Chapter 13
Chapter Thirteen
Luke
“It wasn't your fault, Caldwell.” Captain Taggart’s voice sounds tinny through the phone, but his words hit me like a bullet to the vest.
I press my back against the station's brick wall, needing something solid to ground me. “I left Stu at the front while I went to the rear of the house looking for the man’s wife. Maybe if I’d stayed with him…”
“Then you might be dead too.” His tone leaves no room for me to argue my case of guilt. “That domestic was supposed to be routine. Nobody could've known he had a gun.”
My throat closes as I remember Stu's face from the last time I saw him, insisting I go; the patrol would back him up. “He was my partner.”
“And you were a damn good one. But sometimes, even when we do everything right, the universe still kicks our legs out from under us.”
When Callie pulls into the station lot thirty minutes later, I’m still outside under the hot mid-day sun, replaying the conversation in my head. Inside, I’m feeling better than before the call, but I’m not quite ready to close that door yet.
It was just a conversation. That’s what I told myself when I dialed his number. But hearing his voice, talking about that day... it cracked something open that I didn’t even realize was still locked up tight.
We talked about Stu. About the choices we made. About the split second when everything went to hell. And for the first time since I left the city, I could admit the truth out loud. I’ve been drowning in guilt because I wasn’t there when my partner needed me most.
We were both seasoned cops. That call wasn’t anything special. He said, she said. We’d been to the house before. There had never been a whisper of actual violence. I didn’t abandon Stu; another unit had already arrived. Nobody expected a gun. Nobody expected the shift to end that way.
Bad luck. Pure and simple. At least, that’s what the captain told me. I knew that in my gut, but needed to hear it out loud from somebody who knew the score. Somebody who understood.
But, knowing it and believing it? Two very different things. I somehow feel lighter and heavier all at once, like I’ve been holding my breath for months and only now let a little air out. It’s about damn time.
The sound of a car door slamming pulls me back.
I glance up and find Callie moving toward me with that effortless grace that somehow makes every muscle in my body unwind.
She’s carrying a brown paper bag in one hand and a tray with two cups of coffee in the other, the sun catching on the strands of her hair like it’s got something to prove.
I push away from the wall to meet her halfway. “I thought I was going to get lunch.”
“It was on my way.” Her smile is so sweet, almost knowing, like she can read every thought running through my head.
“Besides, you look like you’ve been standing out here thinking too hard.
” Her eyes search mine, then she reaches up and brushes a finger lightly across my brow, like she can smooth away what’s etched there. “Everything okay?”
“It is now.” My voice comes out low and gruff. “Thanks for coming.”
“Of course.”
“Here, let me take that coffee.” I allow my fingers to linger against hers for a beat too long, and that simple contact grounds me in a way nothing else has today.
Her cheeks flush, and I instantly remember the text I sent her earlier today. “Come on,” I say teasingly, nodding toward the door. “Let’s eat in my office.”
That fire in her eyes hits me right below the belt.
Inside, the blast of cool air greets us, and the tension I’ve been carrying in my shoulders loosens as I close the door behind us, shutting out the noise of the station and the ghosts that have been riding me all day.
The moment we’re alone, and the coffees and sandwiches are set safely on a surface where there’s no danger to them or us, something in me snaps. After weeks of pretending and hours of memories I’d rather forget, I can see now that this beautiful woman is the answer to all my questions.
In three strides, I have her back to the wall, and I’m cradling her face in my hands. My forehead rests against hers as I breathe her in. “Hey.”
Her lips curve in a shy grin. “Hey, yourself, Sheriff.”
Before she can say anything else, I tilt her chin with one finger and cover her mouth with mine.
The kiss is slow and unhurried, until it’s not.
First, I’m nibbling at the corners of her mouth and gently fascinated with how smooth the insides of her cheeks are.
Then it hits like wildfire, and I’m sucking on her tongue, swallowing her moans, tasting and claiming what’s mine.
“I’ve been thinking about doing that all morning,” I murmur against her lips.
“Mmm, me too,” she admits, her hands splayed over my chest, warm even through the fabric of my uniform. “Though I’ve also been busy making peace with your sister.”
That has me pulling back, brows shooting up. “You have?”
She fills me in about Harper’s tears, Kirk’s betrayal, and the awkward but honest conversation that followed.
“So, Kirk was cheating on both of you?” A muscle jumps in my jaw, and I wonder if I’m going to have a problem unclenching my teeth. “'I should arrest him on principle.”
Her laughter is light, and it loosens the stranglehold my anger has on me. Her fingers trace the edge of my badge. “As tempting as that is, I think public humiliation is punishment enough for now.”
“I’m glad you and Harper talked,” I say honestly. “She’s been miserable without you.”
“I didn’t realize how much I missed her until today.”
A smile tugs at my mouth. “Does this mean our fake relationship can be officially over?”
She taps her chin with exaggerated drama. “Well, I don’t know. The original goal was to hurt Harper like she hurt me, but since that’s no longer necessary…”
“Callie Cooper,” I growl, sliding my hands down to her waist. “Are you breaking up with me?”
She looks up at me through long, wispy lashes, her eyes sparkling. “That depends. Are you asking me to be your real girlfriend, Luke Caldwell?”
The question hits harder than I expected, mainly because the answer comes so damn easily. “I think I am.”
“Then I think I’m saying yes.”
I kiss her again, taking my time because this, right here, isn’t about pretending anymore. It’s real. And it’s everything I didn’t know I needed.
When we finally break apart, we’re both breathing hard, foreheads, chests, and thighs pressed together like neither of us is ready to let go.
“You know the whole town is going to be talking about us,” I say with a huff of laughter.
“Let them talk.” Her voice is steady, sure. “I’m done worrying about what other people think.”
Her stomach picks that moment to let us know she’s hungry, so we move back to my desk, settling into chairs like normal people who haven’t just been devouring each other against the wall.
The sandwiches taste like the best damn thing I’ve ever eaten, not because of what they are, but because she brought them, because she’s here.
We talk about the weekend, about Harper, about everything and nothing. And for the first time in a long time, it feels easy. It feels right.
It feels like I’m finally home for good.
“By the way,” I say, reaching across the desk to brush a crumb from the corner of her mouth, “Mom’s been asking me about bringing you over for dinner.”
Callie freezes mid-chew, then swallows hard, coughing like I just dropped a bomb. “Your mom wants me to come for dinner?”
“It’s not like you haven’t eaten at our house before.”
“When I was a kid,” she points out, still wide-eyed.
“She’s thrilled about us, Callie. She’s always liked you.”
Her brows lift. “You told her?”
“She guessed.”
“Oh.” She shifts in her chair, biting her lip. “I guess that means we actually have to leave my place once in a while?”
I chuckle, sitting back in my chair. “That’s the idea.
” Truth is, the thought of giving up an entire evening of being tangled up in her sheets makes me hesitate.
But I can’t deny how good it feels knowing how easily Callie fits into my life, even the parts I didn’t think I wanted to share with anyone.
“Okay,” she says finally, sharing a hint of a smile that makes my stomach flip.
“Perfect. I’ll tell her Sunday works. That way,” I let my grin spread slow and wicked, “we have all of Saturday, Saturday night, and Sunday morning to ourselves.”
Her cheeks flush, and she swats at me. “You’re terrible.”
“Honest.”
Lunch ends too soon, and when she stands, I rise with her, not ready to let go, disappointed I didn’t get to follow through on my promise. At least for now. “I’ll see you after work. I’ll bring dessert.” I lean in close, my lips grazing her ear. “And I’m not talking about pie.”
She sucks in a breath, her whole face turning crimson as she smacks my arm playfully. “Behave, Sheriff. We’re in public.”
“Later, then,” I murmur, dropping a quick kiss to the tip of her nose before forcing myself to let her go.
I watch her walk out, the door swinging shut behind her, and it’s like the puzzle pieces I’ve been trying to force fit, finally fall into place. I wasn’t sure coming back to Cupid’s Creek and stepping into Dad’s boots was the right move. But every day, I’m more settled. More certain.
When I think back to that night under the stars, I sometimes wonder how different things would’ve been if I hadn’t left.
But maybe this was the only way it could happen.
Perhaps we needed the time to grow up, to screw up, to figure out who we were, before finding our way back.
Sometimes the longest road leads you to exactly where you’re meant to be.
“Sheriff?” One of my deputies is standing in the doorway of my office, holding a file. “Got that report you asked for.”
“Thanks,” I say, taking it. “Appreciate it.”