2. Levi
The words Dover hurled at me last night still echo relentlessly in my mind—“Fuck you, asshole!” I can’t shake them, no matter how many times I replay the conversation.
The truth is, I deserved those words. I brought this on myself.
At the same time, I can’t help but wonder how he found out about me getting shot.
I’ve been careful, keeping the whole thing under wraps, and I specifically asked Rosie not to mention it to anyone.
She promised she wouldn’t say a word, so the fact that Dover knows makes me uneasy, as if my secrets are slipping through cracks I can’t see.
As I read his reply again, I wince, feeling a sharp pang of guilt in my chest. I know I’m being an asshole, and it stings to see it reflected so plainly in his words.
It bothers me more than I want to admit that he thinks of me that way.
But wasn’t that the point? Wasn’t I the one who pushed him away, who made it clear I wanted him to keep his distance?
Now that he’s doing exactly what I asked, I’m left with this hollow ache, questioning if I made the right choice.
“There was nothing you could have done.” I sent the message almost automatically, my fingers moving before my mind could catch up.
After hitting send, I waited anxiously for his response, staring at my phone as the minutes dragged by with no reply.
The silence grew heavier with each passing moment, pressing down on me.
Unable to leave things hanging, I typed out another message and sent it, hoping to bridge the growing gap between us, even as I wondered if it was already too late.
Dover, I'm sorry. The truth is that I didn't want you to worry.
Because I knew you would.
Like I would you.
I’d clicked send before I could change my mind, my finger moving almost of its own accord as if to prevent any last-minute hesitation from stopping me.
The message was gone, out in the world, and there was no way to take it back now.
Still, he hadn’t replied, which, if I’m being honest with myself, I probably should have expected.
After all, this wasn’t the first time he’d left me hanging, and yet it never seems to get any easier.
It bugs the shit out of me that he didn’t respond, gnawing at the back of my mind and making it impossible to focus on anything else for more than a few seconds at a time.
Frustrated, I toss my phone onto the bed, the device bouncing once before settling among the rumpled sheets.
I turn my attention to the mirror, where I finish fastening a tie around my neck.
The tie is a deep, rich emerald green, the exact shade my mother had insisted would bring out the color of my eyes.
She’d given it to me on my last birthday, her eyes shining with pride as she’d given it to me wrapped in tissue paper.
I have to admit, she was right—the tie does make my eyes look brighter, more alive, even if the rest of my face doesn’t quite match.
My skin is still too pale, stretched tight over cheekbones that have become more prominent since the injury.
I look gaunt, almost sickly, a far cry from the healthy, robust person I used to be before everything changed.
The truth is, I haven’t fully recovered from being shot.
The wound was bad—worse than either of the previous times I’d been hit.
For a while, it was touch and go, and I could see the worry in the faces of the doctors and nurses who hovered around my hospital bed.
This time, the bullet had taken more out of me than I cared to admit.
My body feels older, slower to heal, and the fatigue lingers no matter how much I rest. It’s hard not to think about the fact that this was the third time I’d been shot, and each time it gets a little harder to bounce back.
Age isn’t on my side anymore, and I can feel it in my bones every morning when I wake up.
I pause for a moment, debating whether or not to strap on my weapon.
It’s become such a routine part of my day that it feels strange to even question it, but the thought of carrying the extra weight makes my shoulder ache in anticipation.
Still, old habits die hard, and before I can talk myself out of it, I reach for the shoulder holster and shrug it on, wincing slightly as the leather settles against my still-tender skin.
I know I’m not ready to return to the field, not yet.
The idea of chasing down suspects or getting caught in another firefight is out of the question for now.
Instead, I’ll be spending my days sitting behind a desk in the security office at the arena, monitoring cameras and filling out paperwork.
It’s not exactly thrilling work, but at least it gives me something to do—something to focus on besides the silence of my empty apartment and the unanswered message still lingering in my mind. For now, that will have to be enough.
In truth, I genuinely miss the team. Over a relatively short period, I’ve had the opportunity to help out the guys with various tasks and situations, which has allowed me to really get to know them, along with their significant others.
Through these shared experiences, I’ve developed a sense of camaraderie and belonging, and I truly feel like I’m part of something meaningful whenever I’m around them.
This feeling of connection extends not only to these friends but also to my own team at Ellison Security, where the sense of unity is just as strong.
To keep morale high and ensure everyone stays satisfied, Ellison has implemented a rotation system for the security team.
This arrangement actually works well, as it gives each of us the chance to take on different responsibilities and pursue other interests or obligations in between our shifts.
However, in hindsight, perhaps this wasn’t the wisest approach, especially considering the fact that I ended up getting shot while engaged in one of those ‘other things’ during my time off arena rotation.
It certainly wasn’t the best way to spend my free time, although, on the bright side, the person responsible for shooting me was dead.
With a heavy sigh, I exhale as I finish reflecting on these memories. After one final glance at my reflection in the mirror, I slide my wallet into the breast pocket of my jacket, making sure it’s secure, and then reach for my keys, ready to head out and face whatever comes next.
As I open the front door, my eyes widen in surprise and instantly snap open at the unexpected sight before me.
Standing on the doorstep is Rosie, her hand poised in mid-air, clearly just about to knock.
She balances a tray carefully in her other hand, and on it rest two steaming cups of coffee, the aroma wafting toward me and filling the entryway with a warm, inviting scent.
The sight of her, coupled with the thoughtful gesture of bringing coffee, catches me completely off guard, and for a moment, I simply stand there, taking in the scene before greeting her.
“I thought you’d like a pick-me-up before work,” Rosie says, offering me one of the cups of coffee.
I step out and lock up behind me before I take the offered drink. Taking a sip, I smile at my friend and work colleague. “I feel better just seeing you.”
“Aww, Levi Dodge, if I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were flirting with a married woman.”
Amused, I gently nudge into her. “I’d have married you before you met Rhodes if I weren’t fussy.”
Beaming a smile, she bursts out laughing. “Is that the new way of saying gay, Levi? You know I don’t give a shit, right?”
“I thought I’d be diplomatic.”
Her eyes sparkle with excitement, and a bright, genuine laugh escapes her lips, filling me with warmth. That is why I love Rosie.
Getting to the SUV, I climb into the passenger seat and buckle up while Rosie does the same. “I don’t like that you’re not at full strength, Levi, even though I do understand your need to be back at work.”
“Well, I’m sidelined until I have the medical.” I shrug, not wanting to admit that I really am not up to standard. No way would I pass the medical right now. “I’m behind the scenes, which I’d much rather be doing than sitting at home twiddling my thumbs.”
“You could catch up with the games you’ve missed.
Dover has been on fire.” I catch the side eyes she shoots my way from the corner of my eye.
“He has all the girly fans shoving homemade signs against the glass.” She catches her breath.
“I cringe sometimes. One said, and I quote, “Dover, can I hold your stick?”
Suddenly, a laugh escapes me, bursting out uncontrollably, and I end up coughing hard, sputtering as I try to catch my breath.
The combination of laughter and the unexpected rush of coffee makes the situation even more chaotic, leaving me red-faced and still chuckling between coughs.
I place the coffee in the holder in the car and grab a Kleenex from the box in the console between us.
Clearing my throat, I manage to inhale without feeling like I’m about to die and finally wipe at my eyes and blow my nose before I turn a glare onto Rosie. “A warning would have been good.”
“I guess you don’t want me to quote some of the other signs then, huh?”
I grunt in response, but curiosity gets the better of me. “Go on, let’s have it.”
"The ones I remember are kind of dirty. Rhodes told me about the one that said, "Dover, I want to ride your stick.
" And, "I want to slide down your stick.” The last one before I park the car: "I want your stick sliding between my boobs.” I sent security to remove some of the signs.
I mean, there are kids in the arena as well.
" Shaking her head, Rosie says, "They do make me laugh, but I'm also embarrassed for him and the girls. "
“Does he say anything about them?” I frown, staring out of the window as we approach our parking bay.
“He ignores it the best he can.” She shrugs and switches off the car. “He has a lot of attention on him now that he’s become a star player. Everyone wants a piece of him, and I think he’s overwhelmed. He hides it well. But I don’t know. Maybe you can talk to him about it.”
“Oh, no, you don’t.”
“Levi, I’m serious. I don’t think he’s handling it all that well.”
I eye her to make sure she isn’t trying to set me up with him and realize she is serious. “I’m not sure what help I can be. He needs to speak with someone who has experienced what he’s going through now.”
“You’re right. But who would that be?”
“Rosie,” I say exasperatedly. “He’s on a team of men who have all been through it.”
“Oh! I’ll ask Rhodes.”