23. She’s a Knockout #2
“But he has a broken nose. Pretty bad-looking.”
I blink. A broken nose? That makes no sense.
“I didn’t touch him.” He squints, as if he’s not sure he believes me, but I need one less worry in my mind, so I ask, “Where’s Charlotte? Charlotte Arnault? She was brought here with me.”
“She’s in holding. Looks fine, except for her...” He pauses, eyes widening. “Her hand. Wait— she punched him?”
Charlotte. She’s the one who broke his nose.
Holy shit.
I’m not sure if I’m impressed or worried, but a strangled sound escapes me as I squeeze the bar harder. “I need to see her. Now.” My heart is hammering. If he touched her—if he so much as laid a finger on her—I’ll end up in a real cell, one I won’t be walking out of anytime soon.
Max eyes me carefully. “So, you and her...”
“Uhhh...” Of course he’d put it together. He probably knows how young she is too. “Yeah.”
“Huh. Come on, let’s go,” he says, moving to unlock the cell. I step out, my muscles aching with every movement. “I’ll just need to fill in some paperwork, then you can go.”
“What about Charlotte?”
As we walk toward the front desk, Max avoids my gaze entirely. “I can talk to the other guy. See if I can convince him to drop the charges against her with the leverage that you won’t press any against him.”
“And if he agrees?”
“Everyone walks.”
I nod. “Do it.”
He studies me for a long moment, then, “All right. Be right back.”
“Max?” I call as soon as he takes a step. “Can I talk to him myself?”
“No.” He crosses his arms. “Why?”
“Well . . . Charlotte—if her mom found out she was with me, she . . . wouldn’t be pleased.”
He shakes his head, as if he’s just been proven right about me. “I’m not doing this for you, all right? Only for Josie, because she doesn’t need any more of your drama.” He turns around and mumbles, “I’ll tell him to keep his mouth shut.”
I watch him walk away then drop onto one of the plastic chairs in the waiting area, resting my elbows on my knees, my head in my hands.
How could Charlotte do this?
Why the hell would she let things go that far if she was there with someone else? And why was she on a date with Peter, of all people?
But just as quickly as the anger rises, it deflates, swallowed by the worry clawing at my insides.
Is she okay? Did he hurt her? Her hand must be killing her if she hit him hard enough to break his nose. And what about Beatrice? Will she find out about this?
I squeeze my eyes shut, but it does nothing to ease the pounding in my skull. Between the hangover, the pain in my face, and the mess I’ve landed myself in, I’m getting a migraine.
“Aaron?”
My breath catches at the sound of her voice. A voice that once meant home .
I lift my head, and there she is.
Josie .
What the fuck is she doing here?
She’s standing in front of me, red hair pulled back into a tight bun, piercing green eyes staring me down like I’m some criminal she’s about to book. My stomach twists as I notice her uniform, the way she’s looking at me—judgmental, disappointed, like I’m the one who’s let her down.
“What the hell happened?” she demands, stepping closer. “I was out on a call when a colleague phoned me. Were you arrested? For a bar fight ?”
She spits out the words like they taste rotten in her mouth, like she can’t even fathom that I, of all people, would be sitting here in the drunk tank of her police station, but I barely hear her, my eyes locked on her uniform.
She’s working. She’s back at work .
And I had no idea.
I force myself to stand, my eye throbbing with every beat of my pulse. “What—why are you here?”
Her expression flickers, just for a second. “I’m...” She glances away. “I’m back at work.”
Something inside me cracks.
“But you didn’t say anything. You didn’t come home.”
Her lips press together. “I’m staying at my parents’.”
At her parents’.
Not with Sadie.
Anger and betrayal flood my veins so fast they nearly knock me sideways. I thought she was still in rehab. I thought she was still trying to get better. She kept her promise and called Sadie every day, and I thought she’d show up when she was ready.
But she’s back, and she hasn’t even come to see our daughter.
“You owe me an explanation, Aaron. I leave Sadie with you, then I get a call saying you were arrested? Are you kidding me?”
I can’t believe what I’m hearing. I owe her an explanation?
The door to the holding cells buzzes, and my head snaps up just as Max steps through, leading Charlotte into the waiting room.
She’s still in that green mini dress, the hem scandalously short.
Her heels click against the tile floor, and her makeup is smudged, black streaks of mascara ghosting beneath her eyes.
Even with her lipstick faded and kissed away, and her hair a red mess of strands ruffled and tangled from the chaos of the night, she looks radiant—and then she smiles .
A small, lopsided curve of her lips. Tired, but unapologetic. A little amused, even, like she can’t believe we’ve actually ended up here.
Like it’s just another adventure to her.
I should be pissed. I should be so fucking pissed. But instead, the tightness in my chest eases just seeing her standing there, in one piece.
I close the distance between us in an instant. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah.” Her eyes skim over my face, landing on the bruise around my eye. Her fingers lift, brushing the swelling so lightly it’s barely a touch. “Are you?”
“Jesus.” I catch her hand, turning it over. The skin over her knuckles is dark purple, swollen. She really did hit him. “He didn’t hit back, did he?”
“No, he started crying about his face and Instagram.” She scoffs. “Pathetic.”
“I can’t believe you fucking punched him.”
She smirks, her fingertips ghosting over my bruised cheek again. “I’ll punch anyone for you.”
I press a kiss to her knuckles. “I’ll bail you out every single time.”
Her grin lights up her face, and god help me . She’s never prettier than when she smiles like this. Genuinely, with her heart.
“Who the hell is this, Aaron?” Josie’s voice slices through the moment like a blade. “What is going on?”
I don’t have to check to know she’s glaring at Charlotte. I can feel the judgment radiating off of her.
I groan. “Josie?—”
“Holy crap.” Her eyes dart between Charlotte and me, widening. Her voice drops to a furious whisper. “Is she... underage ?”
Charlotte stiffens beside me. “No, she’s not underage,” she bites out. “And she’s right here if you have any questions.”
Josie ignores her. “Getting into fights, Aaron? You’ve obviously lost your damn mind. Did you take her home? Introduce her to Sadie? Please tell me you didn’t.” When I just keep glaring, she mumbles, “Oh, you’re unbelievable.”
I have a sense that her next words will be against Charlotte, and I’ll be fucking damned if I let Josie make tonight even more difficult.
“You know what?” I say, raising a hand. “Just . . . stop .”
She crosses her arms, eyes daring me to say that again. “Excuse me?”
“You have no right—absolutely no right—to be here screaming at me.”
“Oh really?” she spits. “Because?—”
“ You’re here , Josie.” My voice rises, my anger roaring past my ability to control it. “You’re standing right here, and you couldn’t be bothered to see your own child.”
Her mouth opens. Closes.
“You deserted your daughter.” The words feel like fire in my throat, like acid in my veins.
“You’ve been gone for months, mostly without calling or checking in.
You canceled on her when she was supposed to come see you.
Fuck, Josie, she was so excited, and you didn’t think about anyone but yourself.
And now—now you want to come at me over who I choose to spend my time with? Over who I bring home?”
Her face crumples, her lips wobbling.
“You don’t get to pass judgment until you come home and hug your daughter. Until you prove you’re here to stay. You don’t get to show up when it’s convenient for you and pretend you still have a say in my life. In Sadie’s life.”
I take a shaky breath, my hands trembling.
“ You don’t get to say a single damn word to me,” I finish, voice hoarse, “until you stop making excuses and start fixing what you broke.”
Silence.
The whole precinct is staring at us now. Officers. Civilians. The guy at the front desk who was half asleep two minutes ago. Until Josie’s tears finally spill over, and she walks past us in a flurry.
The door buzzes again as she disappears through it, leaving me standing there, my chest heaving.
A hand lands on my shoulder and I turn, locking eyes with Max.
“I think you should go now,” he says quietly. “Both of you.”
I let out a shaky breath, then nod.
I made a scene. A huge fucking scene.
Charlotte is still beside me, silent, eyes downcast. She gives Max a small wave, then grabs my hand and drags me toward the exit.
I follow her, no questions asked.
No wondering.
No looking back.