21
Sebastian
“Remind me again why we thought this was a good idea?” Bradley leans back in his chair, swirling the ice in his glass.
“Because the last time we let Harrison plan a big night out, Michael ended up crying into his beer, yelling Zoe’s name like a drunk poet,” Xavier fires back, clapping Michael on the shoulder. “Figured we’d go easy this time. No karaoke, no shots, no emotional breakdowns.”
Michael doesn’t even look up. Just flips him off and mutters into his drink, “That was months ago. Get over it.”
“Not a chance,” Xavier fires back, grinning like a menace.
“Agreed!” Harrison chimes in, lifting his beer in salute.
I smirk behind the rim of my glass, watching the chaos unfold.
Honestly, it’s kind of nice not being the emotionally unstable one for once.
Feels good, being around them—Bradley, Xavier, Harrison, Michael—the whole damn circus.
They’re loud and relentless, always slinging jabs, but there’s comfort in it.
In them. For a minute, I feel young again.
Like the old days, before everything got complicated, before responsibility settled across my shoulders like armour I never really got to take off.
Bradley’s deep in conversation with Xavier now, both pretending not to care about wedding centrepieces while casually arguing about whether lilies or gardenias are more ‘Amelia-coded.’ He’ll act indifferent, sure, but we all know he’d walk barefoot over hot coals if she asked him to.
Definitely the lilies, of course. The wedding’s next month, and the jokes haven’t stopped since they sent out the invites—tuxes, speeches, who’s going to cry first.
My money’s on Bradley, even if he’d rather chew glass than admit it. The conversation rolls on around me, and I laugh when I’m supposed to, but my head’s not really here.
Olivia’s with Teddy tonight. Her idea, of course.
She practically shoved me out the door, said I needed a night off, to stop hovering like a bloody shadow.
I was going to drop him at Mum’s, but the second Olivia offered, he was vibrating with excitement.
I haven’t stopped thinking about them since.
She probably has him tucked up with one of his books right now, humming quietly while he listens.
And that thought… that fucking thought has my chest tight.
“Sebastian!” Xavier snaps his fingers in front of my face. “You got any embarrassing stories about Bradley from work? I need dirt for the best man speech.”
“I’ve got plenty. Problem is, most of them are HR violations.”
“Oh, that’s bullshit,” Bradley deadpans from across the table. “Shouldn’t this be discussed in private? And there’ll be no embarrassing fucking stories. Her whole family will be there.”
“Which is precisely why there must be,” I shoot back. “That way, they know what they’re signing up for.”
The boys’ laughter rings out, and the moment passes in a blur of more drinks and shit talk, but even with the noise, it doesn’t settle the ache sitting just beneath my ribs.
Because no matter how many laughs go around, I’m still thinking about her.
It’s been a week since the kiss. One week, and I still can’t stop thinking about it.
The way she pressed into me. The sound she made when I dragged her closer.
The taste of rain, her skin, everything I shouldn’t want but can’t seem to stop craving.
I’ve had my cock in my hand more times this week than when I was seventeen and first discovered what late-night Wi-Fi could offer.
Every single time, it’s her. That white singlet clinging to her body, and her goddamn laugh that got under my skin long before anything else.
I’m sitting here, acting like everything’s fine when it’s not. Not even close.
I crossed a line. The line.
The one I told Bradley I’d never go near. Now, I’m knee-deep in it. I stare down at my glass, the amber liquid catching the light. Xavier’s in the middle of ripping into Michael again when my phone buzzes on the table. Olivia.
The sound around me instantly disappears. I answer before the second ring.
“Everything okay?” I push my chair back, already half-standing. My brain’s already ten steps ahead—Teddy’s hurt, scared, something’s wrong.
She lets out a soft tut. “Why does there always have to be a problem with you?”
I raise a brow. “Well, is there?”
There’s a beat of hesitation before she exhales. “Well… yes. But everything’s fine.”
My chest tightens instantly. “What’s wrong?”
“Teddy’s got a bit of a fever,” she says quickly, like rushing the words will soften them. “But don’t freak out. He’s okay. He’s lying down with me, just a little warm.”
I’m already moving, grabbing my jacket. “I’m on my way.”
“No—Sebastian, you don’t have to. I didn’t want to ruin your night.”
“It’s my son, Olivia. You couldn’t ruin my night.” I step just out of earshot from the boys, covering my other ear to hear her better over the noise inside. “Besides, I think I’ve heard all that there is to know about weddings. I needed an excuse to escape.” To come home. To see you.
She lets out a soft laugh, too quiet through the line, before we hang up. I shove the phone in my pocket and walk back to the table. Bradley glances up from his beer, instantly clocking the shift in my face. “Everything alright?”
“Teddy’s running a fever.” I grab my jacket from the back of the chair. “Gonna cut this one short and head home. Sorry, boys.”
Bradley looks up, gives a slow nod, but his eyes don’t leave me. “Hopefully it’s nothing serious.”
“Give the kid a hug from me,” Harrison says.
I huff a laugh. “I’ll try, but can’t say he’ll accept it.”
Harrison gasps. “Who wouldn’t accept a hug from me?”
“Many, many people,” Michael mutters.
With one last smirk, I throw a half-hearted salute and saunter out.
When I eventually push my front door open, the house is still.
The kind of quiet that feels like it’s holding its breath.
I toe off my shoes, moving through the hall without a sound.
The soft hum of the air-con filters from upstairs.
Teddy’s door is cracked open. I ease it wider, and stop.
He’s curled against Olivia, his small body tucked into her side, one arm draped over her stomach.
She has her head resting back against the pillow, while her fingers smooth through his hair.
Every part of me goes still, because I’ve never seen him look so content.
“Hey,” she whispers, finally looking up. “He’s still burning up a little, but I gave him some Nurofen about fifteen minutes ago. His temperature should come down soon.”
“Thanks,” I murmur. The floorboards groan beneath me as I walk over. “You should’ve called sooner.”
She shakes her head. “Didn’t want to drag you home for a mild fever. He’ll sleep it off.” She shifts carefully, lifting Teddy’s small arm from her waist and tucking him under the blanket with practised gentleness.
“See? Out like a light.”
I crouch beside the bed, pressing a kiss to his temple. The heat under my lips hits like a punch. It’s not dangerously high, but enough to hurt. That invisible thread between father and son pulls taut—his discomfort echoing in every part of me—and I’d been out tonight.
Laughing. Drinking. Letting go. While he was here like this.
You’re doing fine. You can still be a good dad and have a night to yourself.
The thought doesn’t quite land, not fully. Beneath the guilt, however, there’s something else, something quieter. Gratitude. For her. For the way Olivia stayed calm when I clearly couldn’t. For the way Teddy trusts her enough to fall asleep on her chest.
Sure, I’m paying her. That’s what the rational voice reminds me. But the other one, the one I’ve been ignoring for weeks, knows it’s starting to feel like something more. She gently brushes a curl from Teddy’s forehead.
“Let him rest,” she whispers. I nod, watching as she slips out the door.
I leave it cracked, just enough to let a sliver of light through.
When I reach downstairs, Olivia is perched on the couch, posture relaxed but eyes still alert.
The idea of asking her to leave now… feels wrong. So instead, I do the opposite.
“Want something to drink?” I ask. “Water, tea, coffee?”
Her head lifts, eyes soft with surprise. “Tea sounds nice.”
I clear my throat, grateful for the excuse to stand, to move, to do something with my hands. While the kettle heats, she calls out. “So… how was your night with my brothers?” There’s a nervous edge tucked in there. I hear it.
“Loud,” I say, reaching for two mugs. “And chaotic. As usual.”
A faint smile pulls at her mouth, like she’s relieved I didn’t mention anything embarrassing.
Or maybe relieved I came home early. I carry the mugs over, finding her watching me with that open, curious look she always has.
I take a seat beside her and flick on the TV, keeping the volume low.
The screen lands on The Rookie. Her whole face brightens. “Oh, I love this show.”
“Of course you do.”
She narrows her eyes playfully. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I just don’t get the hype,” I say, nodding at the screen. “It’s so unrealistic. Half of this shit would never happen.”
She rolls her eyes so hard, her whole head goes with it. “Well, duh. It’s a fictional TV show, Officer Buzzkill.”
“You just like watching grown men cry in uniform.”
She shrugs, lifting her mug to her lips, the edge of a grin tugging there. “Doesn’t hurt.”
My knee bumps hers as I shift. The contact’s minor, barely anything, but it sparks something stupid in my chest. Suddenly, the couch feels smaller.
Warmer. Her leg stays pressed against mine, casual, like she doesn’t notice—or maybe she does.
I shift, pretending to get comfortable, silently ordering my body to calm the hell down.
She glances over, tilting her head. “So… when the lights flash behind a car, do you ever feel bad for pulling people over?”
“Depends who’s driving,” I say, grateful for the distraction. “If they’re texting or doing eighty in a fifty, not a chance. If it’s some old guy who forgot his blinker, maybe a little.”
Olivia hums thoughtfully. “Do you all talk to each other with walkie-talkies?”
“Radios,” I correct. “We talk to dispatch, call in locations, and update. If I say ‘red and ten,’ it means lights on, in pursuit, or responding. ‘Blue and ten’ means no lights, but ten minutes out.”
Her eyes light up. “You have your own language! That’s so cool.”
“More like a shorthand for chaos,” I say. “Cuts down the small talk when emergencies arise.”
She leans her chin on her hand. “Okay, serious question. What about high-speed chases? Are they real or just TV dramas, like that?” She nods to the screen where Nolan and Chen are weaving through LA traffic.
“Real enough,” I admit, smirking. “Mostly, though, it’s paperwork, noise complaints, and telling drunk idiots to put their pants back on.”
Olivia’s giggle breaks through the quiet. “Wow. So glamorous.”
“What can I say? Intelligent man, thrilling life.”
She scoffs. “Yeah, sure. Super thrilling.”
I take a sip of my tea to hide my smirk. “We don’t stay rookies forever, you know.”
“Oh, that’s right—Superintendent,” she says, wiggling her brows. “So, what do you actually do all day, Mister Fancy Title?”
She shifts slightly, and my body reacts before my brain can keep up.
Her knee brushes my thigh, light but deliberate, and I adjust my position before this situation gets any more complicated.
Images flash in my head—her soaked shirt from the storm, the feel of her pressed against me—and I curse myself for remembering in high definition. Christ, was she always this close?
I clear my throat, forcing my focus somewhere safer. “Mostly yoga,” I force out, casually. “Sometimes we meditate with the crime reports to really get in the zone.”
Her head jerks toward me, eyes wide. “Wait… you can’t be serious?”
I wink. “Nah.”
Her shoulder brushes against mine as she relaxes back into the couch, and my restraint thins by the second.
“Truth is, I work in the intelligence division. I handle case data, coordinate with detectives… the not-so-glamorous side of keeping chaos in order.” I glance over at her.
“Bradley’s titled Chief Superintendent now, so technically, I work under him as just a Superintendent.
Don’t tell him I said that, though. His ego’s already got its own office.
We pretty much do everything together, anyway. ”
Her eyes light up. “So, you’re kind of a big deal.”
“Pretty much.”
“Oh-ho-ho, whose ego’s big now?”
The corner of my mouth tugs, though nothing can prepare me for what she blurts out next.
“Well, did you know octopuses have three hearts and blue blood?”
I almost choke on my sip of tea. “What?”
She nods, straight-faced. “Two hearts for the gills, one for the rest of the body.”
A low laugh rumbles out of me. “Where’d you learn that?”
She grins, smug. “I dunno. Maybe I’m just very intelligent, too.”
I shake my head, and her soft laughter spills out, filling the quiet gaps between the show’s dialogue and my heartbeat trying to keep up.