30
Stand and Deliver - Patrick Droney
I t’s Saturday morning, about six fifteen, but it doesn’t matter if it’s a weekday or the damn weekend—I can never sleep in. Never have been able to. The morning air is crisp, biting at my skin as I step outside. The house was silent before I slipped out the back, seeking the familiar presence of my father. I head to the stable, the scent of hay and horse shit hitting me like a punch in the gut. Fucking hell, it reeks.
Inside, I find him, shuffling bits of hay on the ground. The horses in their stalls whinny and shuffle, sensing the movement. I walk over to Blue, reaching out to stroke his mane. I’ve never been much of an animal person, but I can see why Xavier took to these creatures so quickly. They’re majestic, calming in a way I can’t quite explain.
It’s quiet without the dogs here all the time. Xav took them home with him, bringing them over every day when he’s here. The barn feels different without their constant presence, but there’s a certain peace in the stillness.
“Morning,” I say, breaking the silence.
Dad looks up, a smile tugging at his lips. “Morning, son. Couldn’t sleep?”
I shake my head. “You know me.”
He just nods, a silent understanding passing between us. I’ve become like him in many ways, communicating through nods, grunts, and actions instead of words. In a way, I’m proud to be like my father. He raised my brother and me with our heads screwed on straight, leaving no room for fuck-ups.
It was his way of teaching us to be disciplined and reliable.
But part of it bothers me. Sometimes, I don’t want to be so tightly wound. I want to feel free, have some fun. Xavier did, and look where it got him—married with a baby on the way. Sure, he was a bit of a dick along the way, but a carefree dick nonetheless.
Carefree . I crave that sometimes.
We fall into a comfortable silence, the only sounds being the soft rustle of hay and the occasional snort from the horses. Blue nudges my shoulder, and I can’t help but smile.
Dad breaks the quiet. “Wanna go for a ride?”
“Me? Ride?” I say, pointing to myself, eyes wide.
“Yeah, mate. Come. I’ll teach ya.” Dad moves slowly to the horses. Age has slowed him down, and I can’t help but worry about the day he won’t be around. My thoughts drift to Isla, enduring so much on her own. Losing both parents—no child should face that. Pushing these sombre thoughts aside, I focus on helping Dad prepare the horses.
After we’ve stabled the horses, I can confidently declare that I’m never doing that again or volunteering to be a mounted police officer. Fuck that. My groin is aching, and I rub the tender parts of my inner thighs, letting out a groan. Dad chuckles, and I roll my eyes. How Xavier manages this 24/7, I’ve got no fucking clue. Just then, my phone rings, and my heart drops when I see the caller ID: Faulkner.
I answer after the first ring.
“Mitchell.”
“Mitchell. I need you to get over to two-fifteen Koala Road. It’s not good, mate, and I need my best men,” Faulkner says urgently.
With no questions asked, I hurry back inside, grab my things, and go.
Dread eats its way through me as I do.
As I arrive at the scene, it’s definitely not what I was expecting, so early in the morning.
The accident scene is a fucking mess, lights flashing and sirens blaring, casting a creepy glow over the wreckage. Two cars, a Toyota Hilux and a Holden Commodore, are all mangled up. The Hilux is smashed next to the Commodore, metal twisted and crumpled. Inside, a young guy and girl are trapped, metal crushing around them. From a glance, I have a sinking feeling that the woman is no longer breathing. The Commodore is scrunched in from the passenger side, and I head over with Faulkner beside me.
The elderly man inside looks disoriented, blood trickling from a gash on his forehead. Paramedics rush past us, their voices urgent as they assess the situation and attend to the injured.
“Clear the area!” one of the paramedics shouts, directing other officers to block off the road. I lean by the window of the Commodore.
“Sir, my name is Constable Mitchell. Can you hear me?” I ask, my voice firm and direct. The man looks at me with wide eyes, nodding slowly.
“Ye-yeah,” he stammers, his voice trembling.
“Alright, champ. Don’t move, paramedics are here,” I reassure him, signalling for the paramedics to come over. Faulkner and I head to the other car where the young couple is. Paramedics are already there, assessing the scene. One of them checks the girl’s pulse, but she just shakes her head. My heart sinks as I realise she’s gone. I exchange a grim look with Faulkner before focusing on the young man. He’s starting to come to, eyes bloodshot, pupils wide, words slurred. He’s jittery, shaking like a leaf. Faulkner’s nearby, radioing for backup and coordinating.
“Get him tested. And the old guy, too. Just to be sure,” Faulkner orders, nodding toward the man in the car. I acknowledge him and call over Stokes, who’s nearby.
A paramedic leans in, talking gently to the young man as he wakes up. “Sir, can you hear me? What’s your name?”
The man blinks rapidly, his eyes darting around in confusion. “ Where... where’m I?” he slurs.
“You were in a car accident,” the nurse explains calmly. “We’re here to help you. My name is Jenny. Can you tell me your name?”
The man struggles to focus, eyes darting around. He starts to panic, movements erratic.
“Yeah, Mitchell?” Stokes interrupts, finally reaching me.
“Run some tests,” I instruct. “Check for alcohol or other substances in his system. We need to know what we’re dealing with here.”
Just by the look of him—dilated pupils, shaking body, and track marks on his arms—I have a sinking feeling. This can’t be good.
He looks to be under the influence of something, and it’s only adding to the chaos of the situation.
Meanwhile, paramedics pry open the Hilux’s doors and extract the woman, covering her with a sheet, shielding her. They move to the young man next, easing him out onto a stretcher. Stokes moves in, explaining the testing process.
I turn to the old man next. “What’s your name, sir? Is there anyone we can call?”
“My name… is Hank Parkinson,” he croaks out. “My wife, Lorelai—she’s at home. I’ve got a daughter, Zoe, but she don’t live round here no more. Please, call my wife.” I nod, noting down the information, and move to make the call as the chaos of the scene continues around us.
Stokes returns with a grim expression. “Positive reading for drugs.” I nod, acknowledging the information, and then turn to alert the paramedics. They quickly make arrangements to transport all victims to the hospital, with Faulkner and I accompanying them.
At the hospital, we wait outside the young man’s room, our expressions reflecting the gravity of the situation. Faulkner leans against the wall, arms crossed, deep in thought.
“This is messed up, mate,” Stokes comments, joining us. “Never a dull day in this job.”
I nod, my gaze fixed on the closed door of the hospital room. “Yeah.”
As I stand there, my mind replays the events that unfolded after the accident. Once they cleaned up the gash on his head and bandaged his broken arm, we informed the young man of his actions under the influence of drugs, driving recklessly, and endangering innocent people. Another series of tests were conducted to confirm drug use, and they came back positive, again . Now, the young man puts up a fit, trying to wriggle out of the handcuffs that hold him to the bed.
Faulkner steps in, his tone stern. “You’re being charged with dangerous driving resulting in death, which is a criminal offence under the Crimes Act. You’ll be taken back to the station to be processed. There’ll be an upcoming court hearing, and a decision will be made on your bail, if granted,” he continues, detailing the process.
Given the seriousness of this offence, it’s unlikely he’ll be receiving bail.
As Faulkner continues to speak, I zone out for a moment, fixating on the thought that a young woman lost her life today due to this bloke’s negligence. An innocent elderly man was injured because of his recklessness. The weight of it all settles heavily on my shoulders, a stark reminder of the fragility of life and the devastating consequences of careless actions.
I give Stokes a nod, then head out, back to the station to sort through the damn paperwork and deal with the courts—leaving Faulkner to deal with the rest. The weight of the day settles hard on my shoulders as I make my way back. I get lost in the grind, minutes stretching into hours, til it’s twenty passed five in the fucking afternoon. My heart sinks when I realise I was supposed to be at Amelia’s by five, and I haven’t had a damn minute to message or call her. I quickly pull out my phone to call Amelia, but it goes straight to voicemail. Fuck. I shoot her a text.
But there’s no reply. I rush to finish up at work, making the necessary calls to Beaumont Creek jail before leaving the station right at five thirty. On my way, I stop at the local florist, picking out their largest bunch of white and pink lilies and grabbing a bottle of rosé.
Inside the shop, I notice a few odd looks from the locals. Some greet me, and one young woman even strikes up a conversation. I’m too preoccupied to figure out if she’s just being polite or flirting, so I move quickly. As I leave, it dawns on me why they were giving me those strange looks: I'm in my officer’s uniform, carrying wine and a massive bouquet. Didn’t think that through too well, did I? But honestly, I couldn’t care less.
I pull up beside Amelia’s Holden Barina. My heart pounds fiercely in my chest as I walk up to their door and knock. I can hear conversations and squeals from inside, likely from her niece. For the first time in what seems like forever, I’m fucking nervous .
When the door opens, my breath catches as I meet Amelia’s gaze. Surprise flickers across her face, evident in the way her big brown eyes widen as she takes in my presence. She’s dressed casually, in blue jeans, a green top, and a white apron, her hands instinctively wiping on the apron as she gazes at me.
“Hey, sunshine.”
“Brad,” she says, all breathy, the sound travelling straight down to my groin.
“I’m so sorry I’m late. I got called into work at the last minute.”
“I-I can tell,” she stutters, glancing down briefly before meeting my eyes again.
“I left you a text and a voicemail.”
“Oh, God, did you? I-I haven’t been on my phone. I’m so sorry. I-I just assumed you couldn’t make it. Wait. You got called into work ? Is everything okay? And you-you still came?”
Her barrage of questions hits me, and for a moment, annoyance prickles at the back of my mind. As if I’d ever blow her off. Not a fucking chance. It bothers me that she’d even think that.
She continues, her voice growing more frantic. “I didn’t mean to seem so distant. I just thought—”
“Amelia. It’s okay. Take a breath. Breathe.”
She takes a deep breath, her chest rising and falling as she steadies herself. Her shoulders relax, and a bit of the tension in her eyes eases.
“Atta girl,” I say once I see she’s calmed down, a soft smile tugging at the corners of my mouth. I gently bring the bouquet of white and pink lilies from behind my back, holding them out to her. Her eyes widen further, and a smile breaks across her face.
“You got these for me?” she asks softly, her fingers brushing over the delicate petals.
“Yeah.”
“Lilies are my favourite. How did you know?”
Because I saw them sitting on your bedside table that night I brought you home, I think. But instead I reply, “Just a guess.”
Her smile deepens, and she leans in to press a kiss on my cheek. “Thank you, Brad. They’re beautiful.”
“I also brought this,” I say, lifting the bottle of rosé. “I know you said not to bring anything, but I remember you enjoyed this on our dinner date.”
Her eyes soften as she takes the bottle from me. “You remembered,” she murmurs, a hint of surprise in her voice. I remember everything about her .
“I pay attention,” I reply with a smirk.
Amelia steps closer, closing the gap between us. “You really are something, Bradley Mitchell. ”
I tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear, my fingers lingering on her cheek. “Only for you, Mills.”
She leans into my touch. “Thank you for coming, Brad. It means a lot.”
“Always,” I say quietly, my gaze locked with hers.