Chapter 15
Fifteen
Leo huffed when she shifted on the couch, phone glowing against her palm. She typed, erased, typed again until the words stopped feeling like landmines.
Sorry about earlier. I didn’t mean for it to get so tense with Tilly.
Three dots blinked, then disappeared. No reply yet. Erin pushed on.
Are you still out there? You know standing in the rain isn’t in your job description, right? You’re gonna get sick.
Leo shifted and sighed, his weight pressing heavier against her leg. Erin kept her eyes on the screen, thumb tapping nervously against the case until Jamie’s reply popped up.
Part of the job. Someone’s gotta tell the city to avoid Dorchester tonight.
Erin smiled, shaking her head. Of course. Typical reporter. Always the martyr, she sent back before she could overthink. Then, after a pause:
Maybe next time you can let me explain, instead of getting soaked. About Tilly, I mean. I don’t want you thinking the worst of me.
The typing dots pulsed. Erin’s chest tightened.
I don’t think the worst of you.
Jamie’s reply came quick, like she’d been ready for it. Then another:
But Tilly’s protective. And I don’t really know what I walked into back there.
Erin exhaled slowly, relief and nerves tangling.
That’s fair. Which is why I’m saying… let me buy you a coffee or something. I’ll explain. No cameras, no rain.
There was a pause long enough that Erin started to convince herself she’d pushed too far. Then Jamie’s bubble appeared.
Coffee sounds… good. As long as you promise not to lecture me about catching pneumonia again.
Erin’s mouth curved before she realized she was grinning. She typed:
No promises. Someone’s gotta keep you from turning into a cautionary tale.
Jamie’s answer came with a little flash of her wit:
Guess that makes you my off-duty public information officer.
Erin set her phone face down on the arm of the couch, though the grin still clung stubbornly to her mouth. Leo shifted, rolling onto his back with a grunt, legs sprawled like he had claimed the whole cushion. She rubbed his chest absently before pushing herself up.
The motions of her night were automatic: refill Leo’s bowl, double-check the locks, peel out of her sweats and into a worn tank top. But her mind kept drifting back, circling like a dog at the door.
Coffee sounded good. More than good.
She paused in the bathroom, toothbrush hanging forgotten in her hand, and replayed the way Jamie had answered her. Not hesitant. Not dismissive. Just careful. Sensitive in a way that made Erin’s chest ache a little.
That ache scared her. It had been years since she let herself want something more than the temporary distraction of a night. She had kept things simple, clean, without strings. Romance had felt like a door she had slammed shut and bolted for good.
Yet here she was, staring into her reflection with a knot tightening in her chest. She wanted Jamie.
But not in the easy, physical way she had let herself want people before.
She wanted to know what made her laugh, what she ordered at a diner at two in the morning, what she looked like when she was relaxed instead of braced for the next breaking story.
That kind of want was dangerous. The last time she had opened herself up to it, she had ended up scorched.
She spat, rinsed, and pressed the towel to her mouth, trying to will the thoughts away. But the truth lingered. Jamie was different. And that difference terrified her.
By the time she crawled into bed, Leo curling into the crook of her knees, her phone buzzed once on the nightstand. A simple goodnight from Jamie.
Erin’s pulse kicked. She typed back before she could stop herself:
Goodnight, reporter. Stay dry.
She slid the phone face down again, shut her eyes, and let the smile win, even as the fear pressed just as tightly at the edges.
* * *
Erin was at her desk before most of the squad had clocked in, coffee cooling at her elbow and a stack of half-finished reports spread in front of her.
She didn’t need to be here this early. Nothing on her desk was urgent.
But the quiet hum of the office and the steady scratch of her pen were easier to face than the thoughts she had tried to leave behind in her apartment.
She told herself she was focused, reviewing phrasing for a routine update and stripping details that should never leave a page. But her mind kept circling back to a single line on her phone screen.
Goodnight, reporter. Stay dry.
She pressed the pen down harder, ink blotting into the margin. This was supposed to be simple. She knew how to want without letting it matter. A drink. A night. Nothing that lingered. That had been safe, and she had convinced herself it was enough.
But Jamie was not safe. Erin found herself wanting more than the easy distraction.
She wanted to know her laugh, the way her voice softened when it was not aimed at a camera, the things she cared about when the notebook was put away.
That kind of want scared her. It hadn’t happened in years, and it left scars she still carried.
A voice pulled her back. “Damn, Calhoun, you’re locked in.”
Erin blinked, lifting her head to find Detective Wilson leaning against the doorway, paper cup in hand, his tie already loosened like it always was before nine. He had that easy grin, the one that made it look like nothing ever rattled him.
“You’ve been scribbling since I walked in. What did that report ever do to you?”
She capped her pen and sat back, managing a small smile. “Just trying to stay ahead. How was Mia’s game yesterday? She score?”
Wilson’s grin faltered into surprise. “Yeah. She did, actually. How’d you…”
“You mentioned it at briefing last week,” Erin said with a shrug. “I listen.”
For a beat he just stared at her, then laughed. “Mia was over the moon. Kept talking about how she wants to play varsity someday.”
Erin nodded. “She’s got the drive. You should be proud.”
Something flickered across his face, softer than his usual grin. People never quite knew what to do when she showed them she had been paying attention. After a pause he tipped his cup in a half-salute. “You’re something else, Calhoun.”
He pushed off the doorway and started down the hall, still smiling.
Erin let out a slow breath and glanced down at the blot of ink spreading across the page. Stark, heavy, and far too much like the feelings she was trying to deny.