Chapter 20
In an Instant
Reed
The drive to Dorchester was short, but long enough to think about the way Maliyah had almost said it. I love—
She'd caught herself. But I'd heard it anyway.
And I'd felt it—that surge of panic I thought I'd buried, but intermingled with a depth I never thought I deserved.
Because I still knew that loving me meant trusting I'd come home.
What if Lucas and Zoe woke up one morning to learn the same lesson I had—that the people you count on can disappear without warning?
I gripped the steering wheel tighter, pushing the thoughts away.
It wouldn’t happen like that. John told me to keep trusting that I wouldn’t end like my father—that I’d keep coming home to them.
I’d been doing so much better, but shit like today’s “officer down” call made the bitterness well up inside.
The scene in Dorchester was already controlled when I arrived.
Paramedics loading Brick, a beat officer I’d worked with a few times, into an ambulance.
The perp was already in custody in the back of a patrol car, and a perimeter was being maintained to keep onlookers out.
The air still crackled with the aftermath of violence.
"Morrison!" My captain waved me over. "We need witness statements from the building. Brick went down responding to a domestic, but half these apartments won't even open their doors. Start with the third floor—that's where the call originated."
I nodded, grabbed my notepad, and headed inside.
I spent the next hour interviewing witnesses, documenting evidence, doing the job I'd done a thousand times before.
The suspect's apartment had been a disaster—drugs, weapons.
It was the kind of chaos that usually went along with a long rap sheet, not the clean one that had come up when Brick had been dispatched.
Brick had unknowingly walked into a nightmare, and now he was in surgery.
As the night wore on, most of the scene was processed without any issues. One last apartment was on the list, "I’ll take the last two apartments," I told John, my notepad already out. "Should be quick since no one’s telling us shit here."
Apartment 3A answered—an elderly woman who'd heard shouting but nothing else. 3B was empty, no one home.
I knocked on 3C.
No answer.
I knocked again, harder this time. "Boston PD! I need to ask you some questions about the incident downstairs!"
Silence. But I could hear movement inside—shuffling footsteps, something scraping across the floor.
Probably another older tenant like 3A. "BPD. I just need a few minutes of your time."
More silence. Then, finally, the chain rattled and the door opened—barely two inches. A man's face appeared in the gap. I definitely hadn’t expected a guy in his mid-thirties. Looking at him, he seemed nervous—eyes darting past me to the hallway.
"I don't know nothing about what happened."
"I understand. But you're a neighbor—you might have seen or heard something that could help us. Can you open the door?"
"No."
"Why not?"
"I just can't, okay?" He started to close the door.
I put my hand on the doorframe—not forcing, just preventing it from closing completely. "Sir, I'm just here to ask a few questions. Won’t take more than a few minutes of your time."
The door suddenly wrenched open.
I saw the gun a split second before my training kicked in. I went for my weapon, already knowing I was too late. The first shot hit my vest—knocked the wind out of me, sent me stumbling back into the hallway wall.
The second one didn't miss.
White-hot pain exploded in my left armpit, radiating through my shoulder and down my arm. The impact spun me sideways. My weapon clattered to the floor as my left arm went completely dead, useless. I tried to reach for it with my right hand but my legs were already giving out.
I hit the floor hard, my head cracking against the floor. Warm blood pulsed from the wound with each heartbeat—too much, too fast. I could feel it soaking through my shirt, pooling beneath me, spreading across the cold floor in a way that made my vision blur at the edges.
Arterial—the word floated through my mind with detached clarity. Fucker had hit an artery. Shit.
I tried to press my right hand against the wound but couldn't reach it properly, couldn't get the angle right. The blood just kept coming, hot and slick between my fingers. My left arm was completely limp—useless.
Radio. I needed my radio.
My fingers fumbled for my radio, slippery with blood. I tried to press the button but my hand wouldn't cooperate. It didn't matter—I could already hear footsteps pounding up the stairs. The hallway tilted sideways.
Cold. Why was I so cold? My teeth tried to chatter but my jaw wouldn't move right.
"Jesus Christ—Reed!" John’s coffee-soured breath hit my face as he leaned close, his hands already moving, one pressing into my armpit with brutal pressure that made me gasp, the other keying his radio.
"Officer down! Gunshot wound, arterial bleed—I need that bus NOW! He's losing too much blood!"
My voice coming out in a rasp "John—" My voice cracked. "Maliyah. The kids. If I don't—tell them—"
"You shut the fuck up with that shit. You stay with me, Morrison!" John's face appeared above me, pale and sharp. "You son-of-a-bitch! Don't you pull this shit on me. No fucking way you're going out like this!"
I tried to answer but my tongue felt thick, my lips numb. The pressure of his hands against the wound was excruciating—like hot irons pressed directly into torn flesh—but I knew he couldn't let up. Couldn't ease off even a little or I'd bleed out right here in this shitty hallway.
My vision tunneled further. Sounds became muffled, distant. More voices now, more hands on me, someone cutting my shirt away. A tourniquet being cinched high on my arm—agony that made me try to pull away, but I couldn't move. Couldn't do anything but lie there and bleed.
Maliyah's face flashed in my mind. The way she'd looked at me tonight, standing in her kitchen, about to say something that sounded a lot like love.
And how I might never get to hear her say it.
I should have known this would happen. I did know this would happen.
I'd said it months ago. And I still let myself hope. So fucking dumb.
"Reed! Stay with me!" John's voice, sharper now, more desperate. "Ambulance is here, they're coming up—just hold on—"
But I was already slipping under, the darkness closing in from all sides. The last thing I felt was the paramedics taking over, practiced hands moving with efficiency, voices talking over each other in muffled words I couldn't quite make out.
And something in me broke. All the fear I thought I'd mastered came roaring back, sharper and more certain than ever.
I'd been pretending. Playing house. And now Lucas and Zoe were going to learn the same lesson I did as a kid, and Maliyah would learn the lesson my mom did—that the man you count on can disappear in an instant.
And then, the darkness swallowed me whole.