Chapter 15
HARLAN - KIDDO
I wasn’t great at silence.
But Remi Carter made silence feel like a language I hadn’t learned yet.
The clinic was quiet after Ava left.
The kind of quiet that didn't invite conversation. The kind that made you want to check your pulse, just to be sure you were still breathing.
Remi didn’t look up from the file I handed her. She read the name, then the referral form, eyes scanning like she was already building a plan in her head.
No panic. No irritation. Just quiet focus.
“She’ll need housing,” she said finally, flipping the page. “And a translator. Her English is spotty, and she’s afraid to speak to men. Maybe have a female officer who isn't Voss handle any of her interactions.”
I leaned against the counter. “Noted.”
She gave a soft exhale and closed the file. Then, finally, finally looked at me.
“You come here to help, or to defend yourself, Chief?”
I smirked despite myself. “I’m not sure anymore.”
Remi nodded, like that was the only honest answer she expected from me.
“Ava means well... right?” I asked.
The words came out sharper than I intended, but hell, everything about her scraped raw edges against me.
It wasn’t just the fights — though she could cut a man down to bone with that mouth of hers. It was the way she carried fire into every room, like she’d decided the world owed her a reckoning and she wasn’t about to wait for permission.
She got under my skin, and not in any one way I could name. Half the time I wanted to put her in cuffs just to get her to stop talking. The other half... I couldn’t stop watching her, even when she was furious at me. Especially then.
And maybe that was the problem.
That’s why I’d shown up in person with a file I could’ve sent by email. Not because it was urgent. Not even because it was protocol.
Because I wanted to see if the fire was still there after she walked away.
“She means exactly what she says,” Remi corrected, walking around the counter. “Which is more than I can say for most people.”
I watched her cross the room and grab a folder from one of the cabinets, sliding it into her oversized bag like this was just another Tuesday. But I could see the tension in her shoulders. The kind you only get from holding up someone else’s world too long.
“You all right?” I asked.
She shrugged. “I’m not the one who just left, so she wouldn't explode.”
Fair enough.
I pushed a little further. “I was wondering... How do you two keep this place running? This much volume? Most of your clients can’t pay. The other half are too scared to stay and bail.”
That made her pause. She turned slowly, one brow raised. “Why, Chief? Are you planning to shut us down?”
I chuckled because, God, this girl, “I’m asking how it works. Honestly.”
She gave me a long, measured look. Then walked to the mini fridge, grabbed two of those overpriced canned teas I never understood, and tossed me one.
I caught it, mostly on instinct.
“It works,” she said, cracking her tab, “because we diversify. Grants. Fundraisers. Donations. I do different types of coaching on the side for businesses. Ava picks up consulting hours for family law firms. Sometimes I take on speaking engagements or company retreats. We both take night calls at the shelter once a week.”
I blinked. “That sounds like three full-time jobs.”
“More like six.”
“Jesus.”
She took a sip. “It’s not glamorous. But it keeps the lights on and we get to keep doing what we do.”
I leaned against the counter again, watching her. “And you think that’s sustainable?”
Her mouth quirked. “Sustainable isn’t the goal. Surviving until the next girl walks through the door is.”
That landed heavier than I expected.
“Any of that illegal?”
Her mouth quirked again. “You want to start digging, Chief?”
“Just doing my due diligence.”
She raised her tea in a mock salute. “Then... It's legal." Then she shot me a wink that looked wrong coming from her and finished with, "Technically.”
That made me bark out a laugh, just once, but loud enough that she turned back toward me.
“You ever consider doing something less... all-consuming?” I asked.
Her eyes softened, but the answer didn’t. “No,” she said. “Because girls like us don’t get to clock out at five. We build the thing we never had, or we spend our lives regretting it.”
There it was again. That voice. That impossible, grounded clarity she had that made everything I said feel… half-baked.
"You ever going to share your story with me, Carter?"
She didn't answer; instead, she asked. “Have you ever thought about doing a fundraiser?”
I blinked. “For the department?”
“Yeah. Community-building, education, and outreach. Good PR." She made a face and added, "You could use it.”
“I could,” I admitted. “But it sounds like something I’m going to regret.”
She grinned. “Probably.”
I shook my head, the smallest smile tugging at the corner of my mouth. “I can't decide what kind of trouble you are, Carter.”
“And I can't decide if you are old school or just old.”
That made me cough on a sip of cold tea. “Old?”
“Aren't you?” she teased. “You’ve got ten years on me, easy. Might as well be ancient.”
I pointed my tea at her. “Careful. I could pull you in for disrespecting a superior officer.”
She mock-gasped. “Wow. You really are old. Quoting codes like that.”
I chuckled. “You’re a smartass.”
“You’re just mad I’m right.”
We stood there a second longer. Then I said it, without thinking, without planning.
“Thanks, kiddo.”
She went still. Her whole face contorted like I’d just slapped her with a fish.
“Did you just call me kiddo?”
“I did.”
“That’s disgusting. Don’t ever do that again.”
I laughed again. I only knew Remi for a few months, but she felt familial, like the little sister I never had. “Why not?” I asked.
“Because it makes you sound like a grandpa.”
I smirked. “Fine. What do I call you then?”
She paused. “Your wake-up call?”
“That tracks.”
“Next thing I know, you’ll be carrying butterscotch candies in your pocket and telling us about the good old days.”
I deadpanned. “Don’t tempt me. I’ve got a jar at home.”
Her jaw dropped. “Of course you do.”
We both cracked up, and for a moment the clinic didn’t feel so heavy.
We fell into a quiet then, but it wasn’t sharp this time. It was the kind of quiet I didn’t mind. The kind that didn’t need to be filled.
When the door shut behind her a few minutes later, the silence settled again. But it didn’t feel empty. It felt like the room was holding its breath, waiting for the next storm to break.