Chapter 4
Grief was overwhelming, but betrayal felt petty.
It whispered at you when you were trying to heal, resurfacing just as you were starting to laugh again, even bringing along receipts without any context.
After the turmoil I had endured that week, I had every right to stay home, indulge in carbs I hadn’t earned, and ignore everyone who wasn’t on my emergency contact list.
It was one of those nights where everything felt like too much and not enough at the same time, the kind of night where you scrub your skin like you’re trying to make your soul glow again.
Where the only things holding you together are a nice robe, a clay mask, and a hot-ass cup of ginger peach tea.
I was sitting on the couch, my bonnet barely hanging on, my knees pulled up to my chest, wrapped in a blanket like trauma was lurking in the vents.
I was grateful for Elias showing up like he did. I didn’t know how to say it without seeming… thirsty. He was just being a gentleman, right?
As I was lost in my thoughts, Jonell glided through the living room in her fuzzy slippers, a silk scarf wrapped tightly around her neck, and a pink wine tumbler in her hand as if she owned the place. Leila was right behind her with wine glasses and a bottle of Pinot Grigio.
“You texted him back, didn’t you?” she asked, referring to Elias’s “you good” text.
I didn’t even look up. “Can I breathe without being interrogated, damn, Twin A?”
“Barely,” she said, flopping next to me on the couch. “You breathe different now. All soft and mysterious, like your heart just got fresh braids.”
Leila started as well. “I mean, if he’s trying to see what’s up with ya, I don’t know what the issue is.” She poured wine into the glasses for the three of us and handed them to us.
I rolled my eyes and said, “It was just a check-in text.”
Jonell shot me a sideways glance, a grin spreading across her face.
“From Detective Fine Shyt?” she asked, playfully referring to Elias.
I felt my entire body tense up at her words and almost choked on my wine.
“Wait. How you know that’s his contact name?”
She held up my phone. “Girl, you left your messages open when you got up to pee. I saw that badge emoji and my spirit screamed.”
I snatched the phone from her and clutched it like it had nudes on it.
“It’s not like that,” I mumbled.
“But you want it to be,” she said, smiling like the Cheshire Cat.
I didn’t respond, because silence revealed more about someone than any receipts ever could.
“Look,” she said, sitting up straight, her voice softer now. “You don’t have to fall in love with the man. But stop punishing him for what Kam did.”
I flinched. Even when she was right, her words struck hard.
“He hasn’t earned my trust yet.”
“He isn’t trying to cash a check.” Leila tagged in like a wrestler. “He’s just asking to stand in the room without you slamming the door.”
I gazed into my glass of wine as if it held the answers I was seeking.
“Ladies,… I don’t even know what I want.”
Jonell leaned in with all the energy of twin besties. “You want peace, but you don’t recognize it because it has never raised its voice or laid in your bed.”
Leila co-signed with, “Ooooh, okay, bitch, wit’ yo’ poetic ass!” as they hi-fived each other.
Shit.
That one knocked the wind out of me. I leaned my head back against the couch, the clay mask starting to crack around my chin.
“I just don’t know how to be soft around someone who doesn’t make me brace for disappointment.”
Jonell gazed at me for a long time, sadness evident in her eyes. Then she whispered, “Well, sis, you might want to learn. Because from what I saw in those messages, that man isn’t just checking on you. He’s waiting for you to let him in.”
It was just another regular shift at the precinct.
I adjusted the fit of my tight khakis, feeling the weight of the utility belt anchored firmly on my hips, its pouches loaded with essential gear.
The edges of my shirt were pressed to perfection, crisp and sharp, a testament to the attention I paid to my appearance, despite how messed up I felt on the inside.
My locs were gathered into a low ponytail, slicked back smoothly and secured tightly, much like how I tried to keep my emotions in check throughout the day.
Each strand was meticulously arranged, reflecting the disciplined approach I took with both my work and my demeanor.
The jail pulsed with frenetic energy, its atmosphere charged and electric.
Phones rang incessantly, their shrill tones slicing through the air like an alarm bell.
Radios crackled to life, filling the space with a cacophony of static and garbled voices that seemed to echo off the cold concrete walls.
Inmates lounged against the frigid metal bars, exchanging sharp retorts and sly, knowing smiles through the narrow slots.
It was a familiar chaos, yet today, it felt heightened, as if an unspoken tension hung in the air, whispering ominously, “Don’t try me today. ”
I was good. Composed. Focused.
Until he walked in.
Detective Elias Edmonds strolled through the sally port, an inmate handcuffed at the wrists, exuding a slow, steady confidence, as if he had a playlist of spiritual trap music playing in his head. And he had the nerve, the audacity, to look that good in all black.
His badge was clipped to his side, duty weapon low on his hip.
His beard was freshly edged up, and those forearms flexed under his long sleeves like they were trying to snatch a soul.
He spotted me in an instant, his gaze piercing through the crowd.
I pretended to be completely immersed in my typing, attempting to maintain an air of nonchalance; yet deep down, my spine buzzed with an electric flutter, speaking in tongues of anxiety and excitement.
He gave a knowing nod, a silent acknowledgment that sent my heart racing.
With a quick nod, I tried to stay focused, but my body was tingling with energy.
Each click of the mouse felt electric, and I could sense my breath quickening, a flutter of excitement forming in my chest. I imagined my eyes widening, revealing my true emotions like a lovesick soul caught in a beautiful moment.
It was intense, but there was also a spark of hope in the air.
He slowly walked up to the desk, handed over the paperwork, and spoke in a low voice.
“Got one from a bar fight downtown. Disorderly and disrespectful.”
I kept my tone dry. “Are you describing the offender or yourself?”
He smiled smugly. “I’d ask which one you’d prefer, but I’m not trying to get written up.”
Whew. Sir.
Have you ever heard a man flirt so respectfully that it makes you want to call HR just to thank them?
I cleared my throat and scanned the document.
“Looks like he spat on the bartender and attempted to climb the DJ booth.”
“Man thought he was Future, mid-set,” he said.
I almost laughed. Almost. I was trying to stop my cheeks from rising but failed miserably.
He leaned one arm on the counter, allowing me to catch the scent of his cologne: warm, spicy, and anointed.
“You good?” he asked, his voice low and filled with sincerity.
I blinked. His inquiry wasn’t flirty or performative. It was intentional, as if he genuinely wanted to know the answer.
“I’m good,” I said, then added, “Still working on it.”
That made his smile shift slightly, deeper, not wider.
He glanced at my badge.
“Keep holding it down, Deputy Gorgeous.”
“You too, Detective.”
He stepped back, gave the inmate a slight tug, and nodded at me as if we had shared an unspoken conversation in those two seconds. As he walked out, I stared at the back of his head like he owed me child support.
I didn’t smile. I didn’t melt. But I did unlock my phone and stare at his name for a moment too long: Detective Fine Shyt, complete with a policeman emoji.
Lord, what was this man doing to my nervous system?
I was sitting in the break room, trying to keep it together as I was low-key spiraling. I sipped on a room-temperature Sprite, hoping it would somehow wash away the heat still simmering in my chest from that man’s voice. I attempted to concentrate on my snack—a honey bun I didn’t even want.
But Detective Fine Shyt had turned my nervous system into wet laundry, and the spin cycle was stuck on “flustered.”
“Keep holding it down, Deputy Gorgeous.”
That was what he said, out loud, in front of God, the inmate, the surveillance cameras, and my confused hormones. That man had the audacity to bless my whole government title with a compliment so smooth it exfoliated my trauma.
Now I was sitting here blinking slowly, as if my body didn’t know how to recover from a respectful man speaking life into my badge with a cute little nickname.
Jonell kicked the door open as if she owned the moment.
“Okay now, Deputy Blushing Boots,” she said, already grinning. “Who had your skin all flushed in front of booking like it was a high school crush walking past your damn locker?”
I rolled my eyes and chose not to respond, but that only made her worse.
She slid into the seat across from me, pulling out a granola bar as if it were popcorn. “Don’t play coy with me, Deputy ‘O-I-Think-He-Likes-Me.’ I saw that walk-off. You were looking at that man as if he invented the damn Rose.”
“Nelly…”
“Don’t Nelly me, ho.” She cackled. “I heard him call you Deputy Gorgeous. With chest. With bass. With intention. You should be pregnant by now.”
I choked on my soda.
“Get the fuck on, sis.” I coughed. “Respectfully.”
She leaned across the table, elbows up as if trying to whisper holy gossip.
“You know what I saw?”
I sighed. “I’m scared, but go ahead.”
“I saw you, a normally emotionally paralyzed and trauma-coated little Scorpio, look at that man as if he could hold your hair while you threw up after too much tequila.”
I blinked. “That’s oddly fucking specific.”
“Because it’s real love.”