Chapter Two
Dominic
“Aw, Dommy, baby. Why can’t you stay? I’ll make you breakfast, and then we can hang out.
” Naked, Jeanette lay in the bed, her red hair wild and makeup smudged.
I’d broken my one-and-done policy, and since that night at Sweeny’s a week ago, I’d seen her twice more.
She’d proved to be a fun and energetic lover, and had made no demands on me—until tonight. Time to walk away.
I put a smile on as I zipped up my jeans. “No can do, honey. My tour starts at six a.m., and I have to get home first.”
She pouted and sat up. “How about tonight after work? I’ll make you dinner.
I bet you could use a good, home-cooked meal, baby.
” She ran her pink tongue across her lips, and I almost relented.
Jeanette could perform magic with that sweet mouth.
But if I said yes, it might seem like we were heading toward dating, and that wasn’t my speed.
“Sorry. Can’t.” I leaned over to kiss her. “Good night. Lock up after I leave.”
She slipped on a sheer robe and stood at the door. “If you change your mind, give me a call.”
I wouldn’t, but I didn’t want her to think I was a bastard. “I will. Sleep well.”
I shut the door and breathed a sigh of relief. Inside my car, I checked my phone and saw the text from my old man I’d ignored earlier.
Fuck you. Stay out of my head.
Simply seeing a text from NYPD Chief of Department Michael Starr sent me into a spiral of anger and loathing so deep, I knew any chance at sleep was ruined. Somewhere, anywhere, would be better than my house, where I’d sit in the dark and think about how he’d ruined my life.
At one in the morning, Lookout Point was deserted, and I climbed onto a picnic table and sat staring at the sky.
I hadn’t opened the text as I didn’t want to be in the wrong headspace my entire shift and take my lousy mood out on Bradford.
From experience, nothing good ever came from anything Michael Starr touched.
Growing up, I could count on one hand the number of times my father had been home for dinner. The job had always come first. Oddly enough, I’d still wanted to be a cop. Maybe it was an attempt to help people, or maybe it was the need to prove to myself I wouldn’t be a man like him.
I’d joined the Academy after two years of community college, and though I’d done my best to hide our relationship, it was futile.
For all that he’d ignored me growing up, on the job he’d interfered in every aspect of my work, from attempting to assign me to a detail he’d wanted, to having my borough commander report to him on my progress.
I’d refused it all, never wanting to benefit from his name.
I hated him. No one knew the real Michael Starr out of uniform.
Angry. Verbally abusive. Viciously, obsessively jealous.
I’d kept my head down and done my work, walked a beat and loved being on the streets.
Twenty years into their marriage, my mother finally divorced him, which hadn’t sat well with his ego.
Loud and often drunk, he’d show up at her new apartment in an attempt to persuade her to come home.
I’d try to deescalate the situations if I could.
Occasionally a neighbor would call 9-1-1, but his cop buddies would cover it up for him, and no reports were ever filed.
He had enough friends and power in the department to make that possible.
It had all come to a head once she’d begun dating. I’d been happy she’d taken my advice and moved on. My father had not and had let her know it by calling her at all hours or showing up to harass her. Even moving hadn’t helped—he’d always found her.
At the time, I was two years on the force and lived across the street from her apartment. Every night I’d check in—before I’d go out, and on my way to and from my tour. If I was on shift, I’d call her during the day.
It was a warm June night. I’d gone off tour around nine, and we’d had plans to go out for a late dinner.
When she hadn’t answered my texts or phone calls, my gut had told me something was wrong.
I’d raced to her apartment and found my father inside, smelling like beer, waving his service revolver erratically.
Crying, my mother had sat cowering in the corner of the kitchen.
After she’d assured me he hadn’t hurt her, I’d attempted to disarm him, and he’d whacked me in the face with the gun.
Bleeding from a cut on my cheek, I’d ignored the pain, and my effort to put him in a headlock had resulted in another smash to my jaw with his weapon.
The copious amount of blood from my wounds must’ve scared him, though, because he’d taken off.
My mother had cleaned me up but couldn’t stop the bleeding.
A cadre of cops had shown up—unusual for a simple disturbance call, but my mother’s address must’ve been flagged.
One of the officers happened to be Emerson Kane.
I’d downplayed what had occurred, but I hadn’t missed the looks passing between Kane and his partner.
They didn’t believe me, and I couldn’t blame them. I wouldn’t have believed me either.
At the emergency room they’d stitched me up, and my mother had falsely claimed I’d gotten hurt by a random act of violence.
I’d been determined to press charges, but my mother had begged me not to.
She’d believed he’d never get convicted and both our lives would end up even more of a living hell.
As much as I’d wished she was wrong, his behavior had indicated otherwise.
The brass called me in because apparently someone had reported what happened. I suspected Kane, but it didn’t matter. I’d stood before them, my cheek swollen and throbbing from the stitches. Heart pounding, I’d glared at them, defiant and unafraid.
“He’s a criminal. Look at my face. He might’ve killed my mother if I didn’t intervene. He needs to be stopped.”
Unmoved, they’d listened to my recitation of the facts, and when I’d finished, they’d only had one thing to say: “He’s your father. Do you really want to hurt him like that?”
It didn’t matter what he’d done to my mother.
Or me. All they’d cared about was protecting their fellow officer and the department.
I’d told them to go fuck themselves and that I would report them to Internal Affairs.
Incredibly, I’d received the same response from them.
Willful ignorance and dismissal. Not even the Rat Squad, as they were known, would turn on him.
The next week I’d been sent to Staten Island on parking detail. Where cops go to die. I’d gotten my answer. Exile as punishment for squealing.
My mother remarried and moved to Florida, and we hadn’t seen each other in years.
It was always me initiating the calls, and if I suggested a visit, she had the excuse that they were traveling.
I understood I reminded her of a past she wished she could forget, a man she wished she’d never met, but the fact remained—she’d left me alone and without anyone who gave a damn if I lived or died.
I was a mess—close to thirty and still wishing for my mommy.
I brushed at my wet eyes, damning the foolish emotions I couldn’t control.
And my father? He still held his position as Chief of the Department, living his best life, pulling marionette strings, now with me as one of his puppets.
My crappy assignment was made worse when after a year, I was reassigned.
Desk duty watching surveillance cameras.
It was then that I’d known my career in the NYPD was finished.
I’d begun to look for something far away from home.
Someplace I would feel safe. Not from the criminals on the streets, but the people I worked with.
I’d heard Emerson Kane had also left the force to become a deputy sheriff upstate, and I’d wondered why.
I’d done a little research, and the job hadn’t intrigued me as much as seeing him.
Appleton Falls had seemed like the perfect place for me to land, and having Emerson Kane in my orbit would be a personal perk.
I’d gotten the job and started working as a deputy sheriff.
Those knowing eyes of his followed me—on the job, off shift…
no matter where I was. It was high school; only now we were older.
Certainly not wiser, as neither of us was willing to face the truth of what had happened years ago and spent our time throwing barbs if we came into contact.
We were too busy sniping at each other and hooking up with all the eligible women within a twenty-mile radius.
Owls hooted, splitting the silence of the night, and I laughed to myself.
Young me used to dream of being a cop who’d arrest big-shot criminals and be awarded medals of valor.
Older me helped little old ladies get their kitties out of trees or directed traffic after an accident on our two-lane Main Street.
But I wasn’t complaining. I enjoyed the slower pace of life up here.
The waitresses at the diner knew my name, and at the bakeshop, they knew I liked chocolate chip cookies.
My running track was a path around Beaver Lake, where I could watch the sunrise over the mountains and catch glimpses of wildlife in the trees.
No knocking shoulders with sweaty gym bros bragging about hot parties, their financial statements, and million-dollar trades.
Small town, small problems.
I was content if not happy. Out of my father’s clutches.
Or so I’d thought. I reached into my pocket and pulled out my phone. It took a full minute to control my banging heart before I swiped at the screen.
Go ahead and hide in some ass-backward town. You’re the reason your mother left me. One day I’ll make you regret what you did.