Chapter 10 #2
"It was barely there at first. M-my mom thought it’d go away…
shock and all. But it got worse and… Well, yeah.
" I wave a hand at myself, the living proof of what grief did to me. I wish she’d met me before all this.
Before it rewired me. It was unfair. So damn unfair.
My dad, healthy and strong, was taken by a stroke, like life was flipping a coin just to spite us.
Since then, it’s been my mission to become what he always wanted me to be.
A good man. A good cop. Someone who protects people and seeks justice.
Someone he'd be proud of. He would always point at them in the street, lower to my level, and say, heroes Jack, they’re heroes.
And I wish I could show him that I’ve become one too.
Only this stutter turned into a second person inside me.
One that jumps out without warning, hijacking my voice.
And I fight it every damn day, but it never really goes away.
Never fully loses. It doesn't matter how much I try, put on my uniform and protect people, the inside is still very much in ruins.
"Does it get worse with stress?" she asks. I huff a quiet laugh, dry and sharp. She’s watching me close, a little furrow in her brow, trying to solve me. And God, it’s…adorable. Alaska’s so damn sweet and I’m craving her like a forbidden candy.
"Y-yeah and no. At work, on the field, I’m okay.
It’s the rest of life that’s harder. Everything else is.
..c-complicated." My eyes drift to her hands, her knuckles. White scars running like threads on her skin. What happened to her? Did she punch something? Or someone? Those aren’t the kind of marks you get from paper cuts. Those are fighting scars.
"W-was it anger?" I ask, waving at her fingers. She drops her gaze. Set her cake down and I notice her jaw flexing. Just when I think she won’t answer, her lips open like she’s about to speak.
"It wasn’t anger. I don’t… I can’t even remember the last time I was angry."
"Really?" I arch a brow.
She ums, then pivots the topic. "That must be nice. To have a clear goal. To know what makes you happy."
"What do you m-mean?" She looks at me from under her lashes, tilting her head a little.
"Your promotion. A year from now."
"Ah." I chew the inside of my cheek. "I don’t know if it'll make me happy, but it’s the next step. L-logical. I’ve trained years for it.
" I bite into the last piece of cake, then glance back up.
"W-what about you? What are your dreams?
" She finishes her bite slowly, eyes wandering to the window on her right. Light falls across her cheek, illuminating her face like a painting. Her hand lifts and she licks the cake crumbs from her index finger. I want to tear my gaze away, but I can’t.
Those cherry-red lips, smeared with icing sugar, makes me want to circle the desk and taste her.
She starts to speak, pulling me out of the trance.
"I used to have dreams. Lots of them. I’d print pictures and glue them onto this giant board above my bed. My brother Matt used to tease me about them. Said they weren’t big enough.” She lifts a shoulder, “...they were mine."
"Used to? Aren’t you a little too young to t-t-alk about dreams,” I clear my throat, “in p-p-past tense?"
“Things changed. That’s all.” I want to lean in, pick it apart like I would in an interrogation room. But she’s not a suspect. She's just…Alaska. Instead, I glance down at my hands, thick and calloused. Wondering what it would feel like to hold her right now and if she’d let me.
"And, if you don’t mind sharing…what were they?"
"The dreams?" I tilt my head to the side, leaning slightly forward, showing her she’s got all of me right now.
"Nothing fancy. Simple things." Letting out a self-conscious chuckle.
"Still worth gluing on a b-board," I remark.
"I had this old-school dream. Not very trendy these days. You’ll probably laugh." My jaw tightens. Someone mocked her for this. My hand closes into a fist.
"I won’t," I say firmly.
Her smile fades. "I always wanted to be a stay-at-home mom." She says it like a confession. Almost apologizing. "I know it’s not cool now, not when I’ve got my own shop and all. But deep down, that was the dream. To bake, to cook and…well, raise children. Messy days, tired nights, but…a simple, happy life." Her hand smooths a strand of hair back, grounding herself. "It’s not easy, I know. And it’s not glamorous. But…that’s what I’ve always dreamed of. ”
"You’d be a great mom," I say before I can stop myself.
"And whoever ends up with you…he’ll be damn lucky.
" Somehow, the idea brushes me the wrong way.
I have a hard time picturing another man holding her hand because the only one I envision is…
me. "You’re already a hell of-of, a hell of a homemaker.
" She blushes, ducking her head, lips curving.
Damn, this girl. If only she knew how many men would die for someone like her.
How many would give anything to build a home with someone who wanted to build one back.
"It’s a beautiful dream, Alaska. May-maybe you should put it back on your b-board.
You never know." I twitch my fingers, resisting the urge to reach for hers. Her hand lies right there, so close.
She tilts her head slightly. "I threw it away a long time ago. This isn’t something I can do on my own. Anyway…it was silly to tell you."
"Why?" Isn’t it strange how much I want to hold her right now? To pull her into my chest and tell her she can still have everything she dreams of? That she deserves it?
She takes a breath, eyes flicking away. "We’ve talked too much about me. Don’t you miss the city? Aren’t you bored here?" I flex my hand, caught between pushing and backing off. My sweet Alaska doesn’t like to talk about herself.
"Nah, not really,” I say, zeroing in on her.
"A-actually, I'm, uh, working on a few cases that aren't t-that boring.
I h-hope to get to the b-bottom of it before, um, before leaving.
" A shadow flits across her face, dimming her bright features.
She blinks slowly, then offers a tight smile that doesn't quite reach her eyes.
"Oh...good. G-good for you then." She clears her throat, gaze skittering away. "I was wondering, um...d-do you have a girlfriend? In Minneapolis?" Seems like I’m not the only one stumbling on words today. I suppress a grin. Does this little creature want something to do with a monster like me?
"No. No girlfriend," I say firmly.
Her brows lift slightly, surprise flickering in her eyes. "Really?"
"Y-yeah. I haven’t had one in a while," I admit. There’s no point lying.
What kind of relationship could I have when I can’t even get through a conversation without tripping over my own tongue?
It’s not like I want pity. I just want..
.someone who sees past it. Someone who doesn't hear the stutter first. Someone like.
..Alaska, my mind whispers. She opens her mouth, then clamps it shut again, cheeks turning crimson.
"Why? You’re handsome and—" Her hands slap over her lips, horrified. I can’t help the low chuckle that escapes me. God, she’s adorable. I bite the inside of my cheek, trying to keep my grin in check.
"So...you think I’m handsome, huh?" I tease, cocking my head slightly.
"G-good to know." She says, her blush deepening.
"Nah, no girlfriend," I continue, softer now.
"I'm... I’m not really good at relationships.
" Her hands fall from her face as she studies me, lips curling into a thoughtful pout that nearly undoes me.
"How come?"
"It’s just...how I am. I’m a loner. Always have been."
"Maybe you just haven’t found the right person yet," she says, the words so casually sincere it almost knocks the air out of me.
"M-maybe," I murmur, watching her. She fidgets under the weight of it, shifting in her seat, crossing and uncrossing her legs, a ghost of a smile tugging at her lips.
"When you smile like that," I say before I can stop myself, "you look like an angel in a painting." Jesus, Jack. I run a hand through my hair. "S-sorry. I don’t know why I said that." She inhales, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear, and I watch the way it calms her.
"Did running help? For the tension?" she asks, her voice low and careful. The memory of her in the woods flashes in my mind, wild hair, flushed cheeks, the haunted veil on her face as we crossed paths.
"Running?" I echo, blinking. "Oh. Y-yeah. It did, actually."
She runs her fingers in her hair. "Good."
"I, uh, found a few good trails in the forest. Some nice spots. I’ll probably go back once the wind dies down." I lean in a little, remembering the upcoming storm. "Are you, um, are you ready for the storm? Everyone’s been talking about it."
Her brow arches, unconcerned. "It’s in a week. I’ve got time to prepare. Besides, I can always drive to my parents’ if it gets bad."
"Do you have f-flashlights? A generator?" I ask, maybe more sharply than I mean to. The instinct to protect her taking over me. "If the roads get blocked, you won’t be able to get to them. Trees fall, p-power goes out... It happens fast."
I sound like an overbearing husband.
Only she’s not my wife and she’s not mine.
She gives me a half-smile. "It’s not the apocalypse. It’s just a storm. We get plenty here."
"Jared said this one’s gonna be b-bad. Curfews. Evacuations, maybe."
"Oh." She frowns, probably realising the seriousness of it.
"I’ll be out there helping," I say, then lower my voice. "But I...I don’t want to know you’re alone if anything h-h-happens." Her hand shifts slightly. A few centimeters. Her fingers graze mine on the desk, and my breath catches.
The touch is feather-light.
But it’s there.