Dylan Wulf had a linebacker’s body squeezed into the space of a full-sized bed. His broad shoulders that engulfed much of the space and muscular, long limbs that draped over the edge. To make matters worse, he’d fallen asleep wearing his steel-toe boots. The Samoan gave a hard grunt as he lurched himself into a seated position. He rubbed at the stubble on his jaw. The old him would’ve had a rigid plan for the day. Saving the world started better with a clean-cut and shaven face. All of that didn’t matter now.

Not here.

Dylan Wulf had already condemned himself straight to hell. He hated it, but he deserved it.

“Yeah, you made up for being a punk. Climbed the ladder of the LAPD, lived a respected life, then you shot it all down. Bang. Bang,” he mumbled the reminder, while rubbing the tension at the back of his neck. “Now, here goes another day in hell.”

Wulf arose from bed. In half of a stride, Wulf was at the dresser. He picked up his badge for the Santo Cruces Police Department. He’d traded in a position as head of the Gang Unit in Los Angeles to a small-town police department in Arizona. He tossed it back onto the dresser and decided to at least take a shower before heading out. Just as he started to turn around, his cell phone vibrated on the countertop.

There could only be one of three people calling him. His adoptive mother, adoptive sister, or…

He glanced at the screen. It was his old partner from the LAPD.

“You on your way home?” Quincy spoke as soon as he answered.

“You are aware that I have a nine-to-five, right?”

“Good ol’ Dylan Wulf, by the book. How many DV situations can one tiny ass town have?”

He tried to add a little give a damn to his tone while asking, “Hey, Quincy, how’s it going?”

“Dylan, what are you doing with yourself? You saved lives. You took badass little kids out of gangs before they could jump in graves. You cleaned streets. Now, you’re arguing with saggy-tit Dixie about pressing charges after toothless Bubba knocks the stank from her mouth.”

“Ha,” Wulf replied sarcastically. He glanced around. The sun hadn’t risen yet, and even the dim light couldn’t shield how awful of a home he’d made for himself here. Really, he could’ve just called in to work and hit the road. There was no action in Santo Cruces City. No lives to save, no people to help. Just domestic violence situations like Quincy had joked about—and the dreaded paperwork that accompanied them. “Not funny.”

“Oh, so I’m not funny enough? I could do funny if I weren’t shaking in fear. Shelly’s just gotten off work, those nurse hours, and now she’s upstairs in our bedroom packing and repacking things for our trip.”

“I talked to Shelly yesterday and told her I would be in there bright and earlier tomorrow morning to watch my nephews and baby niece.” He almost cracked a smile at the thought of kids and having a carefree life for a moment. “See what happens when you marry your partner’s adoptive sister?”

“Shit, who you telling? Wait, Dylan, did you just call me your partner? So, you’re done sulking? Ready to come back home for good?”

Wulf disregarded his question. “I've got a case of energy drinks. I’ll be there by morning, just like I promised, ready to entertain.”

“For good?”

“For a week. By the way, who goes on a Disney cruise without their kids?” Wulf asked, although he knew the answer very well. Shelly was a Minnie Mouse junkie, and her argument was that their children hadn’t acquired a taste for Disney yet. But he knew very well, once the kids showed interest, they’d all be going on Disney cruises. His little sister would probably force him to go too.