Chapter Fourteen
Renegade
“It’s been a slow fucking day,” Tank yawns as the two of us sit in our patrol car, clocking speed on a side street off of a main thoroughfare. The town’s had complaints about speeding being a problem in this residential area, but so far we’ve seen nothing.
There’s no lie in his statement. It’s been one of the slowest days in recent memory for me.
After the past week though I’m enjoying it.
Every time I’m with him, I have a rush of guilt and I’m scared I’ll blow the cover on the baby.
This is one thing Whitney and I haven’t really talked about, and I plan on bringing it up at our first dinner tonight.
I smile slightly, thinking about the dinner we’ll be having tonight.
She said she’d like to cook on Tuesdays, leaving me with Thursdays.
Off and on we’ve texted a little, trying to figure out if there’s anything either of us absolutely hate, anything we both love.
It’s been mundane conversation, but to know I’m on her mind, even that way, is worth it.
“It has, I’m ready to put this nine hours behind us,” I grab my cell phone, and check the time. Two more hours to go.
“Wanna come over and grill out tonight? I got some steaks at the butcher the other day.”
Damn, I love steaks from the butcher Tank goes to, but Whitney’s way more important. “Sorry man, I have plans.”
“What’s her name?” He asks as he takes a look at me.
“Why do you think it’s a woman?”
“Only a woman can put a stupid smile like that on your face.”
I squirm, knowing if he keeps this up, I’ll probably break.
I’m weak when it comes to my best friend, he knows me better than anyone else in the world.
“Get outta here with that bullshit. I’ll open my vault, but only if you’re gonna open your vault about Blaze,” I mention the name of the paramedic who helped us when he got stabbed in the palm.
Immediately I know there won’t be any kind of vaults being opened today. “I’d rather not,” he grabs a piece of gum, sticking it in his mouth, chewing so hard I’m sure his jaw is going to dislocate.
My phone vibrates in my hand, and I quickly check it, excited to see a text from Whitney.
W: I hope you like roast. I saw it at the grocery and my mouth watered.
She’s had some cravings lately, telling me there are some things she has to have when she realizes she wants it. I get the feeling this is one of those cravings. Looking to my left, I make sure Tank’s focused on clocking the drivers on the road in front of us, as I type a reply.
R: That sounds amazing, I haven’t had anything home cooked in a very long time. At least nothing I haven’t cooked myself.
W: Great! See you then!
I put the phone back in my pocket, trying to wipe the grin off my face before I’m met with the judgement on Tank’s.
“Who was that?”
I know I can’t tell him, but I want to. I’ve never been great at keeping things from the people I care about. Not having him in the loop, not having him to go to is hard. He’s my best friend, and I want him to be a part of this. “I’ll let you know soon.”
He makes a sound – something that’s a cross between a mumble and a grunt. “She must be hot stuff, you never keep your women a secret.”
“It’s because I know they won’t be sticking around.”
“You think this one will be?”
For at least eighteen years…is on the tip of my tongue, but if I put it out there in the open he’s going to want to know the whole story. Instead, I give him a smile, turning my gaze back to the street in front of us. “How’s your hand?” I change the subject.
“Sore, but I can drive now, obviously,” he gestures to the driver’s seat he’s sitting in.
“I’m surprised they’re letting you drive to be honest,” as far as I know he hasn’t been back to the doctor, but lately we aren’t up in each other’s business as we normally are.
He offers me a grin. I’m about to say something when a pickup flies by us in nothing but a streak of black. “Holy shit, how fast was he going?”
Tank checks his radar. “Clocked it runnin’ at eighty-five.”
“In a motherfuckin’ thirty-five. Kids play out here,” I’m pissed.
Tank puts the car in gear, flips the lights, and I hang on for dear life. The truck’s already almost out of our line of vision. He steps on the gas, and I can feel the police package in our Dodge Charger respond, eating up the miles as we chase down the asshole with the lead foot.
I’m busy calling in our position and the description of the vehicle, while Tank is navigating the intersections, watching for bystanders. School just let out and we’re about to cross into a school zone.
Thumbing the radio, I speak calmly and clearly. “Dispatch, be advised we’re traveling at a high rate of speed toward Laurel Springs Elementary, can you notify them to clear that crosswalk?”
My hearts beating out of my chest as we advance on the truck. We’re close enough now I can see the license plate. Calling in the number, I wait for dispatch to get back to me.
“I’m coming back with a 2009 Ford F150 registered to Merle Strather.”
Tank and I glance at each other. There’s no way in hell Merle’s drivin’ this truck. “10-4.”
I put the radio down. “Gotta be his grandson.”
Tank groans and so do I. We’ve had run-ins with this kid before. For an eighteen-year-old punk, he’s got the smartest mouth I’ve ever heard in my life. Totally could have been me had I not found the military.
Finally we’re on the bumper of the truck. He can see our lights, I know he can, because I can see him glance at us in his rearview. I push my arm to the side of the road. “Pull the fuck over!”
Approaching the elementary school, I see they’ve cleared the crosswalk and key my radio. “Passing Laurel Springs Elementary – still traveling south high rate of speed. Continue or disengage?”
We’re coming into a very crowded and congested part of the city.
Kids are getting out of school, parents are coming to get them, teenagers just left the high school – which is where this shithead just left from.
“We can deliver the ticket to the residence. We can see the registrant’s grandson, Brooks Strather, driving the vehicle. ”
Holden’s voice comes over the radio. He also doubles his time up when we aren’t busting up moonshine stills. “Let it go guys, we’ll have the closest uniforms deliver the ticket. What did you clock him at?”
“Eighty-five in a thirty-five.”
“Disengage, no reason for someone to get killed because he’s got a lead foot. C’mon back with your reports.”
Tank bangs on the steering wheel with his good hand. He absolutely hates to give something up when he knows the other person is in the wrong.
“Fuckin’ pisses me off. He could have killed somebody, and we just gotta let him go. That whole family is off the rails.”
“They always have been. Now the law’s just cracking down and catching up, they’ll keep doing stupid shit. We give them enough rope, they’ll hang themselves.”
He glances over at me. “At what cost? Before someone gets hurt?”
These are both questions I don’t know the answers to and instead of feeding him a line of bullshit, I just sit with my mind in my own thoughts. Dinner with Whitney is all I’m looking forward to, and it’s the one thing I can focus on without feeling like a failure.
I debated for fifteen minutes while I was at the grocery picking up some fresh bread, if I should get her flowers.
I mean debated like I’ve never debated anything before in my life.
I wondered if it would make me seem desperate.
But then again, I’ve already been there and done that.
I wondered if she would read too much into it, then realize there is no reading too much into it – we’re having a damn baby.
I decide she deserves the flowers, regardless of where we are in our own relationship right now.
Grabbing the wildflower bouquet, because it seems much less serious than the roses, I hoof it to the checkout lane and throw them both down on the conveyor belt before I change my mind.
Letting out a deep breath, I realize I’m fucking nervous.
What do we talk about? What kind of a conversation do we have?
Any other time we’ve been together we’ve had either family or the awkward situation of our night of passion as a buffer.
How do we become two people forming a relationship?
All of a sudden I get it; this is what she’s been worried about, what’s been weighing so heavily on her mind.
Why she can’t seem to get on board with me truly wanting to be a part of the baby’s life.
It’s clear now, crystal fucking clear and I get it. It’s why she sees me as too young to be able to deal with this, why she doesn’t think we can be a couple. It’s okay though, because now that I’m aware of the problem, I can fix it.
The whole way to her house I think of the man I need to be.
Try to put myself in her shoes and figure out what’s expected of me.
It’s hard because her family was my example growing up, and they were the quintessential loving family straight out of a fucking sitcom.
I realize quickly that’s what I want, but I have to make sure she’s there and ready for it too.
If I rush this, I hurt everybody involved.
Pulling into Whitney’s driveway, I give myself a pep talk, tell my pounding heart it’s going to be fine, and wipe my sweaty palms on my jeans.
I’ve done shit scarier, tougher, and more life-threatening than this before, but as I knock on her door, I wonder just how much these dinners are going to change my life.