Chapter 3 #2
Dispatch pings again, and Manny’s already glancing at the tablet before I can. “Fall at a grocery store.” He starts reading it off like he’s announcing the weather. “Six blocks. Produce section. Place your bets.”
I key the mic as I pull away from the curb. “Unit thirty-four en route.”
“Money’s on the wet floor sign being nowhere near the crime scene,” Manny adds, bracing himself as I hit the lights. He kills the sirens once we roll into the parking lot, already unbuckling. “Also, I’m calling grapes. It’s always grapes.”
Inside, an older man’s sprawled on the tile near the produce section, blinking up at the ceiling like he’s counting lights. A manager hovers nearby, wringing his hands hard enough to snap something, and a teenager has his phone out, filming like this is content.
I stop walking and just look at him.
He looks back, hesitates, then lowers the phone.
Good.
“Sir,” I drop to a knee in front of him. “I’m Elias. Looks like you took a spill.”
“I slipped on a grape.” He glares at the fruit display like it personally betrayed him.
Behind me, Manny exhales softly. “Knew it.”
“It happens,” I tell the man, already checking pupils and spine, then hips, then the back of his head. “You dizzy? Nauseous?”
“Just embarrassed.”
“We can treat that.” I let my mouth curve just enough to keep him with me.
He snorts, winces, then relaxes when nothing immediately explodes. Manny helps me get him up and into a chair, slow and steady, handing him a water and a sugar packet while I run through the rest of my checks. He’s fine, his pride shaken more than anything else.
The manager thanks us like we dragged the guy out of a fire, and Manny nods along solemnly like he’s about to accept a medal. We leave before anyone offers coupons.
Back in the rig, Manny buckles in and glances at me sideways. “So, you’ve been weirdly quiet.”
“I’ve been working.”
“Uh-huh.” He taps the dash as I pull out. “You say that every time you’re thinking about something you don’t want to think about.”
I don’t answer, which is apparently answer enough.
He grins and looks out the window. “Grapes, though. Still undefeated.”
The shift keeps moving. A call to the skatepark, another to a residential home. In the quiet between calls, we park under a stretch of shade and let the rig tick as it cools. I absorb the quiet, like I usually do, while Manny scrolls through his phone and the city keeps crashing around us.
My mind drifts anyway, to tape and knuckles, cyan streaks, and the way her mouth tipped when I said almost.
“Don’t,” Manny interrupts my thoughts, not even looking at me.
I blink. “Don’t what?”
“Whatever spiral that face means,” he replies easily. “Save it for after shift.”
I exhale and nod, knowing he’s right.
When it’s quiet again, I pull my phone out and text the guys out of habit, grounding myself in something familiar before the radio crackles back to life.
Elias:
Anyone alive?
Jax:
Depends on your definition of alive
Theo:
Breathing and not being dramatic, probably.
Jax:
r00d. Also I made a signature cocktail. It's called broken promise. It's just whiskey
Elias:
Then, that’s just whiskey. Not a cocktail.
Jax:
Exactly. Minimalism
Theo:
You spelled minimalist wrong.
Jax:
Didn’t spell it at all, professor
I shake my head and put the phone face down as dispatch calls again.
The quiet doesn't last. It never does.
After that call, Manny and I grab dinner at a food truck two blocks from the station and scarf it down as quickly as we can, knowing we don’t always get a chance to eat.
When nighttime settles in, the calls shift the way they always do, bar fights and bad decisions stacked on top of each other, and by the time I point the rig back toward the station, the sky has that thin band of purple at the horizon that looks almost fake.
I park, kill the engine, and sit there for a second, breathing in the silence while it lasts.
Manny stretches in the passenger seat and unbuckles, rolling his shoulders.
“Finally, end of shift.” To Manny, the end of a shift is a blessing.
Then he glances over at me, tilting his head like he’s trying to read me better.
“So, are you gonna tell me what today was actually about, or are we pretending it was all grapes and paperwork?”
“It was grapes,” I say, reaching for my phone.
“Sure,” he replies easily as he hops out, already halfway gone. “Just don’t fall in love on company time. Paperwork’s a nightmare.”
I snort despite myself, because he’s annoying and right and married and somehow still sees everything.
When he’s gone and the rig’s quiet again, I pick up my phone, having promised myself the last thoughts of this night wouldn’t be about her, and the only way to keep that promise is to let the idiots in.
Elias:
What’s on the agenda tonight?
Jax:
Taste testing my broken promise
Theo:
Again, it’s just whiskey.
Jax:
It's a concept
Theo:
More like a cry for help.
Elias:
Eat something with it.
Jax:
Yes, daddy, sir. How about chips
Theo:
That’s not food.
Jax:
A potato is a vegetable. Checkmate
Elias:
I’m calling the FDA.
Theo:
Please do. Also, a side note: I found a micrometer in my mailbox. Did one of you put that there?
Jax:
I gift you precision
Elias:
He’s trying to romance you, Theo.
Theo:
Not my love language.
Jax:
I'll learn spreadsheets
Theo:
Now you’re just being gross.
I stretch my legs and let their nonsense unclench the last knots in my back. This is why I stay sane, because these two know how to make even the hardest day ease off my shoulders.
I drop the phone on the seat and stare through the windshield at nothing.
It’s my turn to tidy the rig. Plus, I promised Manny I’d do so for a month as a wedding gift.
I wipe the bench, restock the glove sizes, and take stock of what's left at the end of the shift. When I’m done, I shower at the station, shedding my radio and putting it where it belongs.
Afterward, with my hair still damp, I get dressed, head for my bike, and ride home before my mind can plant anything I don’t want to water.
The ride isn’t far, just long enough to let the night air hit me just right.
The noise of traffic drowns out my heavy thoughts, but the smells keep me grounded. Exhaust, street vendors, food frying.
My place greets me in quiet as I drop my keys into the bowl by the counter. Boots come off at the door, lined up on instinct. Jacket ends up on the chair without me thinking about it. I stand there a second, breathing the soothing scent of lavender I like to keep plugged in.
I head down the short hall toward the bedroom, flipping on the lamp instead of the overhead light, letting the room stay dim and calm.
The bed is made the way I left it, dark gray sheets pulled tight, corners squared, the comforter folded back with the precision of muscle memory rather than effort.
I sit on the edge and then lie back, the mattress giving just enough under my weight, the cotton cool against my skin in a way that feels earned after a long shift.
The place smells clean, faintly like detergent and night air, and for a moment, that’s enough. Then I pull my phone back out.
Theo:
Are we doing breakfast tomorrow or…?
Jax:
Breakfast tacos. No boundaries. Live laugh lard
Elias:
Seven?
Theo:
Eight.
Jax:
Nine. You forget I close a bar.
Elias:
Seven-thirty. Compromise.
Theo:
Works for me.
Jax:
I hate you, but copy. I'll bring the broken promise
Elias:
Bring coffee, not whiskey.
Jax:
I can do both
Theo:
Please don’t.
Elias:
Please don’t.
The typing bubble pops up, disappears, and then pops again. Jax is probably sending a photo of something I can’t unsee.
Yup, there it is.
It’s a selfie with him behind the bar, hair a mess, grin bigger than is medically sound. The caption says: “Tell me I’m pretty.”
Theo:
You’re symmetrical. That’s the most I can offer.
I let the phone rest against my chest, staring up at the ceiling while the screen dims. Normally, that would’ve done it.
Jax has always been easy to admire, all smiles and reckless charm, the kind of pretty that pulls my attention whether I mean it to or not.
It’s familiar, grounding even, a distraction I’ve relied on more times than I care to admit.
Tonight, it barely registers.
My thoughts keep slipping sideways, back to oil-stained concrete and the scent of metal, to cyan streaks and taped knuckles, to the way Raine looked at me like I was something she didn’t ask for but wasn’t quite ready to dismiss either.
The realization settles in, slow and unwelcome, because if Jax’s face isn’t enough to pull me out of my head, then I’m already in deeper than I should be.
I breathe out, tell myself it’s just fatigue, just another long shift catching up to me.
The phone buzzes again.
Jax:
Hey, serious for a second. You good?
I stare at that one longer than the rest. He knows when to make a joke and when to shut up. He’ll never admit it, but he does.
Elias:
I’m good.
Jax:
Cool. Bring your dad energy to breakfast. I need it to survive Theo's judgment
Theo:
My judgment is a public service.
Elias:
He’s not wrong.
Jax:
Betrayal from within. Noted
Elias:
Sleep, both of you.
Jax:
Closing soon. Might write a love song for Raine
Theo:
Don’t.
Jax:
Too late
Elias:
Alarm set. Seven-thirty. Don’t be late.
Jax:
Yes, Dad
Theo:
Night.
I stare at the ceiling again, my body heavy with exhaustion.
I close my eyes and see a smile that wasn’t for me and then was, and a hand in mine, callused and warm and stubborn.
I tell myself I showed up today because of Jax.
Because he needs someone to keep him from sprinting off cliffs he can’t even see.
Because this is what I do. Keep them breathing. Keep them upright. Keep them safe.
That’s true.
But it’s not the whole truth.
I roll to my side and reach up to click the lamp off. Darkness fits better than light when you don’t want to admit something. I fall asleep wondering how alone she is. If there's someone there to keep her breathing, to keep her safe, to keep her upright.
Maybe I'll show up again with tape and coffee. I’ll call it preventative care.
I know better, don't I?