42. Sophie
42
Sophie
T he marble floors of city hall echoed with the sound of our heels clicking in unison, the soundtrack to a new beginning. Despite the stately columns and soaring arches, there was an intimacy to the space that seemed to wrap around us.
“Can you believe it?” Callie’s voice shimmered with excitement, her blue eyes bright as she glanced back at me over her shoulder. “I’m getting married!” She looked radiant in her white pantsuit—such a Callie thing to wear on her wedding day. Her hair was curled, her makeup simple but with red lipstick that popped against the rest of her crisp appearance. In other words, she was Liam’s wet dream.
“Today’s your day,” I managed, my smile feeling as stretched and fragile as my composure.
Liam stood beside her, his hand finding its home at the small of her back. They beamed at each other—so different than the shadows that clung to me like a second skin.
I’d spent years—a decade—shoving those shadows into the recesses of my mind, but now they were barely staying below the surface. I was on the precipice of letting all of my trauma and issues bubble out until I had a psychotic break.
Or maybe it was already happening.
The edges of the room darkened, the fluorescent lighting buzzing too loud, too sharp, needling under my skin. My fingers clenched around my bouquet, but the stems felt wrong in my grip—like they weren’t real, like I wasn’t real. My pulse was erratic, my skin cold and damp, my breath wrong .
I needed to breathe. I needed to stop fucking breathing so fast .
Callie laughed, the sound bright and full, but it echoed inside my skull like it didn’t belong to her. Like none of this was real.
I smiled. Or I thought I did.
It didn’t feel like my face.
The pressure in my chest built, tight, suffocating, and for a terrifying second, I swore the floor wasn’t beneath me anymore. Like I was watching this happen instead of being inside my body.
I dug my nails into my palm. Hard. Harder.
The pain grounded me. Or maybe it didn’t. Maybe I was already slipping too far.
“Hey,” Callie said suddenly, the joy in her eyes dimming as she caught sight of my face. “You look… I don’t know, thinner? Are you okay?”
No.
No, I wasn’t okay. But I forced my lips to move, somehow forced my breath to steady even though it felt as if I was choking on air.
“Fine,” I lied smoothly, brushing off her worry with a casual tilt of my head. I’d purposely selected a black wide-leg jumpsuit to conceal it as much as possible. Today was all about Callie. “Maverick and I just had a little argument, that’s all. He’s not exactly morning sunshine when things don’t go his way.” Half-truth. I can manage that to her face on her wedding day.
“Men,” she huffed, rolling her eyes in shared understanding before turning her attention back to Liam.
They exchanged vows in a quiet corner of the building, the officiant’s words a soft murmur that somehow resonated through the entire space. Callie’s hands trembled slightly as she slid the ring onto Liam’s finger, a promise wrapped in the warm glow of the afternoon sun filtering through the tall windows.
“By the power vested in me,” the officiant declared, “I now pronounce you husband and wife.”
A cheer erupted from the few of us present—their siblings and myself—happiness that should have pierced the numbness consuming me. But as they kissed, sealing their commitment to each other, a pang of longing twisted inside me, sharp and bitter—the taste of Maverick’s absence on my tongue.
I was a bad friend. I deserved all the bad juju following me around.
“Congratulations,” I whispered when they broke apart, stepping forward to embrace them both. The warmth of their bodies was a reminder of what I was missing—a heat that didn’t burn me, didn’t leave scars. It was a flame I yearned for, one that beckoned me toward a future I wasn’t sure I could claim.
“Thank you, Soph,” Callie murmured against my hair, squeezing me tight. “Wish he could’ve been here. It would be good for them to bond.” Her eyes flickered to her now husband.
“Me, too,” I said, the words catching in my throat. I pulled away and plastered on a grin as if it were armor. “Now, let’s get out of here and celebrate.”
But as we exited the solemn city hall, the bustle of New York swirling around us, I felt the magnetic pull of what I’d left behind—and I knew that no amount of forced happiness could fill the void I’d created.
***
Their siblings parted ways with us before we spilled into the dimly lit bar, a stone’s throw away from city hall, with its neon signs flickering like errant sparks. It felt like old times.
Life was so much easier back then.
Callie and Liam were pure joy, their newlywed glow an almost tangible aura that drew knowing smiles from the other patrons.
“First round’s on me,” I announced, sidling up to the bar with the kind of confidence that comes from being alone in a familiar city. Something I’d done countless times since Callie left Newark.
The bartender, a guy with tattoos of a forest climbing up his forearms, nodded as if he understood the occasion without needing it spelled out. I handed Maverick’s credit card over, because apparently I was accepting my role as a gold digger—and also desperate for him to come find me.
I was making it so fucking easy.
“Champagne,” Callie chimed in, her eyes sparkling brighter than the glasses soon filled with bubbling liquid gold.
“Make mine a vodka,” I countered, leaning back against the bar, my gaze tracing the contours of the room—the cracked leather of the booths, the sticky surface of the bar. The irony wasn’t lost on me that I once told Liam that vodka was Callie’s liquor of choice when coping with depression, and here I was drinking the same.
I passed our drinks around, sparing no time tossing my vodka back.
“Easy there, Detective,” Liam teased, clinking his glass against my empty one. “Don’t go solving all the world’s mysteries tonight.”
The warmth of the alcohol unfurled in my stomach, a temporary reprieve, a welcome distraction. “No promises, Sergeant. ”
Callie’s laughter was light, musical even, as she set down her half-finished glass with a hand that hesitated just a fraction too long. “Two’s my limit these days,” she said, her voice threaded with a quiet strength. “The balance between celebration and… well, you know.”
“Smart,” I admitted, though my own glass was quickly emptied and replaced. I caught the shadow that passed over Liam’s face—a mixture of pride and concern, the weight of love and growth all rolled into one.
“Let’s toast,” Callie suggested, raising her glass. “To new beginnings, to love, and to always having each other’s backs.”
“To Callie and Liam,” I added, hoisting my drink. The words felt heavy on my tongue, like a promise, or perhaps a plea to whatever gods watched over wayward hearts like mine.
We drank, the clink of our glasses a punctuation mark in the narrative of our lives. Something so familiar and yet so foreign now that we didn’t live in the same city. One river separated us, but it felt like a chasm.
As the night continued and the bar’s atmosphere thickened with the rise of obnoxious voices and boisterous laughter, I watched Callie and Liam, their heads bent close as they whispered together. My heart squeezed, an ache for only one thing.
A blue-eyed antihero by the name of Maverick Mercer.
“Go,” Callie mouthed when she caught my eye, a soft smile on her lips. “We’re okay.” I gave her a confused look, wondering if maybe she thought I would be running back to Maverick, but I didn’t want to dampen the mood.
So instead I nodded, slipping from the bar stool, the high of the vodka dulling the edges of my loneliness. I left them there, cocooned in the bliss of their love.
The streets were slick with the residue of rain that had come and gone, leaving behind the fresh smell of wet concrete. I walked alone, my heels clicking rhythmically against the pavement like a heartbeat, the chill of the night seeping through my clothes. Callie and I had once had a mutual dislike for this city, but now she had a life here. A new job. A husband. She’d turned over a new leaf, and I was still stuck in the past. I still hated this city for what it had done to my family.
My father: dead. My sisters and I: practically estranged. My mother: broken. Me: corrupted.
Back at the hotel, the room greeted me with silence once again. I climbed into the bed, letting my own presence comfort me. The Maverick-sized absence gnawed at me, a hunger that no amount of alcohol could satiate.
My vision clouded with tears that I refused to shed. Instead, I let sleep claim me, my last conscious thought a whispered confession to the darkness: “I’m sorry. I’ll be better.”
***
Consciousness crept in slowly, like the first light of dawn on a new day. My head pounded—a relentless thumping keeping time with my racing heart—as I fumbled for my phone. The screen’s glare was an assault on my bleary eyes, but there it was, a single text from Mav lighting up the display. Finally.
Maverick 6:17 AM
Guess hide and seek was always your game, Detective. But just so you know, I’m good at finding things that don’t want to be found. I love you. XO
The words, short and teasing, carried his signature cockiness. It should’ve irritated me, sparked that fiery retort he often drew out of me, but instead, the text wrapped around me in an oddly comforting way.
I tossed the phone aside, not ready to unravel the knot his words had tied inside me. Not yet. I rubbed at my temples, trying to massage away the hangover that seemed to worsen by the minute.
“ Dios mio ,” I muttered into my pillow.
I dragged myself toward the bathroom, and my reflection in the mirror was a harsh reminder of my fall from grace. Dark circles haunted my eyes, and my hair was a wild tangle of waves. I splashed cold water on my face, watching the makeup-tinted droplets race down the sink.
“Fucking get it together, Sophie,” I scolded the woman staring back at me, a direct contradiction to the hardened detective I knew myself to be. What was it about this man that disarmed me, stripped away my defenses until I was left bare and aching? I’d once told Callie that love didn’t have to be chaos, but now I felt like the biggest fucking hypocrite. I slapped the mirror in frustration, in anger, in hurt, a strangled scream tearing from my throat. Like that could take back all of my rash decisions.
His text echoed in my mind—a challenge, a promise, or maybe both. I could run now, but Maverick… he would always find me. And I wanted to be found.
I didn’t respond. Instead, I reached for the sleek handle of the mini bar tucked in the corner of the hotel room. The cool metallic click sounded through the silence like a gunshot. Nothing like a little hair of the dog to cure a hangover.
Rows of tiny bottles glistened under the dim overhead light—liquid forgetfulness in glass containers. I’d put a dent in the stock already. I sighed as I snatched a miniature vodka. The cap twisted off with a satisfying crack. I threw back the drink in one burning swallow, wincing as the liquid seared a path down my throat. Warmth spread through my chest, a temporary balm to the ache that had taken up residence there.
Another bottle fell victim to my self-imposed anesthesia. Then another. With each gulp, reality quieted, Maverick’s text fading into the background, his words losing their gravity. My job no longer mattered, and neither did the other messages on my phone.
“Chase me now, Mav,” I slurred to the empty room. My laughter was a sharp, bitter sound that bounced off the walls and came back to mock me. “I’m sure I’m everything you could ever want.”
The world spun slightly as I sank onto the bed, my newest BFF. I closed my eyes, willing myself to sink into oblivion.
***
The morning light was a cruel reminder of how much time I’d let pass. I sat up, groggy from sleep and the remnants of yesterday’s liquor consumption, still in my jumpsuit from the wedding. I was a rumpled mess and felt like absolute shit.
My phone lay dormant on the bedside table. No more texts or calls from Mav.
“Shit,” I muttered, running a hand through my matted hair, a sinking feeling in my gut. Had he been caught up in something serious? An emergency I’d abandoned him in the middle of? Maybe I should’ve texted him back.
I tried to shake off the guilt that crept up like ivy, wrapping tight around my conscience. It was hard not to imagine him hurt, or worse, because of my impulsive escape to numbness.
Focus, I told myself, trying to corral my spiraling thoughts. But it was like trying to hold water in my hands—impossible.
Turning on the TV, I lay there like a zombie. Just existing… barely.
At some point, when the sun started to go down, I stumbled over to the mini bar again, the clink of bottles familiar. One more drink, I promised myself, just one more . He still wasn’t here to stop me, and I sure as hell wasn’t going to stop myself.
My fingers fumbled with the cap, the contents of the tiny bottle sloshing as I brought it to my lips. The burn was less shocking now. And I welcomed it, welcomed the haze that settled over my mind.
Is this how Callie felt every time she drowned her sorrows in the bottom of a bottle? Because, fuck, did I understand it now.
“Where are you, Mav?” As if the question could summon him. I snatched my phone, thumbs scrambling to form a garbled mess of letters and misplaced punctuation.
“Whr r u? Needd you…” I managed to type, the words jumbling together in a digital cry for help.
“Come get meeee. Sstubborn ass,” I added, with a strange mix of desperation and challenge. Yet I never pressed send, because if he really loved me, if he really wanted me, he’d come to get me.
The room spun again, and I let the darkness take me, because what else would I do? The phone slipped from my hand and thudded on the carpeted floor.
***
The morning of the third day dawned like a verdict, and with it, the inescapable truth that pressed down on me: Maverick wasn’t coming. I lay there, tangled in sheets that reeked of cheap liquor, my chest aching as if every shallow breath was an apology I couldn’t utter.
Maybe he was done with my bullshit—the push and pull, the stupid dance of my insecurities that I could never escape. A bitter laugh escaped me. I was a mess, a walking disaster in jeans and smeared mascara. I knew this would happen. Even someone as dark and fucked up as me would eventually grow tired of my miserable bullshit.
What was the fucking point?
I curled tighter into myself, knees to chest, trying to make myself small enough to disappear from the crushing weight of what I might’ve lost—the best damn thing to ever happen to me. My eyes spilled traitorous tears that soaked into the pillow.
Then, without warning, the door creaked open, spilling light across the room. It was the first sound I’d heard in this room aside from my own fumbling about. Callie stood there, still radiant in her newlywed glow.
“Jesus, Soph,” she breathed, taking in the sight of me, the wreckage of a woman who once prided herself on being unbreakable.
“Hey,” I managed, the word barely more than a broken whisper, a desperate attempt to sound casual. But shame and guilt clawed at me—she’d left Liam to find me here wallowing in self-pity. I didn’t even question how she found me, how she got in here, even though she probably just flashed her badge at the concierge.
She didn’t hesitate, moving toward the bed with slow, unhurried steps, then climbing in. She pulled me back against her body, a spooning embrace that felt like coming home. I shattered, sobs wracking my body as I clung to her like a lifeline.
“Shh, it’s okay,” Callie murmured, her voice steady and soothing. “Let it out.”
And I did. Everything poured forth—a deluge of confessions about the criminal life I’d been entangled with, the corruption that had seeped into the very marrow of my life. Who Maverick was, what we’d been through. The admissions of my family. Everything.
“Do you hate me now?” I choked out, fearing the loss of the one constant in my life.
“No, Soph,” she said firmly, her hold never wavering. “I get it—it’s not all black and white. Law enforcement fucks up. We’re all corrupted in our own way. None of us are perfect. Liam and I, we know love isn’t about perfection. It’s about seeing the fucked-up parts and loving them anyway.”
I took a deep breath, letting it chase away the suffocating fear. Callie didn’t hate me; she understood. And in that understanding, I found a fragment of peace.
“Thank you,” I whispered, voice raw, feeling a sliver of something that might’ve resembled hope. With her there, holding me together, maybe I could face whatever came next. Maybe.
She squeezed me. “I love you, Soph. I’ve told you before: I’ve seen your transgressions. I’m sure there’s more beneath the surface. But thinking I’d hate you? That’s insane. Being morally gray may not be lawful, but it’s not like I’m going to arrest the two of you. God knows I’ve had enough of my own issues with people following all the rules.”
I huffed out a shell of a laugh.
“Cal,” I started, the words scraping out of my throat like shards of glass. “I-I can’t stay a cop. Not after everything.” The silence in the room grew heavy, oppressive, as if it was waiting for me to drop the next bomb. “I want to move back here to New York. Start over with Maverick. Be closer to you.”
She kissed the back of my head. “Okay. You’ll be even more of an anchor to me here. I was scared shitless when I moved because I thought I would lose you. Turns out, we just lost bits of each other by not living in the same place.”
I exhaled slowly. “Nothing has been the same since you left. I thought we had a mutual understand that we hated the Big Apple?”
Callie snickered. “So is life, though.” She stroked my hair, then spoke a name I never expected to hear from her lips. “What are you going to do about Chavez?”
“Chavez,” I echoed, the name tasting like bile. I hesitated, then confessed the dark resolve that had been growing inside me. “I’m going to kill him, Cal. In cold blood. He deserves nothing less.”
For a moment, she was silent, and I braced myself for the end of our friendship. But instead, she let out a long sigh, her breath stirring strands of my hair. “I understand,” she murmured, her voice carrying a weight that sank deep into my bones. Surprising me in ways I hadn’t expected. “Shit, I wish I’d had ended Owen’s life when I was beating the everliving fuck out of him.”
Her admission was a twisted kind of permission. We were two sides of the same coin—always had been—tarnished by our choices. I thanked her again, the gravity of her words forcing me more firmly into reality than I’d felt in days.
“Always, Soph.” Her voice was fierce now, full of a fiery determination that warmed me to my core. “I love you. You know that, right?”
“I do now,” I said with a choked laugh, the kind that was half sob and all relief. She loved me, despite the festering secrets and the grim path I was ready to tread.
“Good.” Her hold tightened around me, a promise of unwavering support. “And hey, when you do take down that bastard, make it count.”
“Count on it,” I replied, a dark smile tugging at my lips.
We stayed there, locked together, drawing strength in silence. I wanted to stay like this, to just exist in this moment a little longer. But time was a cruel fucking thing—it kept moving, even when I wasn’t ready.
Then, before Callie pulled away, something shifted. She sighed, her hold lingering for a second too long. Then another.
“You don’t have to do this alone, you know.”
My throat tightened. I knew. But it didn’t change anything. I felt her exhale against my shoulder, like she wanted to say more, like she didn’t trust herself to. And then there was a buzz. Callie’s phone lit up by my head—I hadn't even noticed it was there. A quick glanced showed Liam's name. She grabbed it and pulled back, scanning the screen, her lips pressing together.
“I should go,” she said softly.
I nodded, even though some selfish part of me didn’t want her to leave. Even though she was the only thing keeping me from completely falling apart right now.
“Take care of yourself, Soph. And remember, there’s always a place for you in New York, with or without your badge. It’s not so bad here.”
“Thanks, chula . For everything,” I managed to say, watching her silhouette blur through the tears I couldn’t seem to stop.
“Anytime, Soph.” Her voice was a caress, a final note of comfort as she headed for the door. “Love you.”
“Love you, too,” I called out softly, just before she slipped away.
And then I was alone again.
At least I could say those words to her.
***
My phone vibrated against the nightstand, a jarring intrusion into my temporary sanctuary. With a groan, I reached out, snatching it up with little grace. Dean’s name flashed across the screen. What the hell did he want now?
“Dean,” I answered, my voice thick with sleep and a biting irritation that I didn’t bother to mask.
“Sophie.” His tone was that same calm, measured cadence that once made me feel safe—now it just pissed me off. “I’m sorry to wake you. Can we talk? It’s important.”
“Can it wait?” I wasn’t entirely sure I wanted to deal with whatever “important” meant coming from an ex who’d lost that privilege.
“No, I—look, I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t necessary. Lunch? Our old spot?” He was playing our nostalgia like a well-worn violin. And honestly, I did just talk to him last week telling him we could do lunch, so…
“Fine,” I snapped, more out of curiosity than any real desire to see him.
“Thank you, Sophie. Really.” There was a sincerity there that tugged at something vulnerable within me.
I ended the call, tossing the phone aside as if it were the source of all my troubles. I closed my eyes, attempting to reclaim the peace from a moment ago. A single thought clawed its way through the fog of my fatigue:
What the fuck does Dean need to discuss so urgently?
And with that seed of dread firmly planted, the restful sleep I’d yearned for slipped away.