Chapter 7
Brandon
My phone wouldn't stop ringing.
I silenced it for the third time, staring at Samantha's closed door. She was on the other side of that wall, crying. I'd heard her earlier, the sound muffled but unmistakable.
And I was out here in the hallway like a coward, unable to do anything about it.
My phone buzzed again. This time I answered.
"Spencer." Captain Reeves sounded tired. "You need to come in. We've got paperwork to process."
"I'm not leaving. I'm staying close in case those dealers have friends we don't know about."
A lie. The dealers were in custody. Their associates were being rounded up. Samantha was safe from them.
She just wasn't safe from me. From what I'd done to her.
Reeves sighed. "Fine. But come in first thing tomorrow. That's an order. Get your head straight."
He hung up.
I leaned against my door, listening to the silence from Samantha's apartment. No more crying. No sounds at all.
Maybe she'd fallen asleep. Or maybe she was just done making noise.
The surveillance equipment was still running, monitors showing the now-empty apartment where the dealers had been. I shut it all down, one screen at a time.
The case was over. We had three dealers in custody. Kyle was cooperating, headed for a rehab program instead of hard time. The supplier's car had been traced to a warehouse across town, and units were moving on it now.
Everything I'd been working toward for eighteen months. Everything I'd sacrificed for.
And all I could think about was the look on Samantha's face when she'd seen my badge.
I grabbed a beer from the fridge and sat on my couch in the dark. Drank it slowly, trying not to think. Trying not to remember.
Her hands in my hair. Her laugh when Pepper knocked over a glass. The way she'd looked at me this morning like I was someone worth keeping.
My phone buzzed. Text from my mom: Haven't heard from you in a while. Everything okay?
I typed back: Fine. Just busy with work.
You always say that. Call me this weekend?
I will.
Another lie. I'd been telling them for so long they came easy now.
I finished the beer and got another one. Sat there drinking and thinking about Danny.
He'd been my best friend since we were kids. Grew up three houses down from me, played on the same Little League team, went through the police academy together. He was supposed to be the best man at my wedding someday. Uncle to my kids.
Instead, he was in the ground because I'd kept secrets. Because I'd thought I was protecting him by not telling him the dealers knew we were coming.
And now I'd done the same thing to Samantha. Protected instead of trusted. Kept secrets instead of being honest.
Some people never learn.
Around two in the morning, I heard movement in the hallway. I went to my door and looked through the peephole.
Samantha was out there in sleep shorts and a tank top, staring at my door. Her eyes were red, her face blotchy from crying.
I held my breath, waiting.
She raised her hand like she was going to knock. Then lowered it. Did it again. Lowered it again.
Finally, she turned and went back to her apartment.
I pressed my forehead against the door and tried to breathe through the ache in my chest.
***
THE NEXT MORNING, I woke on my couch with a crick in my neck and three empty beer bottles on the coffee table. My phone showed six missed calls from Reeves and a text: Supplier in custody. Nice work.
I should have felt something. Relief. Satisfaction. Justice for Danny.
Instead, I felt empty.
I got up and showered, letting the hot water beat down on me until it ran cold. Got dressed in jeans and a t-shirt. Made coffee that tasted like dirt.
My apartment was quiet. Too quiet. For the past week, I'd been able to hear Samantha through the wall. Her music, her voice talking to Pepper, the sounds of her moving through her space.
Now there was nothing.
I checked my surveillance equipment out of habit, then remembered I'd shut it down. The case was closed. I didn't need it anymore.
I should pack it up. Return it to the department. Move on to the next assignment.
But the thought of leaving this building, of not being next door to Samantha, made me want to beat my fists against the wall. But I needed to get on with my life.
I went down to the precinct with all the gear and computer and spent the day buried in paperwork. I tried to find comfort in the bustle of the place, but I just wasn’t feeling it. Shaw came over to my desk after lunch.
"The woman next door. Samantha Richards. She's refusing protective detail."
"Why would she need protective detail? We got everyone involved in the operation,” I said, feeling a burn of anger that someone might still want to hurt Samantha.
"We got everyone we know about," Shaw corrected. "But there's always a chance someone we missed might blame her for talking. For cooperating."
"She didn't cooperate. She didn't know anything about the operation until last night."
"Doesn't matter. Perception is reality with these people." Shaw crossed her arms. "We offered to have a unit watch her building for a few days. She declined."
"Then put one there anyway."
"Can't. She's a civilian, and she was clear about not wanting police presence." Shaw gave me a look. "She specifically mentioned you. Said she doesn't want you anywhere near her."
The words landed like punches.
"I can stay in the building for a few more days. She won’t know I’m there.” Of course, she would, but I had to make sure she was free and clear from this mess.
Shaw nodded. “That’ll work.”
Around four, I gave trying to get anything productive done and went out. I walked for miles with no destination, just moving to avoid sitting still.
I ended up at the cemetery where Danny was buried.
His headstone was simple. Name, dates, "Beloved Son and Brother." Nothing about being a cop. Nothing about dying in the line of duty.
His parents hadn't wanted that. Said it defined him by his death instead of his life.
I sat on the grass in front of his grave and stared at the headstone.
"I got them," I said. "The ring that killed you. They're in custody. All of them."
The wind rustled through the trees. A bird called somewhere nearby.
"You'd tell me I screwed up with her. That I should have been honest from the start." I picked at the grass. "You'd be right. You usually were."
I thought about all the times Danny had called me on my bullshit.
When I'd wanted to go undercover without backup.
When I'd tried to work a case while running on three hours of sleep and too much coffee.
When I'd started dating a woman who was clearly using me to get information about an investigation.
Danny had always seen through me. Had always pushed me to be better.
"I don't know how to fix this," I said. "She won't talk to me. Won't let me explain. And I don't blame her. I lied to her about everything."
More silence.
"I'm thinking about requesting a transfer. Getting out of undercover work." I pulled up more grass. "I can't keep lying to people for a living. It's killing me."
The idea had been forming since last night. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Samantha's face in that parking garage. The betrayal. The hurt.
I couldn't do that to anyone else.
"There's an opening for a School Resource Officer at Lincoln High. Working with kids, trying to keep them from ending up like the dealers we just arrested. Like the kids who end up as Samantha's clients. I think I’m going to apply there."
It felt right, saying it out loud. Like I was finally making a decision that aligned with who I wanted to be instead of who I'd become.
"I know it's a pay cut. I know it's less prestige. But maybe it's what I need. A chance to help people instead of just arresting them."
I sat there for another hour, talking to Danny's grave about everything and nothing. About Samantha and the case and the mess I'd made of both.
When I finally left, the sun was setting. The cemetery gates would close soon.
I took one last look at Danny's headstone. "I'm going to try to fix this. With her, I mean. I don't know if she'll listen, but I have to try."
The walk back to the apartment took twice as long as the walk to the cemetery. I kept stopping, pulling out my phone, typing messages to Samantha that I deleted before sending.
I'm sorry felt inadequate.
Let me explain felt presumptuous.
I love you felt like manipulation.
So I sent nothing.
When I got back to the building, Mrs. Kim was in the lobby watering her plants again.
"Brandon." She set down her watering can. "Are you okay? You look terrible."
"Long day."
"I heard there was trouble last night. Police everywhere, people arrested." She shook her head. "Very scary."
"It's over now. Everyone's safe."
"And Samantha? Is she okay? I knocked on her door this morning but she didn't answer."
"She's fine. Just tired, probably."
Mrs. Kim studied me with eyes that saw too much. "You two had a fight?"
"Something like that."
"She's a good girl. Very kind heart. You should apologize."
"I plan to."
"Good. Don't wait too long. Pride is a cold thing to sleep with."
I took the stairs instead of the elevator, needing the extra time to think. By the time I reached the third floor, I'd made a decision.
I was going to try one more time. Not tonight. She needed space. But soon. Before I lost my nerve.
Before I lost her completely.
I unlocked my door and went inside. The apartment felt wrong without the surveillance equipment. Without the purpose that had brought me here.
But maybe that was good. Maybe I needed to figure out who I was without the job defining me.
I made dinner. Pasta again, but without the care I'd taken when cooking for Samantha. Just fuel to get through the day.
While I ate, I pulled up the application for the School Resource Officer position. Read through the requirements again, making sure I met all of them.
Then I filled it out. All of it. Contact information, work history, references. The essay portion asking why I wanted the position.
I want to help kids before they make mistakes that will define the rest of their lives. I want to be someone they can trust, someone who shows up every day and keeps his word. I want to make a difference in a way that matters.
I submitted it before I could second-guess myself.
***
A FEW DAYS LATER, MY phone rang while I was still filing reports and slogging through back logs of reports.
"Spencer."
"This is Principal Douglas from Lincoln High School. I received your application for the SRO position."
I sat up. "Yes, sir."
"Can you come in for an interview tomorrow? I know it's short notice, but we're hoping to fill this position quickly."
"What time?"
"Ten work for you?"
"I'll be there."
I hung up and stared at my phone. Less than week since I'd applied, and they wanted to interview me already.
Maybe the universe was trying to tell me something.
The next day, I showered and shaved, put on slacks and a button-down. Professional but not too formal. Then I sat in my apartment for an hour, too nervous to leave early.
At nine thirty, I headed out. Walked past Samantha's door without stopping, even though everything in me wanted to knock.
The interview went better than I expected. Principal Douglas was in his fifties, practical and direct. He asked about my experience, my approach to working with teenagers, my thoughts on the school-to-prison pipeline.
"I believe in second chances," I told him. "I've seen too many kids make one mistake and have it define the rest of their lives. If I can be someone who helps them avoid that mistake in the first place, that's worth more than any arrest I could make."
He nodded. "You're overqualified for this position. Why do you really want it?"
I thought about Samantha. About Jake. About all the people I'd arrested over the years who'd started as kids making bad choices.
"Because I'm tired of seeing the end result," I said. "I want to be there at the beginning. Where I can actually make a difference."
Principal Douglas studied me for a long moment. "When can you start?"
"You're offering me the position?"
"Assuming your background check comes back clean, yes. We need someone in place by right away."
"My background will be fine." Better than fine. Decorated officer, multiple commendations. "I’ll have to give notice at the precinct and set things up with my department."
"Good. I'll have HR send over the paperwork." He stood and shook my hand. "Welcome to Lincoln High, Officer Spencer."
I left the school in a daze. I'd done it. Made a choice that would change everything.
Now I just needed to tell Samantha.
Not about the job. Not yet. But about everything else. About why I'd lied and what I'd been protecting and how I'd been wrong about all of it.
I needed to tell her the truth. The whole truth, even the parts that made me look worse.
And then I needed to let her decide if I deserved a second chance.