Chapter Twelve
Parker
By the time I make it into the office, it’s after ten.
I stared at the ceiling for half the night, replaying the last few minutes Eliot spent in my apartment over and over again. The lightness in his voice when he talked about his time in El Paso. His love of my mom’s cooking. And the warmth of his lips against my forehead.
As if the exhaustion and mental overload weren’t enough, getting out of bed was…unpleasant. All the bruises I ignored last night—a feat made much easier by the shot of pain meds the Urgent Care doc gave me—screamed at me the second I sat up.
There ain’t enough coffee in the world to fix me after all that. But I’m here. Upright. Limping more than I want, less than I need.
As I cross the bullpen, heads snap up, then right back down. Guess no one wants to acknowledge the dark circles under my eyes or the way my braid isn’t quite straight. I’m right there with them.
The safety of my desk is in sight when AJ’s door opens. “Parker.” If his tone wasn’t enough to warn me what sort of mood he’s in, the sharp jerk of his head would be. “My office. Now.”
Ignoring him for exactly two-point-three seconds, I set my bag on my chair, then follow.
The door clicks shut. Lowering myself into one of his guest chairs, I grit my teeth when the denim pulls at the bandage on my thigh. Maybe he won’t notice.
He doesn’t sit behind his desk, but takes the chair next to me. Shit.
“How are you feeling?”
“Fine.”
His eyebrows lift. “You want to try that again? Family don’t lie to one another.”
I take a long, slow breath. “Sore.”
“That’s closer.” As if we’ve ticked the first box on his Parker Injury Checklist, he gives me a small nod. “What did Urgent Care tell you?”
“Keep the stitches—five of them—clean. Ibuprofen for the bruises. Take it easy for a few days.”
“And?” He sits back, arms crossed, waiting.
I fight the urge to squirm under his stare. “There may have been a pamphlet.”
The corner of his mouth twitches. “A pamphlet? Did you read it?”
“I skimmed it.” The words sound small, and that riles my anger. Not at him, but at myself. My filter shatters into dust, and suddenly, I feel like I’m sixteen again, caught out after curfew. “I don’t know why you’re making such a big deal out of this.”
“You don’t know why I’m making a big deal out of this? Really? Not a goddamn clue?”
Shit.
“Parker.” His fingers curl around the arms of the chair, and a vein in his temple throbs briefly. “You fell through a floor yesterday. Went to Urgent Care, got stitches, and just walked in here like it was any other day—except for bein’ two hours late.”
“It is any other day.” My voice sharpens. “I didn’t break anything. Well, other than the floor. But it had it coming.”
He doesn’t laugh.
“Are you saying I can’t work, Chief?”
The title stings. AJ’s jaw works, and he drags a hand through his hair. “No. I’m sayin’ you came in here limping, bruised, and stitched up, and you’re pretending it doesn’t matter.”
“It doesn’t. If it makes you feel better, I won’t go chasin’ down any suspects today. Nate can do the running for both of us. He’ll like that.”
“He probably would if he weren’t half out of his fuckin’ mind worryin’ about you!”
I drop my gaze to the floor. “It’s not a big deal. Part of the job.”
He lowers his voice and leans forward, elbows on his knees. “You don’t get to decide what’s a big deal to the people who care about you. To the people who consider you family.”
The room falls quiet. Only the dull hum of work happening around us. And somewhere outside that door, my partner’s probably wearing a groove into the old tile floor, rehearsing another version of this same conversation.
I’m scrambling for something to say when AJ sighs. “Nate’s set up in the west conference room. He’s been here since seven. If you promise not to leave this building for anything other than lunch, you can join him. Otherwise, I’m sendin’ you home.”
“I’ll spend the whole day glued to a chair. Unless Nate springs for Dot’s.” I draw an X over my heart. “Promise.”
“Go on, then.”
The pain in his voice twists my stomach in a way I’m not prepared for. I get to my feet, stifling my wince, and shuffle over to the door. But before I go in search of my partner, I turn back to AJ.
“I never thought I’d have a family again, AJ. After my mom… I’m out of practice.”
He lifts his head, exhaustion shadowing his eyes. “So was I. Until you refused to let me go to Mexico alone to get Grace back. You taught me what family was. I never expected you to forget that.”
I nod once, then step back out into the hall before he can see the tears in my eyes.
The break room’s empty, so I take my time pouring a cup of coffee. The machine gurgles and hisses while I stare at the wall and try to get myself together.
Family.
The word keeps rattling around inside my head.
How did I not see it? Hell, I’m the one who wouldn’t let AJ go to Mexico alone.
I’m the one who convinced him to call his twin brother, Jasper, to join us.
I’m the one who suggested Connor could arrange transportation and get us in and out of the country without going through Customs.
I love Grace like a sister. Emi and Isabel too. Why didn’t I think they might worry? That Nate would worry?
Wrapping both hands around my coffee mug, I take a deep breath and wait until the sting behind my eyes eases enough that I won’t embarrass myself in front of my partner. Then I head for the conference room.
The door’s open a crack. Nate has the Round Rock building blueprints up on the wall monitor. The conference table is covered with utility records, rental agreements, inspection reports, and photos from the scene.
The whiteboard is either a work of art or a Jackson Pollock painting. Notes scrawled in four different colors, some surrounded by boxes, perfectly organized. Like everything Nate does.
I catch a whiff of stale coffee under the overwhelming scent of dry erase ink.
He’s been here a while. Long enough to need a fresh box of pens.
And for the trash to be full of crumpled yellow legal paper.
He’s shed his suit jacket, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and a familiar crease between his eyebrows that only shows up when he’s been staring at a problem for hours.
I brace myself against the doorframe to take some of the weight off my left leg. “You know, they make software for that now.”
Nate doesn’t meet my gaze right away. He flips to a fresh page on his legal pad, scribbles a couple of words, and sets his pen down. “I was wondering if you’d show up before I got out the string and push pins.”
I wince. It’d be easier if he were angry. I can deal with angry. Hurt is a whole different can of worms.
Finally, he turns to me. The crease between his eyebrows deepens. “Well, you look—”
“Keep that thought to yourself and I’ll take your car to the detailer.”
“I was going to say ‘better than I expected.’ But since you offered…”
For a long moment, I don’t say a word. The room settles around us, full of enough paperwork to fuel a ticker-tape parade. Nate studies me with the same intensity he gives evidence, and I have the uncomfortable feeling he’s cataloging every bruise I’m trying to pretend isn’t there.
I tighten my grip on the coffee mug.
“I should’ve called.”
His expression doesn’t change.
“I got your text,” he says quietly.
The words are simple. But the meaning behind them…that stings. “I wasn’t trying to shut you out.”
Something softens in his expression. “I know.”
The knot in my chest loosens a little.
My gaze drifts around the room again, taking in the whiteboard, the legal pads, and the sheer number of hours represented by everything spread across the table.
“You got here at seven?”
Nate shrugs. “Six thirty. Couldn’t sleep.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Bullshit.”
“What?” He spreads his hands in front of him. “We’ve got two suspicious fires, a building that makes no damn sense, and a partner who thought a nine-word text was a satisfactory status report after falling through a floor. I had plenty to keep me busy.”
Despite myself, I laugh.
The sound eases some of the tension bracketing his lips. “But now I have someone to admire my next-level color-coding skills.” He nods toward the chair across from him. “Sit down before AJ catches you standing.”
I huff out another laugh. “He threatened you too?”
“Threatened is a strong word.”
“Nate.”
He angles a glance around me toward the hall. “Fine. Threatened. Twenty bucks says he has your usual from Dot’s delivered precisely at noon. I hope you like warm milkshakes.”
I wrinkle my nose, push away from the doorframe, and make my way to the chair next to my partner. Nate doesn’t comment on the limp, the careful way I lower myself into the chair, or how every movement takes more effort than I want it to.
Which means he notices all of it.
“We good?” I ask.
Nate looks genuinely confused as he sets his pen down and leans back in his chair. “Parker, we’ve been good for a long time.”
The simple certainty in his voice is harder to deal with than any lecture. I drop my gaze to my coffee.
“I should’ve told you more.”
“Probably.”
After a beat, Nate reaches for the remote and points it toward the wall monitor. “You’re here now.”
Relief slips through me so quickly, it leaves me lightheaded.
We’re good at this part. Cases. Files. Discrepancies.
On screen, Nate brings up another diagram and highlights a section of the floor plan with the remote.
“Now,” he says, all business again, “want to see the thing that’s been driving me up a wall since six thirty this morning?”
I lean forward despite the protest from my ribs.
“Absolutely.”
A grin tugs briefly at the corner of his mouth.
“Good. Because either I’m missing something obvious, or this building didn’t make sense.”
And just like that, we’re back where we belong. Working the problem together.