Chapter 11
Old Wounds
Reed
"So let me get this straight—you spent the morning at the farmer's market with Maliyah and her kids, and you're actually smiling about it?
" John raised an eyebrow as he leaned back in the booth at Murphy's, nursing his second beer.
While the lighting was dim, I could still see the amused smirk he wasn't even trying to hide.
I shrugged, taking a pull from my bottle. The beer was cold and familiar, helping wash away the adrenaline from the day. "It was good. Really good, actually."
"Right. Not like you haven’t had the most important person in your life tell you that would be the case." John grinned. "That’s me, by the way. In case you needed a reminder—which I’m sure you don’t."
I laughed, a short bark that echoed off the wooden panels of our booth. "Got that, genius." I shook my head, watching him grin back at me with that same cocky smirk he'd had since we were ten. Ass.
"Sarah's going to lose her mind when I tell her. She's been waiting for you to get your shit together."
The robbery case had wrapped up with disappointing speed just an hour ago—two suspects now cooling their heels in lockup.
A pair of neighborhood knuckleheads with more attitude than sense had strolled into the corner liquor store on Dorchester Avenue—faces fully visible to the security cameras.
How they didn't realize the owner had been their Little League coach when they were younger was beyond me.
John had suggested Murphy's and cold beers to wash away the anticlimactic outcome, muttering something about our youth getting dumber as the years go by.
I, however, thought maybe teenagers weren't getting dumber—maybe we were just forgetting what it was like to be young and reckless.
The memory of John lobbing cherry bombs across our high school cafeteria flashed through my mind, his teenage face just as exposed as those of the current idiots in question.
I bit my tongue instead of mentioning it, but couldn't help the small smile that tugged at my lips.
I'd agreed to drinks partly because I needed to unwind and partly because I wanted to talk through what had happened this morning. Not that I'd admit that to him.
"The kids are good kids," I said. "Smart. Funny. You know, it’s not like we haven’t hung out with them in the past few months. It’s just that this time was different, yeah? More official." I snickered, "Zoe's a force of nature—made me laugh the entire time. And Lucas warmed up in a good way."
John studied my face over his beer. "You really like them."
"Yeah. I do."
"All three of them."
I took another drink instead of answering, but John had known me since we were kids growing up in the same neighborhood. He could read the silence.
"Shit, Reed. You're falling for her. For all of them."
"I don't know what I'm doing, man." The admission came out before I could stop it. "Three months ago, I was convinced I couldn't handle this. Now I'm buying pastries and actually caring about catnip."
"Catnip?"
I smiled despite myself. "Had to be there."
"Were you actually interested or just faking it for the kids?"
I sat back, traced a finger through the condensation on my beer glass.
Zoe's face flashed through my mind—the way she'd lit up showing me each thing she came across.
Her negotiation skills with the vendors, so earnest and excited every step of the way.
"That's the problem. I wasn't faking anything. "
John signaled the waitress for another round. The Saturday night crowd at Murphy's was the usual mix of off-duty cops, firefighters, and neighborhood regulars. The kind of place where you could drink in peace.
"So what's the issue?" John asked. "You guys have been dating for a few months now. Sarah loves her—won't shut up about her, actually. The kids are great. You're happy. What's got you twisted up?"
I stared at the label on my beer bottle, peeling off one corner with my thumbnail. The paper came away in small, stubborn pieces. "It's so real, John. It's not just dating anymore. Those kids are starting to count on me. Lucas asked when I'm coming back. That means something."
"And that scares you."
"Yeah. It does." I blew out a breath. "You know why."
John's expression shifted, became more serious. "I know, man."
I nodded, and suddenly I was nine years old again, sitting on the front steps of our house in Southie.
The neighborhood was quiet except for the distant wail of sirens—a sound that would make my stomach drop for the rest of my life.
Mom's friend Mrs. O'Brien had her arm around my shoulders, and I kept asking when Dad was coming home.
She wouldn't answer, just kept patting my back and crying.
I remember standing outside Mom's bedroom door that night, knocking so softly my knuckles barely made a sound.
The hallway was dark except for the blue glow of the nightlight in the bathroom.
I knocked again, called her name, pressed my ear against the wood.
Nothing. Just the sound of my own breathing in the silence of our house.
I thought of the times I’d sit at our kitchen table doing homework—mom staring at nothing. Her coffee always in front of her in a mug, though she rarely actually drank it.
She'd make the same coffee he loved every day for the rest of her life.
Black, two sugars. I can still hear the spoon clinking against the ceramic mug—clink, clink, stir, silence.
She never drank it. Just made it. Set it on the table where he used to sit.
Let it go cold. I'd learned eventually not to even ask her what was wrong any more.
The answer was always the same hollow silence.
"I was eight when we lost him," I said quietly, pulling myself back to the present. "Lucas turns seven soon, so really I was only a year older than he is now."
John was quiet, letting me continue.
"And I keep thinking—what happens if I don't come home one day?
What happens if I become that father figure to them and then leave them the way my dad left me?
" I finally looked up at him. "I watched my mom fade away for years, John.
She never came back from losing him. Just lived life a shell of herself, leaving me to figure shit out on my own. That's what love cost her."
I became a cop because my dad was a good cop—the kind whose funeral drew a line of dress blues that stretched for blocks down Broadway.
He died protecting and serving, and every morning when I pin this badge on, I feel the weight of what it means and what it stands for.
But this job... someday Maliyah might open her door to find my captain standing there with his hat in his hands.
The thought of those kids maybe having to pick out a suit or dress to wear to a church full of bagpipes and folded flags—it’s—" The words got caught in my throat. I couldn’t even say them.
"Reed—"
"I know what you're going to say. That I can't live my life based on what-ifs. That lots of cops retire with their pensions and move to Florida. But you didn't watch your mom fade away because the man she loved got killed on the job. You didn't grow up knowing that love can destroy you."
John leaned forward, elbows on the table.
"You're right. I didn't go through what you did.
But Reed—your dad knew the risks better than anyone.
He'd seen cops die. He'd been to those funerals.
And he still chose your mom. Still chose to have you.
Not because he didn't understand the danger, but because he thought you were worth the risk.
Don't you think Maliyah deserves to make that same choice? "
"Easy to say when you're not the one who might fuck up a kid's life."
"First—do you think I don’t want kids some day?" I winced, rubbing my hand across my jaw. "You're right. That was unfair."
"Second—You think Maliyah doesn't know the risks? She's dating a cop, man. She's not stupid. She knows what that means." John's voice softened. "And maybe she's strong enough to handle it. Maybe she'd rather have whatever time she gets with you than spend her life wondering what could have been."
I hadn't thought about it that way.
"And the kids?" I asked quietly.
"Kids are resilient. Way more than we give them credit for.
We see it every day in our work. They survive shit that would break most adults.
" He paused. "But you know what really fucks kids up?
Adults who are there but not really there.
Adults who hold back because they're scared.
You want to protect them? Then stop deciding for them what they can handle and just show up. All the way."
The waitress brought our next round. I was grateful for the interruption, needed a moment to let his words sink in.
"Sara used to say I lived like I was afraid of my own life," I said finally. "Like I was so scared of something bad happening that I wouldn't let anything good happen either."
"Was she right?"
"Probably." I picked at the new bottle's label. "But sitting here now, thinking about this morning... about Maliyah and those kids... Maybe I don't want to live that way anymore."
"So what are you going to do about it?"
That was the question. I thought about Zoe's hand in mine as she dragged me around the market. Lucas's tentative smile when I'd shown genuine interest in his thoughts. Maliyah's face when she looked at me—like I was someone worth believing in.
And then I thought about leaving the market early for work, and how wrong it had felt to walk away from them.
"I don't know," I admitted. "Part of me wants to go all in. Part of me still wants to run."
"Which part's winning?"
I stared at my beer. "Changes every minute."
John was quiet for a while, watching the Sox game on the TV above the bar. Finally, he said, "You know what I think your problem is?"
"I'm sure you're going to tell me."
"You're trying to make this decision for them. Maliyah, the kids—you're deciding they can't handle the risks of loving a cop. But that's not your call to make, man. That's theirs."
"What if I'm not enough? What if I can't be what they need?"
"What if you are?" John looked me dead in the eye. "What if you stop what-iffing yourself out of the best thing that's ever happened to you and just try? You're different with her, you know? Better. Lighter."
"Is it crazy that I want to see her tonight?
That I miss her? Which is fucking ridiculous since I saw her this morning.
" I dropped my head, rubbing the back of my neck where tension had been building.
My phone sat on the table. I brought up her contact photo—Maliyah laughing at the harbor, hair blowing across her face—staring up at me.
My thumb hovered over the message bubble, I want to text her. To tell her how I feel.
John laughed. "That's not ridiculous. That's what happens when you're in love, you idiot."
The words hung in the air between us. In love. I waited for the panic, for the instinct to backpedal, to laugh it off, to say John was being dramatic. But it didn't come. Instead, there was just... certainty. Warm and terrifying and completely inevitable.
"Yeah," I said quietly. "I think I am. And I think I need to tell her about my dad," I said quietly. "About why I've been so scared. She deserves to know what she's signing up for."
"She does. And Reed? I think you'll find she's a lot stronger than you're giving her credit for."
I picked up my phone and started typing.
Me: Case wrapped up. I miss you. Can I come by tonight?
I stared at it. Too casual. I deleted it and tried again.
Me: I know we planned on tomorrow, but I need to see you. Can I come over after the kids are asleep?
Still not right. One more time.
Me: Case wrapped up. I know we planned on tomorrow, but I miss you. Can I come by tonight? After the kids are asleep? I want to talk to you about something important.
I hit send before I could overthink it.
A minute ticked by. Then another.
Then her response came through.
Maliyah: I miss you too. Come over. I'll put the coffee on.
I left money on the table and said goodbye to John. Outside, the air was crisp and clear, the kind of night that made Boston feel like home.
For the first time in years, I felt like I was walking toward something instead of running away from it.