Chapter 5
Uncharted Territory
Reed
It was a weekday night, so the bar was pretty quiet.
John had claimed our usual booth in the back while I grabbed a few beers.
I slid in across from him, already feeling tension seep from my bones.
I'd gone into the station for a bit to close out some paperwork on a case we'd wrapped up yesterday.
The case had been straightforward—surveillance footage, cooperative witnesses, suspect who confessed within twenty minutes. Sometimes the job was actually easy.
"So?" John said, not even waiting for me to order. "Let’s get into it."
"What?"
"Come on. Get outta here with that shit." He flagged down the waitress, ordered two beers without asking. "Get ready before Sarah gets here. She’s been grilling me about her, and since I haven’t had anything to share, you should be prepared."
I took a long pull from my drink, buying time.
"Fine. But it's still really all up in the air, so don't get any damn ideas, yeah?
The coffee date was good, well—It was really great, actually.
We lost track of time just talking. Nothing too heavy, but we got past all the useless small talk pretty quick.
You know, the kind of conversation where you actually learn something about the person—likes, dislikes, you know what I mean. "
"Like what?"
"Man, I don't know—like what we like to do, and what it's like working in our worlds.
She told me a bit about her past up here before Florida.
Shit, she even told me about the kids' deadbeat dad.
Real asshole. I maybe shared a little about Sara, but not a lot.
Definitely not ready for that deep shit. "
John's eyebrows shot up in question. "Okaaaaaaaaay."
"Whatever, man." I turned the bottle in slow circles on the table. "We're casual. Not fucking getting married tomorrow."
John snorted, his beer pausing halfway to his lips.
"Okay. That makes sense. You're leaving room so you can run screaming like a kid escaping Godzilla—arms flailing, eyes wide with panic, probably knocking over a few innocent bystanders on your way out of town.
I get that strategy. Classic Reed Morrison escape plan. "
"Fuck you. You’re such an idiot." I smiled despite myself. "That's not it—I guess."
"Then what is it?"
I stared at my beer, watching condensation slide down the bottle. "I really like her, John. Like, more than I've liked anyone in a long time. And that scares the shit out of me."
"Because of the commitment thing."
"Because of everything. The kids, the possibility of getting serious—fuck, can we stop talking like a bunch of chicks? Getting deep in my feels over a beer really wasn’t my plan tonight."
The booth cushion compressed with a soft hiss as Sarah appeared, dropping her purse on my side of the booth in the way she had for years now—since my side was almost always empty.
She tucked her hair behind one ear and slid into the booth beside John, her ring catching the dim bar light as she cupped his jaw with both hands.
Their kiss lasted just long enough to make me glance at my beer.
When I looked up, she'd already pivoted toward me, leaning forward with her elbows on the table, chin propped on her hands like a kid waiting for a bedtime story.
Sarah's eyes lit up with mischief, her smile widening until I could see the slight gap between her front teeth.
She leaned halfway across the sticky table, close enough that I caught a whiff of her perfume.
"Hey, Reed," she said, drawing out my name with that sing-song quality she always used when she thought she had me cornered.
"Tell me about the new girlfriend! When do I get to meet her?
And don't you dare hold back on the juicy details. "
"Nope! Not this shit, man. She’s not my girlfriend. And I’m not talking about it yet. I don’t know what it is, so you can just cool your jets. I promise—If I decide to run away to Tahiti with her, you’ll be the last to know."
Sarah reached across and punched my shoulder.
"You're such an ass," she said, but her laugh softened it.
"I've watched you pull this same crap for as long as we’ve been friends.
You know what I want? Double dates where I'm not stuck listening to you two talk about the Sox or the Pats all night.
" She rolled her eyes dramatically, but beneath the performance, I caught something genuine—a flash of hope in her expression.
She'd been trying to see me settled for years now.
I looked down at my beer, avoiding her gaze.
The truth was, I wasn't sure I'd ever be ready for what she wanted for me.
"Double dates require an actual relationship," I pointed out. "We've had coffee. Once."
"And?" Sarah stole John's beer, took a sip, made a face. "How was it?"
"Good."
"That's all I get? Good?" She looked at John. "Did he pull this with you, too?"
"Don’t put me in the middle of your nefarious plans, babe. I’m not telling." All this as he nodded his head. Fucker.
"Fine! It was really good," I amended. "We talked—long enough that she went into work late. She's smart, funny, doesn't take my shit. I like her."
"And you're terrified," Sarah said, reading me like she always did.
"Maybe—not admitting to anything."
"Because of the kids."
"I don’t know, Sarah." I drained half my beer. "Okay, yeah. I'm not exactly known for my stellar track record with commitment—you know why."
Sarah's expression softened. "Reed, you can't let the past define you forever. You haven’t found the right one, Sara included. That doesn't mean the she isn’t out there. And you can’t keep letting your past and your fear stop you from being happy."
Eye rolls and silence was all I had for her at this point.
"Reed, you have to get past your shit."
I pushed my beer away and ran a hand over my face, feeling three days’ stubble scrape against my palm.
"Okay, Dr. Phil's star team, thanks for all the insights.
" The overhead lights caught in the amber liquid as I twisted the bottle between my fingers.
"I'm done talking about this shit. You know the things I've seen—what I've dealt with.
" My voice dropped, the words coming out rougher than I intended.
I leaned back against the cracked vinyl booth, the material cool against my neck.
"Drop it. Let's talk about the Sox instead. You see who they just picked up?"
Sarah raised her glass in mock triumph. "Look at that—the great Reed Morrison, opening up about his feelings for a full five minutes before he called it quits." The tension around our booth dissolved as we all chuckled, my shoulders finally dropping from where they'd been creeping toward my ears.
My phone buzzed. SPAM lit up the screen.
My heart sank a little as I stared at the SPAM notification, thumb hovering over the screen for a moment too long before I set the phone face-down on the table.
"Have you called her?" Sarah asked, leaning into John.
I sigh. I haven’t. And that’s part of the problem. Had it been too long? Did all the distractions of life take away my chance?
"No. We had a few cases that popped up and things got away from me."
"So call her."
"I will."
"At least shoot her a text, man."
"Yeah, alright. I’ll reach out. I’m off tomorrow, so I’ll give her a call. See if she wants to grab a bite this weekend."
"Good. Yeah. Do that. I need that couple life!"
I clapped my hands once, loud enough to make the couple at the next table glance over.
"Okay—moving on!" We spent the rest of the night shooting the shit about nothing that mattered—work, sports, Sarah’s latest battle with this guy at work trying to one up her.
My beer went warm in my hand as I laughed and just enjoyed time with my life-long friends.
The knot in my chest loosened with each round, and by midnight, Maliyah's name had disappeared from our conversation, but not from the back of my mind, where her smile kept flickering like a light I couldn't quite switch off.
I grabbed an uber home, the driver's old Camry smelling faintly of pine air freshener and old fast food.
The leather seat squeaked beneath me as I shifted, pulling out my phone for the dozenth time.
My thumb hovered over her contact—Maliyah Barrett.
Each time I almost pressed call, I'd lock the screen again, looking back outside—watching Boston's streetlights slide across the black glass like shooting stars failing to grant my wish for courage.
I won’t be that guy who calls a single mom at midnight. I may be an asshole, but even I have limits. But tomorrow. Tomorrow, I would call her.