Chapter 15
FIFTEEN
“You need to start eating healthier, man,” I tell Josh as he chomps down on a cheeseburger in the passenger seat.
It’s Saturday evening, and we’re on shift again, parked in front of a fast-food restaurant that Josh enjoys in the Bronx.
“Sure, tomorrow,” he says, speaking with a mouthful, and I let out an exasperated sigh at his lack of concern.
The evening has been quiet, with us mostly driving around and observing people having a good time on their night out.
My phone buzzes with a text from Xander.
Xander
Just finished everything up and about to settle on the couch, watching some Netflix. Hope your night is uneventful. Miss you.
Sometimes, I despise my job. I could be snuggled up on the couch with my boyfriend right now, but instead, I’m watching my best friend stuff his face, waiting to be called to a case.
I’d drive back home to you in a heartbeat for some Netflix and chill, babe. Miss you too.
Oh, yeah? How much Netflix and how much chill would be involved?
I’d say I wouldn’t give a damn about what we watch since we wouldn’t hear a thing over me moaning.
Fuck, love, now look what you’ve done.
My heart races, and my face flushes as a picture suddenly pops up in our text thread—Xander’s massive, beautiful, heavily tattooed, and pierced cock tightly gripped in his fist, fully erect. I groan and let my head fall against the car seat, swiping my free hand over my face.
“God, you guys sexting again?” Josh asks, cleaning up the fast-food trash. “You should keep that stuff for home. I think I’ve seen your boner more than Xander has lately.”
I glance down at the noticeable bulge in my tight uniform pants and shift my hips, trying to adjust myself.
“Sorry, these late shifts are cockblocking me more and more,” I say.
“Mm-hmm… I get it. It sucks. I mean, I have no one waiting for me, but I still want to get a good night’s sleep soon,” he says, suppressing a yawn.
“Didn’t we discuss you getting back on dating apps?” I turn slightly to get a better look at him.
“Yeah, we did, but it’s just not my thing. Either they’re only after a quick hookup, or they want to marry me without even meeting in person,” he explains.
“Oh, poor handsome boy, having women lining up without even trying is such a drag,” I tease.
“It is. I’m twenty-six, and I’m done with playing around. I want something real, something like what you guys have,” he says, his gaze dropping to his fingers.
“We do have something real, but we’re still not done playing around.” I laugh.
“When was the last time you guys brought a girl home? I haven’t seen one around the house in a while,” he asks, looking back up at me.
Xander and I have been together since our early teenage years, and I’ve loved him since when we were just na?ve kids who didn’t fully grasp the concept of love. I simply knew he was mine, and I was his.
We are bisexual and occasionally enjoy sharing a woman between us.
However, we’ve established clear rules, never with other men, and we only fuck others when we are both in the room.
This arrangement works perfectly for us, allowing us to explore together while ensuring no one is left out or jealous.
“It’s more challenging to find women for some morning fun,” I say.
Josh laughs. “True.”
Just then, the radio crackles to life, interrupting our conversation.
“Attention all units in the vicinity of 1158 Rhinelander Avenue. We have received multiple noise complaints regarding a house party at that location. Neighbors have reported excessive noise and disturbance. Can any unit in the area please respond and check out the situation, ensure the safety of the attendees, and remind them to keep the noise down? Over.”
We’re only a few blocks away, so I glance at Josh, and he grins, leaning forward to press the response button on the radio. “Dispatch, Unit forty-seven, we copy the noise complaint at Rhinelander Avenue. We will respond and investigate the situation. Over.”
“Fucking finally, something’s happening around here. I thought I was going to need a nap soon,” I say, starting the engine, and we speed off toward the house party.
As we drive through the streets, our patrol car lights flashing, the excitement builds. It’s a much-needed break from the same old routine of our current shift.
When we finally reach the address, an explosion of colors and energy greets us. The house party is in full swing, with the music blaring and laughter echoing through the air.
Bringing the car to a stop, Josh and I exchange a knowing glance, gearing up to face the situation head-on. A cool rush of night air greets us as we get out of the car and approach the house.
Conversations momentarily taper off as the partygoers take notice of our arrival. I can’t help but notice that many of them appear to be barely legal, clutching red cups and wearing somewhat nervous expressions.
Why the fuck do these people party outside? It’s November, for fuck’s sake.
But when I glance up at the house, I can see through the windows that it is packed.
With authority in my voice, I address the crowd.
“All right, folks, we’ve received noise complaints.
We need everyone to keep the noise down and show respect for the neighbors.
Let’s keep the party going, but with a little more consideration, all right? ”
The crowd responds with nods and murmurs of agreement, and the music gets turned down.
Glancing around, I notice a small group of boys and girls who appear particularly young, too young to be out on a Saturday night with alcohol in their hands. I turn to Josh, and we exchange a nod, silently agreeing to check on them.
The three guys from the group notice our approach and hastily bolt, abandoning their cups and making a quick escape. The two girls are left staring in disbelief, seemingly too shocked to follow suit.
Without wasting a moment, Josh and I position ourselves, each placing a hand on one of the girls’ shoulders to prevent any misguided attempts to flee.
“Ladies,” I address them with a reassuring smile. “May we see your IDs, please?”
Tears begin streaming down the taller girl’s face, signaling we may have just stumbled upon a situation that will keep us occupied for the rest of the night. But when the smaller girl looks up at me, I am stunned.
Carolina’s captivating cat eyes look back at me from a face that is not hers.
A few hours have passed, and the bar has finally calmed down as the last patrons make their way out. My shift for the day is nearly over, and I made good tips today, but my head is pounding from the heat and the noise over hours.
Needing something for my headache, I head toward the lockers to get my backpack. Since I’m constantly on the go, I make sure to keep a little of everything I may need throughout the day.
I take out a Tylenol and gulp it without water, leaving my backpack behind the counter. The sooner I can clean up, the sooner I can go home. So I grab a cloth and head to a table, letting out a tired sigh.
Of course, Cindy promptly plops herself down on the spot I just cleaned. “I missed you,” she says with a smile.
“Did you?” I respond, my tone edges irritated as I wipe the table.
“Yes, and I’m not the only one. Lennard asked about you, and Matteo wanted me to give him your number,” she says, wiggling her eyebrows mischievously.
“Too bad you don’t have it,” I say.
“That’s exactly what I told him. But I think you should give him a chance. He’s into you,” she pushes.
I let out an exasperated huff. “No one is into me.”
“That’s not true. Someone being into you is the whole reason you got into this mess,” Cindy says, shrugging casually.
I shoot her a sharp glare, ready to retort, but my phone suddenly chimes, diverting my attention. I pick it out of my pocket and glance at the screen, but I don’t recognize the number.
“Hello?” I answer, my voice tinged with a hint of apprehension.
“Carolina Costa?” a woman asks in a neutral tone.
“Yes,” I respond, glancing at the clock above the bar. It’s nearly two in the morning. “How can I help you?”
Cindy furrows her brow, curious, but I simply shrug in response.
“It concerns your sister, Chiara Costa,” she explains.
Panic immediately surges through my chest. “What happened?” I ask, trying to keep my voice steady but failing.
I drop the cloth and make my way toward the bar to grab my backpack.
“We’ve been trying to get a hold of Mr. Costa, but he’s unreachable,” the woman continues, and I cringe at the mention of my uncle. “We need you to come to the police station to pick up your sister, Ms. Costa.”
My heart pounds in my chest as I quickly make my way toward the exit. “What happened? Is she okay?” I ask anxiously, my hand already on the door handle.
“She was found drinking in public. You can discuss the details with the officers who picked her up.”
“Which station?” I ask, my mind racing with worry.
“NYPD Headquarters, miss,” comes the response.
Fuck.
“On my way,” I say, abruptly ending the call. “Cindy, can you please close up for me? It’s an emergency.”
“Sure, is everything all—” she starts to ask, but I’m already out the door, sprinting toward the nearest subway station.
Mama’s words come rushing back to me. Would she still be proud if she knew that I failed to guide Chiara so much?
“Sometimes, we have to push back our own feelings and wishes so the ones we love are cared for. But you are doing amazing, and I am so proud of you.”
Once again, I’m sucked into the past.
The room is bathed in the soft afternoon light, casting a warm glow on walls adorned with posters and drawings. I am sitting at my desk, engrossed in a drawing I’ve been working on for days, my brow furrowed in concentration, my tongue peeking out slightly as I carefully add to my masterpiece.
Chiara is playing on the floor behind me, her tiny hands busy with some blocks.
I realize I need a particular shade of blue and stand to get it from Mama’s desk. “Just a second, piccola,” I murmur to Chiara, heading out of the room.
When I come back into the room, Chiara is kneeling on my stool, holding a dark marker and drawing all over my paper.
“Chiara,” I exclaim, my voice rising in frustration. “Cosa hai fatto?”
Chiara startles at my sudden outburst, looking up with wide, tear-filled eyes. “I… I help,” she stammers, her lower lip quivering.
My anger bubbles over. “You ruined it,” I yell.
Her face crumples, and she bursts into tears, her small body shaking with sobs.
Mama rushes into the room, concern evident on her face. “What happened?” she asks, quickly moving to lift Chiara from the stool to comfort her.
I am still fuming and holding up the ruined drawing to her. “She destroyed it, Mama!”
Our mother looks at the drawing, then back at me. “Topolina,” she begins gently, “I know you’re upset and that your drawings mean a lot to you. But remember, you are her big sister. She is just a little girl. She does not understand the value of things just now.”
“But, Mama, it’s not fair!” I protest, tears forming in my own eyes. “I just wanted to make it perfect.”
She strokes over Chiara’s hair before she sets her down to pull me into a comforting embrace. “I know, my little mouse. And it’s okay to feel this way. But as the big sister, you also have a role to play. Chiara looks up to you, and she is still learning. We need to guide her together.”
I glance at Chiara, who is now looking remorseful. I take a deep breath, “I am sorry, piccola. Do you want to draw with me?”
Our mother smiles at me, kissing my cheek. “Brava, life isn’t always fair, topolina, but it’s how we react in those moments that truly defines us.”