Chapter 8 #2
“And you did,” I offer a small smile, admiring his courage, then close the map, looking right at the clock above the counter.
Eleven thirty. Almost lunch time. Surely he has better things to do than stay here with me.
“I don’t want to keep you if you have to go back.
” I fidget, a weird sense of panic rising in me at the idea of him leaving.
As I fold the paper, my hands start to shake and I cringe internally.
Why do I have to be so awkward?
“Wait,” he says, taking the map from my hands in a gentle motion, “I’ll take care of this.
” He folds it properly without tearing the paper like I was doing, then hands it to me.
I grab it and our fingers brush in the process.
I don't flinch or panic. Jack's touch isn't harming me nor bringing me back to the darkness.
It grounds me. Reassures me. It's as if our bodies had recognized each other from a past life.
“D-d-do you want me—” he clears his throat, “to leave now? I… I’ve got fifteen minutes before I need to head back,” he adds, jaw tightening.
Please, stay.
Heat rushes to my face. “Um…coffee?”
“Sure.” Our eyes meet for a brief second, enough to make me falter. I turn quickly toward the back room and pour him a cup before returning with the steaming mug cradled in my hands.
“Thanks.” He offers a crooked half-smile, flexing his hand twice in quick succession. My stomach knots, and I’m suddenly glad I chose my favorite sweater, a burgundy one, paired with a denim skirt and black tights.
“So, how’s Lakeside treating you so far?” I try. How do people flirt again?
“So far? I’ve had a few old ladies drop off blueberry muffins at the s-station, so I’d say, well, I was wrong.”
“Wrong about what?”
“I figured folks here wouldn’t take k-kindly to a newcomer,” he says, then hesitates. “But yeah…it’s actually not that bad.”
“I’m glad. People here can be a little cagey. I’d understand why someone might feel put off.”
“Are you worried about me?” he states, zeroing in on me with an unreadable face.
My cheeks burn. “No, I mean…” I clear my throat. “Any books catching your interest?” Jack scoffs softly, watching me dodge the question once again.
“How, how ‘bout you tell me about your favorite b-books here, and I just, um, drink coffee and listen?” I can’t help but smile. He gets it, he understands that talking about myself isn’t something I’m ready for, but books are safe to me.
“Really?” I ask, narrowing my eyes skeptically.
“Yeah, really. Shoot. I’m all ears, Alaska.
” He leans casually against the shelves, looking entirely at ease.
My heart skips, then quickens, and for just a second, I let myself wonder if this could actually be real.
Two people getting to know each other with nothing but hope and perspectives.
If only. I shake the thought away and force myself back into the moment.
He’s looking at me like I’m the only thing that exists right now.
The attention scorches. I glance away and start talking about my favorite books, anything to keep from unraveling, while he just…
listens. And so I keep going. Fifteen minutes slip by before the sharp ring of his phone pulls us back to reality.
Fifteen minutes of bliss. What I would give for just one more.
I watch him leave the shop, my fingers scratching the scars on my knuckles.
Please, Jack.
Stay away from me.
Or I might start wanting more than I’m allowed to have.
Jack
She was radiant. In her shop, surrounded by paperbacks and sunlight.
Watching her talk about her favorite books could’ve been my last request on death row.
Now, I’m back in my patrol car, heading to the station.
Jared and I are supposed to keep working on sorting cold case files today.
Leather creaks under me as I shift in my seat, trying to shake the image of her smile.
The phone rings and I glance at the screen.
Captain Xander Raines from Minneapolis. The last time I saw him, he couldn’t even look me in the eye.
My grip tightens around the wheel. I pull over before answering.
"Captain," I say, my voice hesitant.
"Jack," he replies, his tone sharp. My spine stiffens like I’m about to get called to the principal’s office. Why is he calling me?
"I just—uh, I just wanted to check in. See how you’re doing." It catches me off guard. I don’t know what I was expecting, but since he made it very clear during our last conversation that I didn’t have a place in Minneapolis anymore…
"I’m, uh…" I swallow, the word snagging in my throat like a bad memory.
"I’m d-doing okay. S-s-settling in." There's a short pause on the line.
My ragged breath betrays my stress. I fold my fingers over the wheel and squeeze it tight, veins out, ready to burst. As if I could have a semblance of control over my spasms.
"Good. That’s good. Fletcher says you’re handling the transition well.
Told me you did good on the field the other day.
" He clears his throat. "I know it wasn’t ideal, sending you out there. Believe me, it wasn’t my first choice either.
" He says it like he’s trying to apologize without using the word.
"I, uh…I get it," I lie, wishing someone, anyone, would’ve stood up for me. My voice comes out tight. The stutter’s crawling up my throat again, ready to strike.
"C-c-can I help you, Cap-cap-captain?" Bricks of concrete crush my lungs and I want to disappear under the road and never come back again. I would’ve been happier if I didn’t have the ability to talk at all.
No words coming out of my mouth are worth hearing.
"Jack, look... You’re one of the most capable officers I’ve worked with. You’ve got good instincts, solid training. The stutter—" he hesitates and I picture him wincing, "—it doesn’t change that. You know that, right?" I shut my eyes hard, fighting a glimpse of emotion to be heard.
"Y-yes, sir."
"Unfortunately," he adds, with a resigned sigh, "the mayor had… Well, optics matter. The mayor wants to show off his new political style, and he's... He wants everyone to look, um—" he stops, "it’s just about appearances, you know that, right? That speech, freezing like that in front of the mayor and the whole assembly of cops and journalists, it gave him an excuse. He doesn’t care how many cases you’ve closed…just doesn’t want someone representing Minneapolis law enforcement who might. .."
"Stumble," I finish his sentence.
"Well…yeah," he admits. I stare out the windshield. The heat rising behind my ribs feels like shame. Or maybe resentment. Hard to tell these days.
"This assignment," Captain Raines continues, "it’s just a way to keep you in the system. You’re not being punished, just...rerouted."
Letting my head hang, my gaze drops, grateful he can’t see me. "Right."
"You keep a low profile, do the work, and come next quarter...we’ll revisit things. You’re not out, Jack. You’re just on a side road for now. The promotion is still very much on the table." I try to say something, but the words catch. "Jack?" he asks.
I force the words out. "Copied, Sir."
He doesn’t respond right away. "I know this isn’t fixing anything.
If anything, I hate that we had to send you there.
" He exhales. "It was this or having the mayor make an example out of you.
Show that our force is only made up of impeccable, I mean—" a muttered curse word escapes him, "—well-trained individuals.
" I rest my head briefly against the seatback.
"Just keep going," Raines says finally. "Stay focused. Work on your speech and remember, you’re not staying in Lakeside forever. You’re coming back. "
Working on my speech, as if it would change anything.
I've had enough of speech therapy. Some doctors were basically torturing me with metal tools to stretch my mouth, some yelling, some even laughing. Hard to forget that as a child. No wonder I never went back. Working on it is pointless, a waste of time and energy. I’ll try at home, alone, where no one can hurt me but myself.
"You’ll be back sooner than you know," he repeats, filling the silence or convincing himself. Coming back…to what? To the same sidelong glances and folks finishing my sentences? To a promotion that hinges more on fluency than competence?
"Y-yeah," I say after a moment. "I’ll—I’ll do my b-best, Sir."
"I know you will, son," he rasps. "Stay sharp, Jack."
The line clicks.
I toss the phone into the cupholder and sit back, staring through the windshield at the quiet road ahead. Pines sway gently in the wind. Somewhere, Alaska is probably shelving books or making herself a cup of tea like the one she had at the store. I close my eyes and exhale slowly.
I'm a freak who can’t go on in life without embarrassing himself or keep his job.
What would she do with a beast like me? I’ll take this as a reminder of why I’m here.
Whatever fantasy I had about her was just that, a fantasy.
There’s no world where a delicate, smart girl like her would want anything with a messed-up, embarrassing guy like me.
She’s all grace and beauty, and I’m…just a freak.
There’s a light fog settling on the car window. A droplet of water falling slowly. I stay there another minute, frozen in time, trying to accept that I’ll never be good enough for a woman like her.