Chapter 6
Guy
I’m not even paying attention to the channels I’m flicking through, but regardless, I keep pressing the button. Pictures flash by, seconds of sound, but I don’t stop. I need something to occupy my hands.
It’s almost six and Monty still isn’t back.
At first, I thought she’d left for good while I was at the grocery store, but a quick check of her room revealed her suitcases still unpacked. It isn’t like I can call her, I don’t even have her number, and Gable would find it strange as hell if I randomly asked for it.
So, I paced. I worked out until my muscles burned. I cooked. I cleaned. I ate what I cooked and saved a plate for her.
Now I’m taking my annoyance out on the TV remote.
The door opens and I shoot to my feet.
“Santa’s almost here!” Monty sings as she dances into the living room. Her face drops when she sees my expression. “What’s happened?”
For a moment, I debate demanding to know where she’s been, but then I realize it’s none of my damn business.
I’m also not gonna sound like a disgruntled husband by pointing out that I cooked for her and she wasn’t here to eat it. Or that she didn’t even have the courtesy to let me know her shopping trip would take nearly eight fucking hours.
So, I simply fold my arms. “Nothing. Your dinner is in the microwave.”
She slaps her forehead. “Oh my God, dinner! I totally forgot! I’m so sorry. The gift took longer than I thought.”
I shrug. “It’s fine.”
It’s not. I made crappy pasta, but I still made it.
God, I need to grow up.
“You’re mad at me.” She slinks over to me, an unfamiliar blue scarf wrapped around her throat.
And she smells like cologne.
Fuck.
That’s where she’s been.
With a man.
My gut sours. But what did I expect? She’s a young woman, she’s attractive; why wouldn’t she be having sex and plenty of it? Good for her.
Good for fucking her.
“Do you want your gift?” she asks, beaming up at me. “I promise you’re gonna love it. Just … close your eyes.”
I arch a brow. “I don’t think I trust you enough.”
She swats my arm. “Just close your eyes and wait here!”
Sighing, I do as she says. I hear the front door open, and a few seconds later, the sound of conversation.
I open my eyes, and Monty is in front of me—and so are three of my work friends.
Winston, Alicia, and Christopher. Alicia is in Internal Affairs now, so we keep in touch as often as we can, but she’s snowed under, especially since I gave her the hard drive.
Since the world believes Ella is dead, I was able to get from under the thumb of Ranger Luxe.
He could no longer hold her life over me, so I handed over the hard drive to Alicia, and when Ranger called, I promptly told him to go fuck himself.
Probably not the smartest thing to do, but it felt good.
Christopher is still a beat cop and says he’ll never want to be anything else. We all started at the academy together, but it’s been years since we’ve done something socially. They’re holding bags, beers, and are grinning at me from the door.
“What’s … happening?” I ask, glancing at Monty.
“Poker night!” She says excitedly. “I thought it’d be fun for you to have some friends over.”
“Your girl texted us from your phone pretending to be you. She’s sneaky,” Winston says, placing the bags on the kitchen island. “Did you clean up all the blood? I’m not making my famous guac on a dirty counter.”
As my friends get to work setting up a makeshift poker table in the dining area, Monty dances over to me. “Are you happy?”
I nod, unused to the sudden busyness of my home. Lively conversation, food being cooked, laughter … it feels like life has been breathed back into a building that died when Ella left.
But despite that, I’m aware that socializing means talking. Questions being asked.
Questions about why I took leave.
“Yeah, just … a little surprised. How did you even access my phone?”
“Magic,” she tugs on the front of my T-shirt, but when my expression remains stoic, her smile falters. “Shit, did I overstep? I’m sorry.”
“No, you didn’t. Well, yeah, you did by using my phone, but …
I appreciate it. It’s a nice gesture. I think.
” I force a smile, hoping she doesn’t notice how brittle it is.
I’ve avoided my friends for a reason, but Monty doesn’t know that, so I can’t and won’t hold it against her. “Thank you, Monty.”
She points to her face, and I roll my eyes and kiss her cheek. Her skin is soft, and there’s that familiar smell of cherries again.
She sighs softly, the sound close to a breathy moan, and it sends a zip of excitement through me.
“You’re welcome, Chief.” The words dance across my ear, sending goose bumps down my back.
My skin heats, and my heart thuds a little faster than it should for a killer.
We remain close, closer than we should, and it takes everything in me not to let my mouth wander to her neck.
“Anything you need, or want … I’m here.” She pulls back, her eyes locking with mine, and my instincts tickle beneath my skin.
The clear green of her eyes, the plumpness of her lips, her soft, erotic sounds—none of it can distract me from the ghosts whispering in my ear.
This is an act.
Like everything Monty does, she has a reason for it, and it isn’t that she wants me. I won’t fall into the same trap so many other people likely have.
And she knows I’ve figured that out. I see the moment it happens, because her eyes sparkle and her grin spreads. She knows I’m onto her, but she isn’t afraid.
She’s excited.
I gently take her chin in my hand and angle her head up. “You’re up to something.”
She runs her hands down my chest. “I’m not, but even if I was, does that mean I can’t want you at the same time?
” Her gaze flicks back to mine. “But I like that you’re trying to figure me out, because that means your attention is solely on me.
Thinking about me … dreaming about me …” She bites her lip. “I think about you, too.”
“Stop eye-fucking when we’re in the room,” Alicia barks with a mouthful of mini pretzels.
Monty whirls. “Okay everyone, I’ll be upstairs wrapping top-secret Christmas presents. Do not disturb. Or else.” She waves her finger between everyone and grabs a bottle of wine and a glass before heading upstairs.
“Trouble with a capital T, that one,” Alicia says, and I grunt in agreement.
We’re a few rounds in when Monty reappears for snacks. She wraps her arms around my shoulders, whispers that she hopes I’ve got good cards, flirts with Winston a little, then disappears again. Christmas music filters down the stairs, and finally, someone asks.
“Okay, spill. Where’d you meet the blonde?” Christopher demands. “Because if it’s on an app, I’m on the wrong fucking ones.”
Alicia focuses on her cards. “You only meet women like that in two places. Prison, or government.”
“What does that mean?” Winston crunches on some chips.
“It means …” She places her cards down and points at the stairs. “That woman is a liar if I’ve ever met one. She’s sugar-coated bullshit. Be careful with her, Chief.”
“Trust me, I’ve got my eye on her. And to answer your question, Chris, she was Ella’s friend.” The table falls quiet, and I glance between everyone. “It isn’t against the law to talk about her.”
They nod but remain quiet as we play another hand.
“Is Ella the reason you’re on leave?” Chris asks, and Winston must kick him under the table because he winces. “Ow! I’m just asking!”
“No, Ella isn’t the reason I’m on leave.
” Placing my cards down, I wonder whether I should just bite the bullet.
They’ll find out sooner or later, because despite me chickening out the day Monty arrived, I plan on making the announcement before New Year, anyway.
“I took leave so I could give some thought to a decision.”
Winston watches me. “What decision?”
I sip my beer. “Retiring.”
The word feels strange on my tongue. I haven’t said it out loud, and now it’s out there and it feels so … real. But also the right thing to do.
Alicia says, “Guy, you can’t. You’re the best chief we’ve had.”
“And I’m tired,” I admit. “I’m tired of this city, this house, these memories. I want to … shed my skin. Be someone else.”
Winston looks at me with all the concern of an old friend, and I wish he wouldn’t.
This makes sense to me. I have plenty of money to do it, and it means I can sell up and move closer to Ella.
I miss my girl, her kids, and being this far away is tearing me apart.
I promised I’d try, and for three years I have, but I’m done.
I want my family again.
“Isn’t that just running from the problem, though?” Winston asks. “Your life won’t suddenly change if you don’t work.”
“I’ll be moving, too,” I say. “Gonna find some land, just spend the next few years doing nothing. Buy a few horses, maybe sell some, too. It’s what I always planned on doing, anyway. Why not do it now?”
There are probably a number of good points to be made about why this is a mistake. I’ll be bored, especially after being so busy for so long, and I’ll miss the place I grew up in, raised my daughter in.
But even if I hadn’t made the decision already, Monty being here would’ve pushed me to it. I envy her ability to hop from place to place, to be free, not attached to anything or anyone.
I want that. Maybe I even need it.
“Well, you better still visit,” Alicia says. “And if the new chief sucks, I’m blaming you.”
I smile, and we resume our game.
Hours pass and I find myself laughing, sharing old stories, correcting Winston when he exaggerates them. Soon, we switch to whiskey, and I sink more than I have in a long time.
It’s fun. Really fun. I don’t feel like a chief, and the burden of the last few years, even the last few days, is lifted so abruptly that it feels like surfacing after almost drowning.
If this is what retirement is going to feel like, then it’s long overdue.
It turns out Monty gave everyone a ride, knowing we’d all be drinking, so we end the night by calling a taxi, and I’m almost seeing double by the time everyone is gone.
Slumping onto the couch, I groan and rub my eyes. I can’t remember the last time I drank this much, and I’m definitely going to feel it in the morning. Not the ideal way to spend Christmas Day, especially given that I’m fairly sure I promised Monty I’d cook, but that’s tomorrow’s problem.
My eyes drift closed, the twinkling Christmas lights fading from view.
I dream of Ella as a little girl. She’s sitting in a field, and it’s snowing, but she’s in a summer dress. I try to call out to her, to tell her it’s too cold, she needs a jacket, but when she turns, she’s a grown woman.
“I’m warm enough, Daddy,” she says as Gable wraps his arms around her.
I wake with a start, Monty’s hand on my cheek. My head is already throbbing, and my throat is dryer than the carpet.
Fuck, why did I drink so much?
“Why are you down here?” Monty whispers. “Come to bed.” She takes my hand and lugs me to my feet. Without argument, I follow her upstairs and collapse onto the bed, groaning as she tugs off my boots.
“Don’t do that,” I mumble into the pillow.
“You’ll be uncomfortable,” she says, tossing them aside. The bed dips slightly as she sits beside me, covering me with a blanket.
“You’re dangerous,” I say, sighing deeply. “But so pretty.”
I think she chuckles, then kisses me on the cheek, and leaves.