2. Josh
2
JOSH
The first time I catch the blond woman with gray eyes staring at me, I brush it off as a coincidence—a fleeting glance shared between two strangers in a crowded room. But there’s something about her eyes, something haunted and intense, that lingers in my mind longer than it should. It’s the kind of look that makes you pause, makes you wonder what dark and secret stories lie behind it.
I shake my head, forcing myself to focus on the conversation at hand, but it’s no use.
When I see her again, those same gray eyes are locked on me, unwavering, as if she’s trying to communicate something wordless, something urgent.
I’m absolutely crazy, because there’s no way she’s looking at me. But I can imagine, just for a minute, that she is.
She bites her lip, and I swear my pulse starts to race.
She’s trouble, that much is clear. The kind of trouble I’ve spent years trying to avoid, yet here I am, drawn to her like a moth to a flame.
Those eyes that see straight into my soul, and hair so light she looks like a snow queen. All framing a face that I’d do anything to touch.
Fuck.
I’m getting harder just thinking about touching her.
It’s been so long since I’ve felt this kind of pull, this raw, primal attraction, that just watching a complete stranger bite her lip has me thinking about all the dark things I could do to her. Things she could do to me.
Like the inexplicable hard-on that I don’t think is going anywhere anytime soon. Not until I take a shower and rub one out, thinking of her mouth wrapped around my dick the entire time.
Yeah, I’m already planning my night.
Joshua Jason Harmon, you pull your head out of your ass and stop flirting with that woman from across the room. Go make me some grandbabies.
My mom’s voice echoes in my head, making me smile at what I know she’d say if she saw me thinking about introducing myself and asking her if she’d like to meet up after my shift.
The roller rink is a cacophony of noise and chaos that should completely destroy my thoughts. The remnants of a birthday party that left a trail of discarded paper plates, half-eaten cake, and sugared-up kids bouncing off the walls. The fluorescent lights overhead hum softly, casting a sterile glow on the brightly colored floor all around, where random skaters circle lazily between tables, some children clinging to the railings while others glide effortlessly across the rink.
Parents sit at the tables lining the rink, gossiping and keeping half an eye on their children, though most seem more interested in their conversations than what their kids are up to. The air smells faintly of popcorn and that peculiar, plasticky scent that seems to permeate every roller rink I’ve ever been to.
As I sit, trying to fend off the migraine that’s been threatening to explode all day, my attention drifts back to Blaine, the man responsible for dragging me into this childish hellhole. He’s talking about our upcoming fishing trip, but I can see his eyes keep drifting to one of the moms across the room. She’s pretty in that wholesome, all-American way, and I can’t help but smirk at the way Blaine’s trying—and failing—to be subtle about checking her out.
The only bright spot in this sensory overload is the fun I’ve been having giving him shit about it, teasing him mercilessly every time his gaze lingers a little too long. It’s a small distraction, but it’s enough to keep my mind off the pounding in my head—at least for now.
A scream tears through the air around us, and I turn to see Blaine surge up from the table and catch one of the kids by the back of his hoodie as he runs by.
“I don’t think so, little dude.”
The boy is just a scrawny little thing with a mop of unruly hair. He turns his head and glares defiantly at Blaine over his shoulder. He’s holding something in his hand, something that, at first glance, makes my heart skip a beat. It’s a snake—small, but unmistakably real—with its red belly flashing ominously under the rink’s harsh lights. The creature writhes and twists in the kid’s grip, its beady eyes scanning the room as if it’s just as confused about its current predicament as the rest of us.
The kid, oblivious to the fear he’s just caused, looks up at Blaine with a cocky smirk, as if he’s done nothing wrong. “Come on,” he says, his voice dripping with that teenage bravado that only comes with the certainty of invincibility. “It’s harmless. I just wanted to show her.”
That’s when I stand up, all thoughts of the woman with the gray eyes forgotten. Blaine Standish, my friend, and the only reason I stopped in Belfast on my last ever shift as a Maine State police officer, looks like he is ready to murder a teenager, and I really don’t want to have to arrest him.
“You wanted to scare her.”
The little girl in question is clutching a woman our age, while tears stream down her face.
“Not cool, kiddo. Not cool at all.”
“I wasn’t going to hurt her.”
I scoff, unable to help myself. But neither the kid nor Blaine turn in my direction. Instead, Blaine narrows his eyes at the kid he is still holding by the hoodie.
“Maybe not physically but look at her. Doesn’t she look hurt to you?” I swear I see him shake the hoodie a little, just for good measure.
Damn. Just like always, Blaine has a way of getting straight to the point and making it impossible to ignore what is really going on.
“I thought it was fun.”
I cringe at the uncouth way the kid throws the words out, and I step forward to give him the cop stare. The one I give to every single person I arrest to ensure they know exactly how bad they fucked up.
“But are you having fun now when you look at her?” Blaine’s voice cuts through the air like a knife, sharp and precise, demanding an answer.
He crosses his arms over his chest, a signal that he’s done playing games, and lets go of the kid’s hoodie, though the weight of his glare keeps the boy rooted to the spot. Blaine’s eyebrows are drawn together, his gaze hard and unforgiving as he stares down at the kid, forcing him to confront the consequences of his actions.
The silence that follows is heavy, filled with unspoken words and the uncomfortable realization that what the kid thought was fun has caused real harm.
The boy’s eyes dart back to the little girl, who is still trembling in her mother’s arms, and I can see the guilt settling in, a weight that’s new and unfamiliar to him. The kid flushes. “No.”
“I didn’t think so.” My friend shifts, barely, but his chin juts forward slightly. “Now I want you to let him go—outside. And then I want you to come in and apologize to Addison.”
“Fine,” the kid grumbles and kicks a bag at his feet, drawing my attention away from their conversation.
When it hits its side, the contents come tumbling out, and the migraine I’ve been fighting all day comes roaring to life with the force of a thousand suns.
“We’ve got a problem.” The words hurt even as I say them, but I’m already making a mental list of what needs to be done and who I have to call.
Fuck my luck .
The last shift I have to serve before going full-time with the Birch Harbor Fire Department, and I won’t even be able to make a clean break of it.
Blaine turns around, his eyes flashing with warning while he stares over my shoulder at the noisy crowd and the music, looking for a threat. “What’s up?” He just doesn’t realize the threat is at his feet.
“There.” I point down.
There, in the contents that spilled out of the black backpack, are tiny ziplock bags, only used for one thing. And as I crouch down in front of him, I know he is seeing the rest. Discolored rocks—obviously cocaine—with two used glass pipes.
We block the view from the kid and any other bystanders for the moment and I take out my phone, quickly snapping photos of the evidence and scene in front of me. Shit is going to go down, and I need to make sure I cover my ass… and Blaine’s.
I can feel the weight of the day pressing down on me, heavier now than it’s been all afternoon, and I know without a doubt that this is going to be one of those moments that changes everything. I glance at Blaine, hoping he understands the gravity of the situation without me having to spell it out, because there’s no easy way out of this. Not anymore.
“Fuckin’ last day on the job and I’m gonna have to arrest somebody in front of a bunch of kids.” I scrub a hand down my face in aggravation. “Wonderful.” Shaking my head, I can’t help the curses coming out. “Son of a bitch.”
I think we are doing a good job of keeping the scene contained, or at least under the radar. The kids around us start to disperse, going about their business, ignoring the two of us seemingly picking up a mess.
That is, until another woman marches right up to us with panic in her voice. The same woman I was giving Blaine shit about only a few minutes before.
“Damn it. Sorry. My daughter gets distracted and—” She stops talking with her hand outstretched, shaking, and every instinct in my body tells me that the situation is about to get worse.
For all of us.
Next to the drugs, a tiny little blue and purple seahorse lies there like the victim in a massacre. Soft and plush, it gives the entire situation away.
“Ma’am,” I interrupt the silent tension between Blaine and the woman. “Is this your bag?”
The strangled whimper that escapes sounds like she steps on a dog’s tail, rather than tries to answer my question.
And then Blaine’s words knock me on my ass. “It’s mine.”
I watch the woman’s panic-filled eyes fly up to his and I know my friend is lying.
“Blaine,” I warn him with one word.
He turns to face me with clenched teeth and the same determination he had on his face when he bought the damned roller rink from his father. “I said it’s mine.”
“Fuck.” The curse slips out.
I really need to work on being professional, at least in uniform. Or, I would have, if this wasn’t my last day on the job.
“Don’t do this,” I tell him, looking between the two of them with a knowing look. “Do not do this.” I speak slower. “This isn’t noble. It’s fuckin’ stupid.”
But Blaine’s jaw is set. “It’s done.” His eyes flash, and I know I can’t talk him out of it. But I have to try, at the very least.
“I don’t have a choice here.” My voice comes out as a hiss. “Do you get that? With your record, we’re talking at least a Class C felony.” The facts rattle out of my brain like I’ve read them out of a book, but I have to do something. I have to get it through his thick skull that no one is worth going to prison over.
My hands are tied, and he knows it. Someone has to go to jail. Not only is there drug paraphernalia, but actual drugs, all bagged out and ready to be sold. Possibly to some of the kids hanging out in the very roller rink we are standing in.
Blaine’s only response is a single nod. Just like always, he takes the weight of the world on his shoulders, and I’m not in a position where I can help him. Not anymore.
I am literally working my last shift as a cop. My hands are tied.
“Josh, just do me a favor and don’t cuff me in front of the kids. It’ll scare them.”
We already have more eyes on us than we need. Already have more fuel to add to a fire that doesn’t need to go off.
Never planning to put him in cuffs, I shake my head. “Shit.” Of course I’ll give him that. Hell, if I had my choice, I wouldn’t even be arresting him when I can see clear as day that the black backpack belongs to the brunette he is currently obsessed with enough to go down for her crime.
“Blaine,” the woman whispers, crying.
There were very few times in my life that I lost control of my anger. It is honestly one of the reasons I’ve stayed a cop for as long as I have. But her, sitting there, letting my friend take the fall for her drugs, makes me want to throw it all away and do something stupid.
“Stay with your daughter. You can explain later,” Blaine growls under his breath.
I watch as he pulls his key ring out of his pocket and tosses it to an attractive woman staring at him with blue eyes. Her blond hair sticks out, not because of the color but because she has shaved sides.
“Do me a favor and hold down the fort until I can get my dad here.”
The woman, one of the servers whose name I can’t remember, grabs the keys out of the air. “You got it.”
While we start to walk toward the door, I make sure that I have the backpack closed and sealed, taken into evidence for this massive clusterfuck. I can feel the tremors of the migraine from earlier taking root and I know without a shadow of a doubt that I’ll be throwing back a few shots just to get it under control when I get home.
“I can’t do it now, since technically you’re in my custody.” I hold the door open with the hand holding the backpack for him to walk out in front of me, keeping the other hand on my gun just in case shit turns south and the woman comes charging after her drugs. “But if this stunt ends up killing our plans this week, the minute I hang up my gun, I’m kicking your fuckin’ ass, Blaine.”
He snorts. “I’ll figure it out.”
“I hope so,” I tell him when I hold the back door of my cruiser open for him. “Because it’s Saturday. You’re not gonna be able to make bail until Monday.”
“I know.”
“I hope she’s worth it, man. ’Cause you might have just lost everything.”
The dark expression that crosses his face tells me Blaine knows exactly what he is doing and is well aware of the consequences.
Logging the evidence and booking my friend into the county jail is one of the hardest things I’ve ever done in my entire life. After handing off the report to the officer who’ll be taking over my territory, the weight I’ve carried with me since I turned twenty-one starts to lift.
“I’m gonna miss you, man,” Tom Bunker says as I start the paperwork to turn back in my weapon and badge later that night. “I don’t get why you won’t stay on as a reserve officer. Who leaves this perfection?” He waves a hand around the building we’ve worked in together for a decade. “And decides to be a hose jumper?”
I snort, rolling my eyes at the same argument he’s given me for the last six months while we looked for my replacement. “I’ve been a firefighter longer than I’ve been a cop, Bunk. I just get to do it full-time now. You know, at home. Where I don’t have to drive an hour just to respond to a call in the middle of the night.”
He shrugs, the same blue uniform that I’m wearing rising and falling with his actions, and sighs. “Doesn’t mean I want you to go.”
“You’ll just have to come over for dinner or drinks.”
“Or to use that hot tub you bought last summer,” he adds with a laugh. “Count me in for the fun.”
Waving him off, I walk out of the station, heading back to Rockabilly’s. Maybe I can find something that will exonerate Blaine. Like the woman he’s been so hell-bent on protecting.
If not, I’ll end up alone in my shower, stroking my dick to a pair of gray eyes I’ll never be able to forget.