Chapter 2
Loco
I woke up before the alarm, like my body didn’t trust peace enough to let it stretch out. The bedroom was still dark, the kind of pre-dawn that made the world feel unfinished. My apartment smelled faintly like coffee because I’d set the timer last night because shift changes did that to me.
My phone sat face-up on the nightstand. I stared at it like it might blink first. No new messages. I told myself that was normal. It was five-oh-something in the morning. People slept. People didn’t wake up with their nerves already tight, waiting for a shoe to drop.
People like Char didn’t sleep. Not really. Not the way people were supposed to. I knew this because of the nights we had spent together.
I rolled onto my back and let the silence press down on me.
For a second, I let my mind pull up her face from last night—her mouth curved around a laugh like she didn’t believe she deserved it.
Her hand on my forearm when I said something stupid about a movie I hadn’t watched.
The way she looked around the restaurant like she was mapping exits without meaning to.
The date had been good. Not easy. Not simple.
But good in a way that made my chest feel too open, like I’d unbuttoned something I’d kept tight for years.
The problem with good was that it tricked you into thinking you could have it.
That you could keep it. That you could hold it steady without it turning into a liability.
I’d been divorced for long enough to know better. I sat up and rubbed my palm over my face, then swung my legs out of bed. The floor was cold. The world was cold. I welcomed it.
Cold was honest.
In the bathroom mirror, I looked like every other cop who’d seen too much and slept too little—shadowed jaw, short hair that never had a chance to grow too long, eyes that didn’t soften even when I tried.
I brushed my teeth, stared at the man staring back, and thought about the fact that he’d asked a woman out after meeting her with a swollen cheek, busted lip, and bruised ribs.
That wasn’t normal either. My phone buzzed once, and my pulse answered like a gunshot. I snatched it up.
Char: Morning. I didn’t wake you, did I?
A breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding left my lungs in one slow spill.
Me: No. I’m up. You okay?
The three letters sat there on the screen like they’d been written in someone else’s hands. You okay. It was what I said to witnesses, victims, and rookies. It was what you said when you didn’t know how to ask the real question.
Are you safe? Do you still feel him on you? Do you think he’ll come back?
Char: Yeah. Just had a weird dream. But I’m okay. What’s your plan for the day?
My day. What a loaded question. One that people get to talk about regularly. My life, though, it’s anything but ordinary. I was walking into a building full of radios and reports before getting in a patrol car as a man who lived on adrenaline.
Me: Heading in. You working today?
Char: I’m off. Might try to tackle the laundry mountain. And maybe go for a walk if it’s not freezing.
A walk. Something ordinary. Something small and brave. I typed and deleted twice before I settled on honesty that didn’t sound like a warning.
Me: Text me later. I’ll check in when I can.
Char: Okay. Be safe.
I stared at those two words until the screen dimmed.
Be safe. People said it like it was a blessing.
Like safety was a thing you could choose.
Noone really had control. We could do the best to manage variables, like being aware, but safety wasn’t something someone could say they had real control over.
Life was unpredictable and the world seemed to get crazier every day.
I put the phone down gently, like I might break it, and finished getting ready.
The drive to the precinct was quiet, the sky slowly opening from black to gray. DC at that hour had a muted edge to it—monuments half-hidden, streets damp with last night’s cold, the city holding its breath before it filled with horns and hurry.
My mind kept sliding toward Char, toward the way she’d looked at me when I walked her to her door last night.
She’d stood in the hallway of her building with the new deadbolt she’d installed glinting on the inside of the door.
She’d hugged herself like her arms were the only thing she trusted to hold her together.
“I had a good time,” she’d said softly, like she was testing the words to see if the universe would punish her for them.
“I did too,” I answered, and I meant it. That was the part that made me uneasy.
She hesitated, then stepped closer. Her fingers touched my sleeve, then my wrist, then lingered like she didn’t want to risk anything more.
“I don’t,” Her voice had cracked. She’d swallowed and tried again. “I don’t want you to think I’m broken.”
I’d held her gaze. “I don’t.” It hadn’t been a lie. It also hadn’t been the whole truth. Because broken wasn’t the word. Fragile, maybe. No, she wasn’t fragile, she was strong.
Wounded. That was more like it. Wired for fear. But also stubbornly alive in a way that twisted something inside me.
“I just,” She’d dropped her eyes and exhaled. “Sometimes I don’t know what’s normal.”
I’d known that feeling too well. Mine had just come from different places.
“Normal’s overrated,” I said, and her laugh had been small but real.
Then she’d looked up again, and there’d been a question in her eyes she didn’t ask out loud. I’d felt it anyway. Are you going to change and be like him? It was a normal trauma response.
While we had spent time together, some nights were easy and we went to bed wrapped in one another, and then other nights were harder.
Last night, it had been written all over her face and the way she carried her body, she was wound tight. Haunted by her past and unable to relax even knowing I wasn’t him.
My throat had tightened. “Text me when you get inside and ready for bed, baby.”
She nodded and slid inside her apartment. The door had shut between us with a soft click that felt too final for a moment that had been tender.
I walked away without touching her the way I wanted to. Holding her was what every instinct in me screamed to do. But I resisted. Because touching, holding, it meant wanting more. Wanting more meant caring.
Caring meant risk.
The precinct parking lot came into view and pulled me back to reality like a tether.
I parked, grabbed my go-bag, and got out.
The building had the usual energy even at that hour—shift change voices, the hum of fluorescent lights, the smell of stale coffee and the brut odor of masculinity.
A couple of uniforms nodded at me in passing.
“Morning, Sergeant.”
“Verdone.”
I answered with short greetings and kept moving.
My boots knew the path to the locker room as well as they knew the ground overseas.
Different war. Same way to handle the jobs.
Inside, I changed into my duty belt, checked my gear with the same muscle memory I used to check magazines as a Marine.
Flashlight. Bodycam. Radios. Handcuffs. Gloves.
Taser. Pistol. The weight settled on my hips like a reminder.
Then a voice cut through the room like it owned it.
“Look at you. All responsible. Gold star sticker for you.”
I didn’t have to turn to know who it was.
Lamonte Davis.
I faced him anyway because some habits were built on loyalty.
He leaned against the lockers with a grin that made him look younger than he was.
He’d shaved his head like always, and his eyes were sharp, scanning the room without seeming like he was scanning at all.
He was broad through the shoulders from years of carrying weight—packs, weapons, expectations. The uniform didn’t hide that.
He pushed off the lockers and stepped closer, clapping a hand on my shoulder hard enough to rattle my teeth.
“You look like hell,” he added.
“Morning to you too.”
He studied my face, the way he used to study a perimeter. “Nah, for real. You look, tired.” He gazed a moment longer, “no, distracted, yeah, you look distracted this morning.”
I shrugged. “Didn’t sleep great.”
Lamonte snorted. “That’s not new.”
I didn’t answer. His eyes narrowed. “Okay. So what is new?”
He could always tell. In Iraq, he’d been the first one to notice when I was carrying something too heavy, even when I pretended I wasn’t.
“I’m fine,” I said automatically.
Lamonte’s eyebrows lifted like he was unimpressed with my lies. “If you say ‘I’m fine’ one more time, I’m gonna write it on your tombstone.”
I exhaled and opened my locker, buying time. “I’m seeing someone.”
Lamonte went still for half a beat.
Then his grin came back twice as wide. “Oh.”
I didn’t like that tone he used. It had too much amusement in it.
“Oh what?” I snapped.
He laughed. “Nah, nothing. Nothing. Just you’re seeing someone.”
“Yeah.”
He dragged out the silence like he was savoring it. “Who?”
I stared into my locker. “Her name’s Charlaina.”
Lamonte’s humor faded a notch. “Char like the girl from the DV call? The one you went to the hospital to see knowing damn well that could have landed your ass on desk duty for punishment.”
My jaw tightened. I knew he would make the connection.
He was with me on the call. He was the only person I told about going to see her at the hospital off duty.
Why I decided to tell him now about her, I didn’t know.
The only thing I did know was Lamonte could read me like a book and there was no reason to keep this from him if there was a possibility it could become something more.
He was my partner sure, but he was my friend before the badge.
We served together. He’s from Waldorf, Maryland.
He got out of the service to come home and take care of his aging father.
Took a job here in DC and made it sound good enough that I didn’t re-enlist for another four and instead came here to watch his six.
Lamonte was more than a partner, more than a friend, he was my family.
“Yeah,” I said, because lying to Lamonte was pointless.
He didn’t tease me then. That was what told me he was taking it seriously.
He leaned his shoulder against the adjacent locker. “You okay?”
I almost laughed at the irony. The same question I’d asked her. Same tone. Same careful concern.
“I don’t know,” I admitted.
Lamonte nodded slowly. “That’s fair.”
I looked at him, and something in my chest loosened. “She’s trying.”
“Good.”
“She’s scared,” I added.
Lamonte’s gaze held mine. “Also fair.”
I swallowed. “I don’t want to mess it up.”
Lamonte’s mouth twitched. “Well, don’t.”
I glared.
He lifted both hands. “No, seriously. Listen. You’re a good man. You just you do that thing where you try to protect people by keeping them at arm’s length.”
“That’s called boundaries.”
“That’s called fear,” he corrected. “You are always one foot out the door with your go bag at the ready, brother.”
My throat tightened. I hated when he was right.
Lamonte softened a fraction. “Just be careful, bro. For her. For you. For the job. People will talk.”
I already knew that. I had felt eyes on me the minute I asked to meet Char for coffee after the statement at the hospital.
I had seen the look in the nurse’s face when she noticed the way Char’s shoulders relaxed when I stepped close.
I heard the edge in the social worker’s voice when she asked if I had any personal involvement with the patient before asking Char if she wanted to discuss her insurance and billing in private or was I someone she wanted the information shared with.
Of course, I exited leaving my number with Char.
I told myself I was doing everything by the book. But books didn’t cover the way Char looked at me like I was the first safe thing she’d seen in years.
I shut my locker and turned fully toward Lamonte. “I’m not doing anything wrong.”
Lamonte held up a hand. “I didn’t say you were.”
His eyes were steady. “I said be careful.”
I nodded once. “I am.”
He watched me for another beat, then clapped my shoulder again—lighter this time. “Alright. Enough feelings. Let’s go get cursed out by a homeless man over on third.”
Without another heavy conversation, we hit the streets for another shift, and another day wondering if I was the right man to help heal her.
The pull I couldn’t deny, but I was man enough to walk away before I burned her.
She had already survived too much heartbreak.
If I couldn’t give her what she deserved, I would walk away even if it killed me.