20. Libby
Libby
And Just Like That… He Left
G unner Bishop has always been an enigma for me. Child or man, he was always a mystery. Dark. Difficult to grab on to. And impossible to keep.
But his appearance in my life this time lasted three-hundred and thirty-six times longer than the first time.
Literally.
I got one single hour with him when I was nine. One hour that changed the very course my life was on, so despite the fact that one hour was followed by two decades of nothing, doesn’t mean he didn’t shape my every thought or choice.
This time, I was gifted with two weeks. That’s three-hundred and thirty-six hours, and though I didn’t get all of those hours with him, they still counted in some way.
They counted in my heart.
Does that mean I’ve used up my entire lifetime allocation of Gunner Bishop? If one hour of being with him equals twenty-two years of grieving, does that mean two weeks equals the end of our road?
Mathematically, that must be true, and yet, I sit at my desk at the station with my elbows on the wooden tabletop, my chin in my hands, and a pathetic sigh escaping my mouth as at least half of my station’s staff are missing.
It’s Kane Bishop and Jess Lenaghan’s wedding day, which means Alex and Oz are out; they’re part of the bride’s family.
Jess really did send Gunner and I an invitation.
It’s not on fancy stock, it’s handwritten, and the last few words are in a messy, rushed scrawl, which makes me think Jess was almost caught while writing it out.
But she really did it. She really wants to include the man that would literally be her brother-in-law in a matter of hours.
And not only that, but the handwritten invitation arrived in my mailbox by the evening of our meet – no stamp. She hand-delivered it, and included both of our names.
Well, it didn’t say Gunner Bishop, but Theo Griffin; it’s as though she understands his need for cover. She respects his choices the way I should. He demands to be known as the name he’s built, but I don’t think I’ve used it once, except when speaking to others.
My boss asks about ‘This dude Griffin in town’. So I allow that story and roll with it. But in private, I know who he is.
When it’s just us, or more commonly, just me, he’s Gunner. He’s the boy that stole my heart when I was nine, and not once in any of the three-hundred and thirty-six hours we’ve had, did he think to give it back.
He’s still an asshole.
The town is quiet today. Unlike a week ago when everyone wanted to cause trouble, things are settled now, as though the universe knows we need peace and quiet.
Today’s wedding is the wedding everyone is talking about.
Criminals and businesses, security experts and police alike, everyone knows those that rule our town are busy, and if you interrupt such an important day with something as annoying as crime, there will be hell to pay.
Everyone is on their best behavior, which means the two cruisers we have moving around town have nothing to do but burn through gas, and the phones I decided in my misery to man haven’t rung in hours.
Where are all of the Aaron Scanlons when you need them ?
My face is much better than it was a week ago. My cheekbone is tender, but my lip is mostly healed, and what was an ugly purple bruise surrounding my eye now looks like a nasty case of jaundice.
Everything is going back to normal. It’s as though he was never here.
He doesn’t send me any texts, but then again, I don’t send him any either.
I smashed through my sleeve of cookies by Monday night this week – they didn’t stand a chance of seeing Wednesday.
Everywhere I look, every desk, every computer monitor, every phone held to every ear, the lion logo winks back at me, and though the lion on those products is simply a 2D image and looks absolutely nothing like the roaring monster on Gunner’s back, it still makes me think of him.
I’m broken, and I’m not sure I know how to fix it unless I give up everything I’ve worked so hard for.
The desk phone that sits merely twelve inches from my elbow rings and startles me out of my pity party.
That’s not who I am. I don’t sulk, I don’t dwell. I grieve, yes. My entire life has been one massive grieving jag, and ironically, it’s been for the same man. But grieving and sulking are two different things, which means I need to get my shit under control and finish my shift.
Take the call. Clock out in one more hour. Then go home and start all over again tomorrow, while the chief sleeps off his hangover.
I pick the phone up before it rings out, and bring it to my ear. “You’ve got Officer Tate. What’s your emergency?”
“Hey there, darlin’.” Drake’s exaggerated drawl makes me smile and sit back so my chair squeaks and groans. “I heard your station is empty today but for your pretty backside and seventeen boxes of Girl Scout cookies.”
“Ugh. Don’t remind me of the cookies. I’m trying my damnedest not to eat the cardboard.”
“You hangry , baby girl?” He lets out a gentle grunt, as though reclining in a chair. “I just deep-throated a footlong sub, so my hunger is under control, but then I heard about the cookies, so now I’m thinking maybe I could get on board for an afternoon date.”
I chuckle and kick my feet up onto the desk.
Just like sulking, this isn’t me either.
I don’t sit at work and gossip with my feet kicked up.
But I’ve been staring at Griffin logos all day, and I’m done with that.
I can’t cope. “If you touch X’s cookies, there’ll be hell to pay.
He knows how many are out there, and he’s been known to shoot for less. ”
Drake barks out a laugh that helps loosen the knots strangling my heart. “Your CO runs a tight ship, Tate. What’s new with your life? I haven’t heard from you all week.”
“We normally speak once every few months,” I argue. “Literally. We call, we make plans, then we move on with our lives. We don’t chitchat like school girls.”
“Ouch,” he mock-hisses. “You treat me like I’m just meat. Am I nothing more than a hole to stick it into?”
I want to maintain my bad mood, but I just can’t. You can’t be around Drake and be in a bad mood at the same time. It’s just not possible.
“Yes. You’re a juicy steak and nothing more. What do you want?”
“Cookies?”
“No.” I glance up when our young receptionist wanders through with a stack of paperwork that needs to be filed.
Tiffany and I aren’t friends. I don’t have a problem with her, but we’re definitely not from the same circles. She’s younger than me by a few years, she’s a partier, a flirt, and content filing papers and answering phones all day.
She’s beautiful, and when Drake makes sexual grunts in my ear, my lips pull up into a smug grin as I follow her with my eyes all the way to the file room and the door closes behind her.
“Are you even listening to me, woman?”
“Yeah. So I had this idea.”
He pauses what I’m certain is a rant, and instead bites at my bait. “What idea?”
“This chick I work with. You know our receptionist?”
“Tiffany? Yeah, she’s hot.”
I snicker. “I might put in a good word for you. Set you guys up. She’s adorable, and I bet you could make her cry the best kind of tears.”
He chuckles and makes me picture his broad chest bouncing. I don’t know if he’s on duty or at home, but in my head, he’s sitting on a dark brown recliner with his feet up and a beer sitting on his stomach.
“Babe…” His fake drawl turns to the tone he uses in the bedroom. No longer fake, no longer silly. “Why are you trying to set me up? We don’t do that, remember? We do uncomplicated, we do cool people, plus, Tiffany and I already fucked.”
I shoot up tall. “What?”
He snorts. “That was so last year. Catch up. But just in case you were wondering; let’s say we’ve got a scale. A one on this scale being a lame lay, and ten being TNT in my brain – Tiffany is like…” he hesitates. Considers. “I dunno. A six?”
“You are despicable! What the hell is wrong with you?”
“What? You were just trying to set us up. Now you’re saying it’s disgusting? Hypocrite, much?”
“No, I’m not saying you and her are disgusting, I’m saying your scales are disgusting. Remind me again why I speak to you?”
He gives an audible shrug and sips something; a beer, an energy drink. It could go either way. “You’re a solid nine, by the way. In case you were wondering.”
“You asshole!” I hiss. “How dare you put me on your scales. And where the hell is my final point? I should come over there and beat you with a damn baseball bat, you jerk.”
“You’re solid in bed, babe. Like, seriously, you rock my world. But–”
“But what? What criticism could you possibly have that you’re willing to risk your life for?”
“But…” His laughter slows, then his voice turns thoughtful in a way I’ve never heard before.
“You never gave me anything but your body. No eyes, no heart, no smiles – not while we were fucking. Your body was in my bed, and I’m telling you right now, your body is banging.
Physically, you were right there, but in your head, you were always somewhere else. ”
“Drake…”
I can hear the smile in his voice. “I didn’t give it a lot of thought, since I knew we were both there for the same reasons.
No complications. No feelings. Nothing icky and weird.
But I dunno, darlin’. If I’d gotten even a taste of the passion I saw in your eyes last week when your boyfriend walked in, I’d have taken us more seriously.
You have fire in your heart, Libby. It’s bright and hot, and super fucking tempting, but it belongs to someone else.
” He pauses for a moment, then gives a soft laugh.
“I didn’t even know you were capable of it until now.
And now that I know you were holding out on me, you only get a nine on my scale. ”
“You’re a pig,” I grumble.