17. Chapter Seventeen
Chapter seventeen
Nash
Does he know what it takes to do this job? Does he have more time in his day than the rest of us?
Regardless of wanting to bury myself in work all the time, I get what he means.
Mental health is important—I’ve always thought that.
It’s something that hits too close to home.
It’s the only thing that explains why my father did what he did.
It’s the thing that scares the absolute hell out of me because if he did it, I could do it too.
I could have whatever illness he had. Maybe one day, I’ll snap and I’ll kill someone I love.
It’s a terrifying thought, one that sobers me and keeps me on my toes at times.
Until I realize I’m being irrational and I go right back to focusing on work and nothing but work.
Like right now.
I’ve been in my office all morning and afternoon. My coffee cup has stayed full and hot. I’ve gone through two pots already because I slept like shit last night, though I couldn’t tell you why.
My phone dings with a text, so I pick it up, needing any sort of distraction from these files, even if it’s a marketing thing.
It’s not though. It’s from Carter. An image.
I tap on it so it fills the whole screen.
A smile forms on my lips. I can only assume this is Teddy, the dog from the shelter that he loves.
He’s sitting on the floor against the wall and she’s laying beside him with her head on his lap.
I can’t see all of him, but I see enough that I can tell how he’s sitting.
And I try really fucking hard to avoid the bulge between his legs because this is supposed to be a sweet photo and he’s someone I’m working with.
He’s not someone I should be checking out, though it is getting a little more difficult as the days go on.
It’s hard not to notice how good looking he is.
And I’ll admit, I find his positive attitude charming, despite what he’s been through.
There is a sadness about him. It’s there, hovering around him like a dark cloud.
It was bad that first day I saw him, before I realized how our paths would cross again.
Diving back into this case has been hard for him.
I see it when he talks about it, but I can also see that he’s finding himself again.
Even before I was a cop, I noticed everything. Always people-watching, keeping track, and knowing what’s going on. Jericho used to call me Hawk when we were kids, but I think he forgot about it when our father did what he did. I think all of us forgot about a lot of things when that happened.
I notice the way Carter is coming out of his shell, how he’s turning his attention on me.
How maybe I’m a reason for him to be happy or positive.
Like he thinks I need it. I’ve thought that since the first time he asked if he should give up on trying to make me smile.
I don’t need him to do that though. There’s no fixing me.
I’ll be this way for the rest of my life, and I’ve accepted that.
But if it helps him feel better, he can talk to me however he wants.
It’s why I’m reading this book. It’s a struggle to stay focused, and sometimes I read the same page five times, but I’m getting through it.
Surprisingly, quite a few moments have pulled me in.
I wasn’t lying when I said it’s making me feel something.
I’m kind of scared to keep going. What if it changes my entire way of thinking?
What if it does make me want more out of life?
I can’t have that. I don’t trust myself enough.
I haven’t reached the age my father was when he did what he did, and that number hovers over me like an omen.
Like a ticking time bomb. Like when I reach that age, I’ll morph into him and do exactly what he did.
It’s ridiculous, I know that. As a law enforcement officer, I’m a realist. I know people don’t morph into new and better people.
But I do know mental health is real, and it can take a turn at any point and without any warning.
Glancing back at the picture, I stare at Teddy’s face.
She’s golden like you’d expect her to be, only her body is smaller than a regular retriever.
She looks peaceful, but there’s something about her that lets you know she’s on guard.
That’s a tiring life. Always waiting for something to happen.
I know, because I live it. So does Carter.
I think it’s why he loves her so much. I think it’s why he and I hit it off so well.
Why it’s so easy to work on this case. We have an understanding; one we don’t need to talk about.
It’s just there on a level we don’t necessarily have to acknowledge. It just is.
I type out a text to send him.
Me: She’s sweet.
The bubbles that tell me he’s typing pop up right away, and a text from him comes in a moment later.
Carter: I know :( I wish I could take her home with me. I love her so much.
I don’t know what to say to that. I know what it’s like to want something, to want to fix something, to make it better, and not be able to. It’s a terrible feeling.
Me: I’m sorry. I wish I could help.
Carter: You work more than I do.
Me: Maybe a nice family will adopt her soon.
Carter: I don’t think she’ll do well with a family. She needs just one person with a lot of patience and love. Like you said.
Honestly, I forgot that I said that, but he’s right.
Me: Maybe you’ll hit the lottery and you won’t have to work anymore. Then you could spend all day with her.
Carter: Don’t tease me!
Carter: I wish.
I chuckle as I stare down at my phone, not sure what I’m doing or why.
I’m talking to a victim about personal things.
I’ve never done this before. Never crossed lines.
And it’s not that a line has been crossed, I’m just being friendly and trying to make him comfortable to make this process easier.
But there’s a niggling in the back of my brain telling me I shouldn’t be doing it.
That I’m only a few inches away from that line.
I don’t care though. I’ll do what I have to to solve this case. And all the others too.
If I have to cross lines, step on toes, I’ll do it. Whatever gets these families some closure.
Me: Did you get your schedule yet?
Carter: No. I’m going to call when I leave the shelter.
Me: Let me know.
Carter: I will.
I don’t respond after that. I get up, grab my half-empty cup of coffee and go to the kitchen to fill it up.
I add a dash of creamer to it, and look out the window, into my small backyard.
The neighbor behind me is close enough I can see through their windows when it’s dark and their lights are on inside.
I should go over there and tell them to close the blinds or buy some curtains.
It’s exactly how people are able to watch and learn your routines to break into your house—or worse.
I look around my backyard, the grass a dull color, with chunks of it covered in snow.
A small shed sits in the back left corner.
There’s a bunch of junk in there from the last owners that I haven’t gone through yet.
I’ll do it this spring, once it warms up.
Get rid of what I can’t use. Fix what I can.
For a moment, I consider buying a patio set. Making a fire pit. Getting a swing.
But what’s the point? I’ll never use it. I work too much.
But what if I did use it? I could sit out there with a beer in the summer. Get a grill, too. Maybe invite some guys from work. Or maybe Carter…
I shake my head. What is wrong with me?
I sip my coffee and turn around to go back to my office to keep working on these files. It’s the only thing that keeps my mind busy enough to not think about impossible things.