6. Nash
Nash
The station smells like burnt coffee and wet uniforms.
Rain pelts the windows, a steady drumbeat that doesn't let up. We've been called out to three traffic accidents already just because of the water pooling on downtown roads. Someone tracks water across the tile behind me, their boots squeaking with every step, but I don't turn around.
I'm too busy staring at the wall.
At him.
The photo's older than anything else in the building, except maybe the drop ceiling above my head. It's black and white with worn edges and a frame that's been polished more times than I can count.
My great-great-grandfather stands stiff in his uniform, those knowing eyes of his, the ones he passed down to all of us, piercing me through the glass. His jaw is set like he knew exactly what kind of man he was supposed to be.
And below him are the rest of the lineup.
My great-grandfather.
My grandfather.
My own father.
All lined up like a damn expectation.
My reflection stares back at me through the glass of my father's picture: same broad shoulders, same tall build, same sharp eyes, and the same face shape that people keep telling me belongs to him.
"You look just like him, Nash."
I don't have to turn to know who said it.
Detective Guffrey steps up beside me, his coffee in hand. The same mug he uses every morning. He follows my line of sight, nodding once like he's paying his respects.
I wish he'd leave.
"He'd be proud of you, you know."
My jaw tightens.
I've heard that one, too.
"Yeah?" I say, voice flat.
Guffrey hums like he doesn't hear the edge in it. "Sheriff of the same town your old man ran. Same family position since this department's inception. Not a lot of people get to say that about their lineage."
Yeah, because people usually get a choice in the matter.
I shift my weight, crossing my arms over my chest as I keep my eyes on the picture.
Paperwork sits on my desk in the office behind me, stacks of it I have yet to touch.
Reports, budgets, signatures waiting to happen.
Every hour I spend in this building feels like another hour I'm not out there doing something that actually matters.
"Hell of a storm out there," Guffrey says, cutting through my thoughts. "Dispatch has been lighting up all morning."
"Yeah," I mutter. "I heard. What are we up to now, three accidents?"
He sips his coffee too loudly. "Four. Just sent Jessie and Tank out for another one. Got some downed lines in a puddle near the vineyard."
And what am I doing to help?
Nothing.
Because I'm standing here, staring at ghosts, while paperwork sits untouched.
Guffrey claps a hand against my shoulder, solid and grounding. "You're doing good work, Nash. I hope you realize that."
"Thanks for the chat, Detective," I say as I step back toward my office. "Should get on that paperwork before it gets late."
"I'll getcha a fresh cup of coffee. You want cream or sugar?"
I just shake my head as I make my way into my office. It's not Detective Guffrey's fault that my memories haunt me today. But I know if I stand there any longer trying to make idle chat, I might say something I don't mean.
Not his fault I feel like a disappointment.
For the rest of the workday, I fill out forms. Officers pass by my door all afternoon, dipping their heads in to tell me about the basements taking on too much water.
Or the car accident at the four-way intersection going out of town.
I ask them if they need any help. They tell me they've got it under control.
Meanwhile, my hand cramps from all the signatures.
"We really need to go digital," I murmur.
The rain doesn't let up when I leave, either. If anything, it's worse. Sheets of it slam into the pavement, bouncing back up in a sort of mist that clings to everything. My jacket soaks through as I book it to my truck. Water drips from my hairline as I yank the door open.
Tonight is definitely a takeout sort of night.
I head to the diner and order a little bit of everything. I'm not sure what Nelly wants to eat, but I figure if I get three or four separate meals, she can choose what she wants and I'll eat the rest. I also snag a couple of slices of pie.
She's been cooped up all day.
Maybe she'll like a slice.
By the time I pull into the parking lot of my complex, the sky's gone that deep, ugly gray that means it's not stopping anytime soon.
Water gathers along the edges of the pavement, creeping higher than it should be.
I grab the food and make a run for the building, where it takes me no time at all to get up to my apartment.
I smell her the instant the door swings open. Sawdust and vanilla cling to the air, and my bones shiver with how good it is.
"Nelly!?" I call out as I heft the bags of food onto the kitchen countertop. "I'm back! Got food and pie. You hungry?"
The hairs on the nape of my neck prickle when she doesn't respond.
"Nelly?" I ask as I make my way toward the guest bedroom. I knock on the closed door. "Nelly, you sleeping?"
When silence answers me, I reach out and press the door open with my fingertips. The room is disheveled, her bed unmade.
"Nelly?" I ask, listening for the shower.
But when I peer over at her bathroom, the light's off.
"There's no way," I murmur as I make a break for my bedroom.
I rush to the window with the view of the house she's renovating. Even through the sheets of rain, I can see the corner of the tarp flapping in the wind.
"Just hold, you hear me?" I mutter under my breath like the damn thing can hear me.
And then something moves through the rain.
A small, dark figure, hunched against the side of the house.
"You've got to be fucking kidding me," I growl.
I rush out of the apartment, grabbing my umbrella on the way.
What the hell is she thinking, working in this kind of weather?
It doesn't shock me. Of course she'd be out there.
But damn it, this is serious. She's going to get sick!
She's going to get struck by lightning! She's going to trip and fall and hurt herself!
I jam my shoulder into the door of my complex and open the umbrella over my head.
Not like it does anything to help, though.
"Are you insane!?" I shout over the thunder crashing above us as I make my way toward her. "You're going to get sick out here in this rain, Nelly!"
She doesn't even pause.
"Come on, are you for real right now?!" I ask as I march toward her, only to find her… sweeping water?
What?
I stalk closer, my boots splashing through water that soaks the cuffs of my pants. "Nelly, I'm serious. You need to get inside. I brought food and pie from the diner."
"I'm busy!" she snaps back, not even looking at me as she shoves another wave of water away from the house with her broom.
And straight onto my boots.
"Jesus Christ," I mutter, closing the distance.
Before I can think better of it, I reach out and grab her arm. She's cold. She's soaked. She's shivering, for crying out loud.
And she rips out of my grip like I burned her.
"You're not my Alpha!" she snaps as she twirls the broom in the air and holds it toward me like a sword. "Nash Dempsey, so long as I live, if you ever touch me again without my permission, I will call the exact police department you work for and file… something."
"Harassment charges," I say.
"I'll figure out what it is later, but I'll file something and burn your career down if you touch me again!"
Rain runs down her face, dripping off her chin as she glares at me like I'm the problem here.
Like she's not out here in a flash flood warning.
I let out a curt breath and shake my head. "Fine. Stay out here and get sick. See how much work you get done then."
I turn and start toward the building. Fine. If she wants to be stubborn and work until she's waterlogged, who am I to stop her? I flex the hand that wrapped around her arm and curse myself for being a fool. Why the hell did I touch her?
What possessed me to think she'd just follow?
She's not my Omega.
And even then, who the hell drags an Omega around like that?
I arrest Alphas who do that kind of shit.
I shake off my umbrella just outside the door and fold it up.
The lobby is warm. Then the sound of boots splashing through water whips my head up, and there's Nelly, rushing through the rain.
She's holding a soaked hoodie over her head like it'll keep her dry, when she's already drenched to the bone.
I hold the door open for her and she slips inside.
She fights to get the hoodie back into place.
"This isn't you winning, by the way," she says as she makes her way to the elevator. "Just done all I can for today."
I just shake my head and follow. "You're insane."
"And your roof isn't falling apart in our first freak summer storm of the year."
I press the call button, and the doors ding open. We step inside before a voice echoes down the corridor.
"Hold the elevator!"
"Beau?" Nelly asks as she sticks her head back out.
Beau Talcott hurries into the elevator, giving Nelly a once-over. "Let me guess: you were out there working in this."
"And?" Nelly shoots back.
Beau shrugs, completely unfazed. "Just confirming."
The doors slide shut and I press the button for my floor. Beau reaches out and presses the one for his, and I close my eyes, doing my best to wind down from my day even though I'm crammed into an elevator with two other people who are also drenched in rain.
It smells musty.
It offends my nose.
"Well, I was going to call you," Beau says as he turns to Nelly, "but I guess now works."
Nelly straightens. "You talked to Ford and Knox?"
"A little," Beau says with a nod. "I'm still working on a few figures, but monthly installments aren't something they're opposed to. Materials still have to be paid upfront, but they can take monthly payments on labor costs."
Nelly leans in while Beau pulls a notebook out of his shoulder bag. He flips to a page and shows her scribbled numbers that look way too big to me. Numbers have never been my strong suit.
It's insane that numbers get Nelly's attention.
Not common sense.
Numbers.