but the lines etched in his face tell me he’s worried, too. “I’m sorry. I know that slimy bastard had something to do with it. You should have let me punch him, you know.”

  “You know what they say about hindsight.”

  He lifts his eyebrows and nods. “We could always try to start something ourselves. We could get Sully to fly for us. He’d give us a decent rate to bring people up. We wouldn’t need much. Just some gear and a place to teach.”

  “I know. I’ve thought about it, too, but the insurance . . . that would kill us. There’s no way we could take in enough to cover all the expenses, and I obviously can’t get a loan . . . so, it’s a good thought. Thanks for the vote of confidence, Leo.” I smile through the hurt.

  “I hear they’re hiring at Fly High. Their crew had some infractions, so they’re looking for a flight instructor and jump coordinator.” He nods as he says the words, but I know we’re both thinking the same thing: That’s two hours away. “We could go as a package. Buy it out some day and make it our own.”

  “It’s a possibility,” I say, but my heart squeezes in my chest at the thought of leaving Sunnyville. Of leaving Grant. “Look at both of us getting old.” I laugh. “I used to bail at the first sign of commitment.”

  “And I used to chase the next new city, the next great jump.” He chuckles as he looks down at his hands for a moment before looking back to me. “Chasing the adrenaline rush does have that gypsy, will-jump-for-food type of personality it seems we both have.”

  “Maybe we should say had since now we’re hesitating.”

  “True, but hesitating doesn’t pay the bills.”

  “Maybe the new owner will pull through,” I say, holding out hope.

  “Or maybe he just bought it for the real estate and doesn’t give a damn about Blue Skies and is going to demo it.”

  “Yeah. That thought has crossed my mind, too.”

  “Would it be so hard for the Skies to tell us if we have a future or not?”

  “They don’t care. They haven’t cared about this place for a long time. Money is all they think about.”

  And that’s the thought that is depressing.

  Because I cared. Because I would have put the blood, sweat, and tears into making it work.

  Even things that are worn down and ugly deserve love.

  The cold air hits me as I walk into Sunnyville Trust and Loan. I stop just inside and look around the place.

  “Hi. How can I help you today?” the receptionist asks in an overly cheerful voice.

  “I’m looking for—” And right when I say the words, I see him. The fucker is standing in an office in the back corner of the space, hands on his hips, back to me. “Never mind.”

  “Sir, you can’t go back there!” I walk past her despite her protests and stride across the lobby. “Sir. Sir. Christopher!”

  He turns around at the sound of his name, words fading, just as I enter his office. “Freddy, I’ll call you right back.”

  Christopher pulls his Bluetooth earpiece off in a slow, measured movement while keeping his eyes locked on mine.

  “Can I help you?” he asks, brow furrowed and a ghost of a smile on his lips that says he knows exactly who I am. The fucking bastard.

  “Yes, you can.” I laugh, but there is nothing even close to humor in its sound as I take a step toward him.

  He takes a step back.

  We continue this dance until he bumps against the wall at his back. I step well within his personal space so that I can smell the coffee on his breath and hear his startled gasp.

  “How many clients did you threaten today, Chris? How many women did you tell that if they didn’t meet you for drinks, if they didn’t sleep with you, that you would pull their application or sabotage their loan? Huh, Chris?” I’m as close as I can be without touching hi
m.

  “Malone . . .”

  “That’s Officer Malone to you. Does it make you feel like a big man to play God with other people’s dreams, Chris? Do you get off on their fear?”

  “I do-don’t know what you-you’re talking about.”

  “Oh, but that’s where you’re wrong. You know exactly what I’m talking about.” I shake my head very slowly, stretching the silence to unnerve him as much as possible. “Does the name Emerson Reeves ring a bell?”

  His eyes widen, and his quick intake of breath is audible. “I’m not at liberty to discuss my clients or their applications.”

  “Funny how you become so professional all of a sudden when you’ve been anything but to her.” I reach up quickly to scratch my chin and love when he flinches. The asshole should be scared.

  “What do you want?”

  “You will never, and I repeat, never, talk to Emerson, approach her, deal with her, or contact her in any way shape or form again.” Our height difference allows me to look down at him with a threatening glare that makes my words more than clear. “And if you do, you’ll have to deal with me. And my whole police department.” That one little lie isn’t going to hurt anyone.

  He nods rapidly, his eyes blink, and his face turns red.

  “And if I catch wind of you ever threatening another woman’s loan because they won’t sleep with you . . .” I shake my head and chuckle, long and low, as his Adam’s apple bobs with his swallow. “The Sunnyville district attorney is a close, personal friend. I’m pretty sure this place would have to shut down after all the legal fees you’ll incur trying to defend yourself from the dozens of charges she could pin on you.” I take a step back with a cocky grin and cuff him on the side of his shoulder. “Did I make myself clear?”

  The same nod again.

  “I need to hear it.”

  “Yes.”

  “Yes, Officer Malone,” I say and wait for him to repeat it.

  “Yes, Officer Malone.”

  “Not so brave now, are you?” He just stares at me without speaking as the armpits of his dress shirt stain dark with sweat. “Good, then this little chat is done.”