Chapter 3
Loco
I had faced armed suspects with less tension in my shoulders than I had pulling up in front of Char’s sister’s townhouse. That realization annoyed the hell out of me.
It was just dinner. That’s what I kept telling myself as I shut off the engine of my Chevy Camaro and sat there a second longer than necessary, hands resting on the steering wheel. Just dinner with her family.
No warrants. No threats. No radios crackling with urgency. No reason my pulse should be thudding like I was about to breach a door.
But this wasn’t a call I could clear and walk away from.
Char was sitting beside me, smoothing her hands over the skirt of her dress like she had forgotten she had already done it five times. She looked nervous. Which only made me more on edge. Not the shaky, withdrawn nervous I’d seen in her apartment weeks ago, but something tighter. More personal.
“You okay?” I asked.
She nodded too quickly. “Yeah. Nita’s just a loving sister and you should be prepared, she doesn’t hold back.”
That earned a corner of a smile from me. “Older sister?”
“By eight years. She practically raised me since our parents both worked all the time to make ends meet.”
That explained the tension better than anything else could have. She loved her sister and wanted her approval.
I stepped out first, rounding the hood to open her door because it felt right. Because some part of me needed to do something useful with my hands. She smiled up at me when I offered them, and that smile—small, trusting—hit deeper than it should have.
This was supposed to be casual.
We hadn’t defined anything. We hadn’t put labels on it.
Dinners, conversations, long silences that felt comfortable instead of awkward.
Incredible sex, not always mind blowing but it was good and she was satisfied.
I hadn’t promised her anything except honesty, and even that felt like a risk some days.
But meeting her family wasn’t nothing.
I already committed to this so no turning back now.
Nita’s townhouse was neat and lived-in, porch light glowing warm against the early evening dark. Laughter spilled out when the door opened, and Char stiffened before relaxing as her sister stepped into view.
Nita was tall, confident, sharp-eyed. She took one look at me and did that thing people do when they think they’re subtle but absolutely aren’t—assessing. Weighing. Filing me away.
“So,” she said, folding Char into a hug before turning back to me, “you must be the cop.”
I held out my hand. “Dante Verdone and yes.”
She didn’t take it right away. In fact, she looked at it like I might bite or maybe she was deciding whether she wanted to take my hand or simply murder me first. Her gaze moved, scanning with a scowl that could make some men cower as her eyes locked to mine.
Satisfied with whatever she was looking for, she went back to my hand. Finally, she shook it. Firm grip.
No smile. “Nita.”
The rest of the family flittered around behind her—parents, an aunt, a cousin—but Nita never took her eyes off me for long as I entered the space. Nita stayed close to Char, like proximity itself was a protective act.
Dinner smelled incredible. Home-cooked. Real. The kind of food that took time and care, the kind I had grown up with before life got complicated and meals became something you fit in between shifts.
Char moved easily here, laughing more freely than I’d seen before.
Relaxed. She leaned into her mother’s touch, rolled her eyes affectionately at her father, teased her cousin.
It struck me then how much of her I hadn’t seen yet—not because she was hiding it, but because she was still healing. And we were still new, very new.
I watched her more than I should have. She caught me once, eyebrows lifting in silent question. I looked away.
Conversation stayed light at first. Work, traffic, the weather. Safe ground. Then Nita poured wine and leaned back in her chair, eyes sharp again.
“So,” she began, “how did you two meet?”
Char’s fingers curled in her napkin. I wasn’t sure how much she had shared with her family.
I answered before she could. “I responded to a call.”
The table went quiet. Char looked at me, something like gratitude flickering across her face for taking charge.
Something I was learning about her, as strong and independent as she was, she enjoyed the way I was.
And that was simple, if I asked for her time, I had a plan.
She didn’t have to think or question or wonder.
I laid shit out how it would be and kept my word.
I continued going before anyone could ask the obvious follow-up.
“It was a bad situation. She had these eyes that called to me. I circled back to check on her afterward. We started talking.”
That was true. It was also the most stripped-down version of the truth I could offer in a room full of people who loved her.
“We don’t have secrets in this family,” Nita began. “My family knew about her situation and about the police being called. I was at the hospital with her. I brought her home. Did this start from there?”
I nodded. “It did.”
“At the hospital. You came to see my sister after that piece of garbage ex of hers lost his mind and crossed a line. That’s where all this began?” Nita’s gaze didn’t soften. “And now you’re dating.”
It wasn’t a question.
Char inhaled. “We’re seeing each other.”
Nita’s attention snapped to her. “Char.”
“I’m okay,” Char said, quietly but firmly.
That got my attention. I had watch her shut down on herself when voices rose. Seen her retreat. This wasn’t that. This was her holding her ground.
Nita studied her for a long moment, then looked back at me. “You know she’s had a rough go.”
“I do.” I sat back in the chair to take on whatever this female wanted to throw at me. I knew she was doing all of this out of love and I would never fault anyone for that.
“You know what she’s been through? How long she lived that?”
“I do,” I repeated, and meant it in a way that went beyond the report I’d written that night.
Her jaw tightened. “And you’re not here to save her. Because regardless of your intention, she doesn’t need a knight to ride in and save the day. We don’t buy into fairy tales either.”
It wasn’t an accusation. It was a warning.
I met her eyes. “No. I believe she can save herself.”
Silence stretched. Char’s foot brushed against mine under the table, tentative. Anchoring.
“I’m not here to fix anything,” I said. “I’m just here.”
That was the closest I could get to the truth without overstepping into promises I wasn’t ready to make. Dinner resumed, but something had shifted. Not broken, just clarified, like we all knew where we stood..
Later, when plates were cleared and coffee poured, Char leaned into me on the couch, shoulder warm against my side. It felt natural. Too natural. Her head tipped slightly toward me, and I was suddenly acutely aware of how easily I could wrap an arm around her. How much I wanted to.
I didn’t.
Because wanting wasn’t the same as doing.
Nita sat across from us, watching again. But this time, there was something else there. Not approval. Not trust. Acceptance, maybe. Or at least the beginning of it.
When it was time to leave, Char hugged everyone goodbye, lingering with Nita. I waited by the door, listening to their low voices, catching fragments.
“…seems different…”
“…careful…”
“…I know…”
Char came back to me, eyes a little glassy but steady. She slipped her hand into mine without asking. I let her. The drive back was quiet. Comfortable. The kind of quiet that lets thoughts breathe.
“You didn’t have to do that,” she said finally.
“Do what?”
“Answer for me.”
I kept my eyes on the road. “You looked like you needed space.”
She nodded. “Thank you.”
We stopped at a light, and I glanced over at her. Really looked at her. The strength she didn’t always see in herself. The way she was still standing, still trying.
Something settled in my chest then. It wasn’t love. I knew that. Love was heavier. Louder. More dangerous. But this—this was care. Real and solid and growing roots where I hadn’t planned to plant anything.
And that realization scared me more than I wanted to admit.
When I walked her to her door, she hesitated before going inside. Looked up at me like she was waiting for something.
I leaned down and pressed a kiss to her forehead instead of her mouth. Gentle. Deliberate.
“Text me when you’re in and settled,” I instructed.
She smiled. “I will.”
I watched her lock the door behind her before heading back to my car.
And for the first time in a long time, I didn’t feel like I was just passing through someone else’s life.
I felt like I was standing at the edge of something that mattered.
Whether I was ready for it or not.
If someone had told me a month ago I would be sitting at a corner table in a low-lit bistro, watching my best friend flirt with Char’s older sister while Char traced idle patterns on my forearm, I would have laughed in your face.
Life didn’t usually hand me moments that felt normal.
Lamonte showed up late, which was exactly on time for him. He walked in with that easy confidence he’d carried since the Marines, scanning the room like it was second nature, then grinning when he spotted us.
“There he is,” he muttered, clapping me on the shoulder. “Hey Char.”
Char smiled, warm and open. “Good to see you out of uniform, Lamonte. Dante’s told me a lot about you.”
Lamonte shot me a look. “All lies, I’m sure.”
“Mostly,” I shared with a laugh.
Nita arrived minutes later, coat slung over her arm, presence filling the space the second she stepped in. She clocked Lamonte immediately, eyes sharp, posture straightening like she’d already decided she needed to be on her toes.
And Lamonte—God help me—noticed her too.
She was a beautiful woman too. The Banks genes were strong.
Both women had flawless, warm beige skin, curves that begged a man like me to enjoy.
Smiles that lit up a room and personalities that definitely held their own.
While Char was a little timid at times, Nita oozed confidence at all times.
It was sexy as fuck. A man like me, I loved the challenge of a woman who knew herself, her worth, and didn’t back down or budge.
Lamonte would love it too. He was already locking in on her.
I saw it in the way his attention shifted, subtle but immediate. The same way mine did on a call when something felt off.
Introductions were polite. Measured. Char and I exchanged a look that said this was either going to be fun or a slow-moving disaster.
Thankfully, it turned into the one of the best and easiest nights I had in years.
Dinner unfolded easily. Wine flowed. Lamonte told a story about a busted undercover operation that had gone sideways in the most ridiculous way possible, and Char laughed so hard she had to cover her mouth. Nita tried not to smile.
She failed.
I watched it all with a quiet sense of satisfaction. This—this was good. Easy. No edge to it.
Nita challenged Lamonte without being hostile, calling him out when his stories veered toward self-glorifying nonsense. Lamonte took it in stride, grinning like he enjoyed the sparring.
“So you’re really a detective,” Nita stated, eyebrow raised.
“Unfortunately,” he replied. “Means I spend more time on paperwork than actual heroics. Department is short staffed so Verdone and I run shifts on the street too. Kind of stuck on the beat right now, cases are piling up, but we are running shifts that don’t give us the best time to investigate.”
“Sounds humbling.” Nita was acutely aware of every word anyone around her shared.
“It is. Dante still outranks me in stubbornness, though.”
Char leaned into me, smiling. “I’ve noticed he can be a little hard headed.”
I shook my head. “Traitor.”
Her hand slid into mine under the table, fingers warm, familiar. It didn’t spike my pulse the way it might have once. It just felt right. Like a habit forming. And that realization hit me harder than any flash of attraction.
Halfway through dinner, Lamonte and Nita were deep in conversation, heads bent together, voices low. Char watched them with a soft smile.
“She likes him,” Char murmured.
“He likes her,” I replied.
She nudged my knee. “We did good.”
“We did,” I agreed.
There was no pressure in the air. No forced moments. Just shared stories and laughter and the kind of comfort that comes when people stop performing and start being. When dessert came, Char ordered something chocolate-heavy and pushed the plate toward the center. “Sharing.”
I took a bite off my fork, catching her eye. “You planned this.”
She smiled innocently. “Maybe.”
Nita leaned back in her chair, studying Lamonte openly now. “So. Marines.”
“Once upon a time,” he shared without elaborating. “You?”
“I have a federal job.” She shrugged without elaborating. “Someone to clean up the messes the metro department leaves in it’s wake.” She teased us avoiding sharing what she actually did.
Lamonte laughed, genuine and loud. “Fair.”
The night ended without ceremony. No awkward goodbyes. No forced next steps.
Lamonte lingered with Nita outside the restaurant, conversation continuing like neither of them wanted it to end. Char squeezed my hand, watching her sister with quiet approval.
“I think she needed that,” she shared.
“So did he,” I replied.
On the drive home, Char rested her head against the window, eyes half-lidded. Peaceful. Unburdened.
“You were quiet tonight,” she said softly.
“Just taking it in.”
She smiled. “I like us like this.”
That word—us—settled somewhere deep in my chest.
“I do too,” I said, and meant it without hesitation.
When I dropped her off, she kissed my cheek before stepping away. Casual. Comfortable. Trusting. I watched her go, feeling something solid take root. Not love. But something real enough to protect.
And for the first time in a long time, I didn’t feel the urge to walk away from it.