Chapter Fifteen
Patrick
“Dad, I swear to you,” I say, voice desperate, “I never-”
“I know,” Dad cuts in.
He puts a hand on my shoulder, firm and steady.
“I know what kind of a man I raised.”
The breath leaves my lungs all at once. Relief hits me so hard I sway. I didn’t realize until right now how terrified I was that even he might wonder.
I drag a shaky hand through my hair. “What do I do?”
“Nothing,” he says bluntly.
“What do you mean nothing?”
Dad slips his hands into his jacket pocket, his cop stance coming out without him realizing.
“You don’t contact the woman. You don’t try to ‘fix’ it. You don’t confront her, her friends, nobody. If anyone asks you about that night, you ask for your representative. And then you tell the truth. Exactly the truth. Understood?”
I nod slowly. “How’d you even find out?”
A humorless grunt escapes him. “I still have friends on the force. Some shit hits the desk and it doesn’t stay quiet for long.”
I close my eyes, jaw clenched.
“As for what you can do?” he continues. “Keep your mouth shut until you’re asked. You’ve got thirteen years on the force and one hell of a record. They’ll listen.”
I hope to God he’s right.
Dad hesitates then, looking me over like he’s checking for wounds he can’t see.
“How are things with Lorelie?”
A breath rushes out of me. “Good,” I say, voice cracking. “They were finally good.”
He nods firmly. “Tell her. Don’t keep it a secret. It’ll be better if she hears it from you.”
“Dad…” My voice breaks completely. I turn away, pressing my fingers to my eyes. “She gave me another chance. We were finally getting somewhere. And now-” My throat closes. “I can’t believe what I’m being accused of.”
Dad looks uncertain for the first time in my life. Not because he doubts me, no, I see belief in his eyes, but because he knows exactly how fast an accusation like this can ruin a man.
“Keep your head up,” he says quietly.
I nod.
He tips his chin toward the door. “I told your mom I was going for a drive. She’s probably pacing holes in the rug.”
I huff out a weak breath and follow him to the door. I open it, watch him step inside his car, then close and lock it behind him.
When I finally lean back against the door, I look up at the ceiling, choking on a bitter laugh.
“What the fuck,” I whisper.
Light, hesitant footsteps sound on the stairs. I don’t look up.
How the hell am I supposed to tell Lore that I-
A tear hits my cheek.
I’m a cop. My job is to protect people. And now I’m being accused of being the same monster I hunt.
A warm hand touches the side of my face. I flinch, dropping my head instinctively.
Lore stands in front of me, her own cheeks streaked with tears.
“You heard,” I rasp.
She nods.
I swallow painfully. “I didn’t… Lore, I didn’t…”
She steps closer, her voice shaking but firm.
“I know.”
The breath leaves me in a broken exhale. My chest caves like someone punched straight through.
“I…uh…” A sob breaks free before I can force it down. “I didn’t.”
Lore reaches for me fully this time, pulling me into her arms as I fall apart.
We sink to the floor together, both of us collapsing under the weight of it all. I don’t know whose sobs echo louder, mine or hers. I don’t know whose arms tighten first. All I know is that she holds me, and I hold her back, our bodies shaking against each other.
I don’t know who’s comforting who.
We’re both victims, she’s a victim of my mistake, and I’m a victim of a lie that could ruin everything.
I don’t know how long we stay there, clinging to each other, but eventually we drag ourselves back to the bedroom. I don’t know if either of us sleeps. It feels like we just blink and the sun comes up.
The next morning, after Harvey picks up Milo, Lore and I sit at the kitchen table with two mugs of coffee between us.
Her hands circle her cup like it can warm her through the panic.
“What happens now?” she asks softly.
I shrug, hollow. “I wait for Internal Affairs to contact me. Once they open the investigation… we go from there.”
She swallows hard. “Patrick…”
I finally meet her eyes.
“We’re going to get through this,” she says, voice trembling. “All of it. Together.”
I wish I believed her as much as she believes in me.
I change the subject gently, because if we stay on my situation any longer, she’ll get more stressed.
“You know what you’re gonna say to HR today?” I ask, forcing a little smile, trying to lighten the heaviness hanging over us.
Lore tilts her head at me. “Patrick.”
“Come on,” I say, nudging her foot beneath the table. “You gotta be prepared. Especially since you might be the only employed one of us soon.”
She doesn’t laugh.
Her eyes are tired. Worried. “You could get fired?”
“No.” I shake my head immediately. “I don’t think so. Worst case scenario? They force me into early retirement. And that’s a big if.” I try for a grin. “I’ve seen guys do way worse and keep their badges.”
She doesn’t look reassured. And honestly, after everything, I can’t blame her.
My phone pings on the table between us, slicing through the tension. I grab it, glance at the screen, then exhale.
“I’ve got a case.”
Lore nods, shoulders sinking. She knows what that means, no more time to talk, plan, or panic together.
I stand, dump the rest of my coffee in the sink, and lean down to kiss her cheek.
“I gotta go,” I say softly. “Love you.”
She catches my wrist before I straighten. “Love you too,” she whispers.
I smile but inside I can’t help but think. For how long?
Lorelie
If I didn’t have a confrontation waiting for me at work, I would have stayed home and let myself drown in all the worst-case scenarios.
My mind keeps circling the same question. What kind of woman accuses a man of something like this? It doesn’t just wreck his life. It harms real victims too.
Before yesterday, if a woman came to me and said she was assaulted, I would have believed her without hesitation. I would have been on her side until there was proof otherwise. But now? That certainty has dropped to nothing.
I know Colter told Patrick not to do anything, but he never said a word about me.
I’m not foolish enough to confront the woman, but I have been inside O’Riley’s.
That place has more cameras than the station.
They must have caught what really happened.
The owner used to be a cop, I can’t remember his name, but he’ll hand the footage over when they ask and we’ll be in the clear.
Only one problem keeps rising in my mind. It has been more than thirty days. Don’t places delete old recordings after a month? At least, that’s what I remember from watching SVU.
I bite my thumbnail as I pull into the hospital parking lot. My mind jumps from one worry to another, then lands on something lighter.
I finally get to start planning the nursery. Now that Patrick is back in our bedroom, I can actually make space for it. Gen has always been one call away, and the only reason I kept putting it off was because the room was occupied. Not anymore.
Good. I finally have something happy to focus on.
But first, I have a meeting with HR.
Instead of heading to my locker, I head straight for the basement. Yes, our HR and admin offices are down there, tucked beside the morgue.
Not the place I would have chosen, but no one asked me.
I push open the door and walk toward the reception desk.
The entire space looks like a completely different world from the creepy basement.
It has the usual office setup, clean and bright.
If you used the outside entrance, like I did during my interview, you’d never guess the morgue is right next door.
“I have a meeting, Dr Lorelie Boise,” I tell the woman behind the desk.
She checks something on her screen. “Right. Mr. Zachary is in a meeting at the moment. Why don’t you take a seat, and I’ll call you when he’s free.”
I nod and lower myself into a chair. My shift starts at noon, and it’s only eleven fifteen. Plenty of time to wait for a scheduled meeting.
Rubbing my arms, I shiver. It feels like the cold from the morgue is bleeding through the walls. The receptionist glances over and gives an apologetic smile.
“Sorry about the temperature,” she says. “No matter how much we turn the heat up, it’s still freezing down here.”
I shiver and pull my jacket tighter. “I believe it.”
She smiles and keeps typing. “We’re hoping to move to the new block on the east side soon. We’ll finally have windows.”
She glances at her screen. “You can head in now. Left door down the hallway.”
“Thanks,” I say as I stand. No one comes out of the office, so I guess his last meeting was over the phone or on Zoom.
I knock and push the door open. Zachary Mansini sits behind the desk. He handled my interview when I first applied and was the one who essentially hired me. Knowing him already makes this a little easier.
He stands, shakes my hand, and gestures for me to sit. I do. He clicks something on his screen, then leans back with his arms folded.
“Can you tell me what’s going on?”
I wet my lips, trying to organize my thoughts.
“Look, I didn’t want to come here, but with the new schedule, he’s gone too far.
First it was the policy. Then the ‘playing wife’ remarks.
And now he’s scheduled me for a twelve-hour shift on Sunday.
I know the reputation he’s trying to give me, but assigning me a permanent twelve-hour shift on the only day I have with my son is…
” I shake my head, the anger rising again. “It’s not right.”
Zachary narrows his eyes slightly. “Playing wife?”
I nod. “Mr. Murphy thinks me asking Dr. Abbott to cover an hour so I could go to a personal commitment was me ‘playing wife.’ I was supposed to pay Dr. Murphy back by covering one of his shifts, but the new policy wouldn’t allow it. So now I’m the bad guy.”
He tilts his head. “What new policy?”
My mouth falls open. “The one that says we’re not allowed to leave mid-shift unless it’s an approved emergency. Approved by Mr. Murphy, specifically. He also denied my request to switch shifts.”
Mr. Mansini turns to his computer and pulls something up. After a moment he says, “There’s no such policy. Nothing like that was sent here for approval.”
I shrug. “He never sent a notification or an email. He just… announced it.”
Mr. Mansini’s jaw tightens. He looks me straight in the eye. “I’m going to look into this.”
Relief washes over me so fast my shoulders sag.
He stands. “Can I ask you to keep this between us for now?”
I nod.
He shakes my hand again. “Thank you for informing me.”
I turn to leave, then pause. “I might have told him I was coming to HR.”
He bites his lip and looks down for a moment. “Can I ask you to take the day off? Paid.”
“Okay,” I say. I’m not about to turn down a paid day off.
“Thank you,” he adds.
I nod and walk out.
Clearly, HR has no idea what kind of nonsense the new director has been pulling. That alone makes me feel better.
Smiling, I head back to my car. A light, unexpected giddiness rises in my chest. It feels like childhood again, those mornings when we’d be halfway to school during a snowstorm and suddenly hear it was canceled. Nothing ever compared to that rush.
On my way back, I take the long route home. O’Riley’s is already open, cops going in and out with brown paper bags. It’s not just a bar. It’s where officers grab breakfast, lunch, and dinner when they’re on shift.
I leave the car idling as I slow in front of it.
I shouldn’t do this. I know I shouldn’t.
I’m acting like the character in a movie you want to yell at to stop being an idiot.
I need to trust the process. Patrick and his entire family have dedicated their lives to the force, and they won’t let him fall now.
I pull away and drive home.
The moment I step inside, I go straight to the guest room. I need to keep myself busy so I don’t get back in the car and turn around.
In the guest room, I start picturing the nursery. The bed has to go, and the dresser too. Too many sharp edges. With Milo, I learned quickly not to leave anything “for later.”
Later rarely comes until your kid cuts his head open on a table. Maybe Patrick can baby-proof the edges once we settle on the layout.
I open the first drawer. Linens. I pull them out and toss them onto the bed. The second drawer is empty.
The third won’t open.
I tug at the handle, but it is wedged tight. Brow furrowed, I slide the second drawer completely out and lean it against the wall. Reaching inside the dresser, I feel for whatever is blocking it.
My hand hits something hard and smooth wedged along the side.
My heart drops as I pull it out.
Tears sting my eyes the second I see the bottle of vodka. I don’t even recognize the brand. My stomach twists so sharply I have to grab the table to stay upright.
Setting it on the bed with shaking hands, I pull the handle on the drawer again. Now that the blockage is gone, it slides open without a fight and reveals a shelf full of empty bottles.
They’re all different brands of vodka.
I try to get my breathing under control. They could be old… but is that even better? Once an addict, always an addict, right?
Maybe he never stopped. Maybe he was relieved to stay in the guest room. Probably why he never asked to move back into the bedroom. He could drink in peace in here.
I never smelled alcohol on his breath. He probably waited until we were all asleep… and then drank until he passed out. Again.
Surrounded by a graveyard of empty bottles, I know what I have to do.