“So, uh,” Brooke whispered hoarsely, “How long…how long has Anderson been…married?” The pallor of her skin was frightfully white, a bit greenish around the eyes and mouth if I was being totally honest.

“A long time. His kids are in high school,” I said, taking her coat and hanging it on the rack by the door. Cameron took off his coat on the other side of me and placed his coat next to hers. He was focused on his sketchpad for the last few hours, filling up every page with some sort of doodle of Brooke wearing an agonizing expression. He plopped down on the couch and continued without so much as a peep.

“He has…he has kids?” she sputtered, collapsing onto one of the kitchen chairs.

I leaned heavily against the counter and folded my arms across my chest, “You really had no idea?” How could she not know?

She blinked rapidly, and folded her arms over her stomach. “I’m so stupid,” she said, fighting the tears in her eyes.

I walked over to the table and pulled out the chair next to her. “You want to tell me what’s really going on?” I asked, sitting down.

In the next room, Cameron turned on the television. The theme to Spongebob Squarepants filled the room.

“You think Anderson could have broken into my house and did all that?” she asked, cautiously.

I shrugged, “Your arms? The black eye last month? How long were you sleeping with him?” It killed me to ask her that; it burned deep in my lungs and made my breathing coarser, faster. I swallowed loudly, “And why?”

Her eyes shot up to mine, cold and flat. “It wasn’t to get promoted.” She folded in on herself, wiping at her eyes. “Christ, Ryan…I thought he loved me. We were together for a little over three months. I thought it was the beginning of something serious.”

“How did it start?” I asked, needing to hear everything. I wanted every little detail. It wasn’t just to figure out a crime—I needed to hear it all—hurt myself with it to get rid of these feelings I had for her.

She squeezed her eyes shut and inhaled deeply. “We had a Halloween fundraiser. Middle of October, sometime. We had to drive the cadets home, because the party ended so late, you know?” She rubbed her hand over her throat, then tapped her fingers nervously over her lips. “He kissed me. Told me how beautiful I was, said he wanted to get to know me for months, but was too scared of the age difference.”

“What did you say?”

“Say? I was…I was enamored by him. There wasn’t time to think, Cage. He just swept me off my feet.” She ran her hands through her hair, wildly. “It was so intense. He called all the time. Texted me constantly. Couldn’t keep his hands…off me. We snuck around like teenagers; he didn’t want anyone to think anything bad about me.”

Fire tore up my chest. I slammed by fist down on the table, crazed, “And you didn’t think anything about him keeping you a secret? Disrespect yourself much?”

She flinched back, slapping her own hands against the table. “All I thought about was how good it felt to be wanted! All I thought about was how easy it was to talk to him and be with him.” She stood up, shoving the chair back hard, “All I thought about was maybe this was the guy, the one I could have a future with. So I wouldn’t have to be so fucking alone all the fucking time!”

Her chest was heaving, hair wild, face red and angry.

“And then what?” I growled, standing up and moving closer to her.

“And then,” she laughed darkly. “Then, one night last month, I made him this romantic dinner—steak, candles, lingerie, the works, you know? I wanted to ask if we could tell people, at least my family. I wanted my parents to meet the person I was falling in love with, and he…” a sob broke out of her chest, and her hands balled into fists at her side.

She couldn’t even say it.

She was telling me the truth. She had no idea that asshole was playing her, like he’d probably done to every other pretty rookie. “He hit you?”

She covered her mouth with her hands and cried silent, shoulder-wracking tears.

“Did. He. Hit. You?”

She nodded, hands still over her mouth, tears streaming over her fingers.

“And what did you do?” I said, taking another step closer.

Her hands dropped limply to her sides and she straightened up, looking me dead in the eyes. “Fought back, and got away. But then after he begged and begged— I forgave him—he said he’d drank too much that night. Then it happened again. And again. I tried to stay away from him but he’d corner me in places.” She shook her head and tears streamed down her cheeks. “He used his rank every time. I tried to transfer, but he wouldn’t let me.” She sniffled once and looked away, “He didn’t deserve all the feelings I had for him.”

I lifted her chin with my knuckle, gently. “Why didn’t you tell anyone?”

“Who would I tell? Who would believe that I wasn’t just a spurned little slut? Look at how you’re looking at me right now.” She hiccupped, and choked out a raspy cough. “He told me he would hurt everyone and everything I cared about. My job. He was giving me command disciplines for no good reason. Said he would hurt Dean. You.” The last word pulled at my chest, dislodging something unfamiliar.

“You care about me?” I laughed, knowing the truth. You don’t shove people away who you care about. I backed away.

She looked down and shook her head, “Why do you think I pushed you away when you kissed me?” She hesitated for a brief moment and sighed. “You think I didn’t want to kiss you? All I’ve thought about was that kiss. All I think about is this loud-mouth, flirty cop who looks at Martinez, and my chest catches fire. And all I think about is how stupid I was to think what I felt for Anderson was anywhere near real, because sometimes when I’m near you, it feels fifty times more intense than it ever was with him.”

“Lydia Martinez?” I asked, grabbing an empty glass from the cabinet and reaching up higher for an old bottle of brandy I kept around for shitty occasions.

“Yeah. I know I don’t have the right to feel jealous or anything,” she whispered, as I poured her a small taste. Her shoulders were still shivering, and her finger still trembled; she needed a hard drink to shake it all off.

“You’re right. You don’t. You told me you and I wouldn’t happen. You told me you weren’t interested in being with me,” I said, handing her the glass.

“I know. I just—”

“Martinez and I have a date this weekend.”

“Wow. That’s…great,” she said with a tight smile. “Well, then. You can just scratch the silly thing I said before about…things,” she said, looking blankly at the glass in her hands.

“Trust me. It’s already forgotten.”

She swallowed the brandy in one huge gulp, “Okay,” she said, inhaling deeply and coughing. “Good. That’s great.” She slid the glass over the table toward me. “I’m going to need a few more of those to catch up to the all the humiliation I keep getting slammed with today.” She brushed her hair out of her face and swallowed hard, “So, just keep ‘em coming.”