Greer

I stare down at my phone and see the missed call from Danika. It came through ten minutes ago while I was at yet another briefing, this time about a homicide. A body was discovered in the trunk of a car parked at a construction site near the East River, the night I left Danika kiss-swollen in the building hallway. That was Friday night and it’s now Monday. I’ve been home exactly once to shower, change and catch a few hours of sleep before returning to the buzzing precinct. In that time, five calls from Danika have gone unanswered.

I’ve never known myself to be such a fucking coward, but right on the heels of the reminder she’s training to be a cop, I found myself looking down into a trunk at more loss. More horror. And it was like that walk to the bodega happened to someone else. Or took place somewhere else. Another dimension, maybe. One I don’t belong in with this nonstop ugliness stuck to the insides of my head.

It would be so easy to answer, let her voice soothe me. She would ask me how my day is going, and I would actually tell her. Her lack of judgment, her seeming refusal to disregard me as an asshole, makes me feel like I’m on solid ground. I could show her my worst and she’d still be there.

Every hour that passes without speaking to her puts me a little more off center. Which is all the more reason to ignore the calls. I can already feel myself getting too reliant on those breaths of fresh air she provides. They could get taken away at any time. In a snap. I know this. Why can’t I remember that lesson when she’s right in front of me?

And why am I so disappointed she didn’t leave a voice mail?

She left one Saturday morning, short and sweet. Hey, it’s me. You never took your caveat beer for the trunk. Um. Hope you have a good day. Bye. I definitely haven’t listened to it nineteen times. Or deduced that her scratchy, muffled voice meant she was still in bed when she left the message. Definitely not.

I’m considering playing the voice mail a twentieth time before I have to take a trip to the morgue for an autopsy report. It would give me that extra push to get through such an unpleasant task. But just as I’m hitting Play, my office door swings open and in walks Charlie. He’s wearing his academy uniform and looks so well rested and happy, I want to shout at him to run far and fast from this place.

Once upon a time, law enforcement was decreed our family legacy, and I never wavered in my expectations for Charlie’s career until recently. I wanted him driven. Following in our father’s footsteps, like me. Until I saw how happy he could be when the pressure to be alone and focus only on the job was taken off. He decided to juggle police work and a personal life and he’s sticking to it. He would stick to it forever, because he’s determined. Unshakeable. Maybe because he was younger when our mother left and the aftermath wasn’t as obvious to him, he was able to maintain some semblance of optimism. Positivity that only continues to grow.

As always, when I’m around Charlie, I encounter a swift charge of guilt. For not confiding in him what I know about our mother. It’s for the best, I remind myself.

“Hey.” He falls into the chair facing my desk. “Busy out there. What’s going on?”

I bite back the urge to lie to him, to keep the shittiness to myself. This is going to be his job someday soon, and he’ll have to deal with it. “There was a body found in a trunk at a construction site by the river. We’re tracking down leads, speaking with CIs.”

“Who’s the car registered to?” Charlie asks without missing a beat.

“Stolen. Registered to a man in Brooklyn, but there’s no connection to the vic.” Despite my reluctance to share too much of this gruesome world with my brother, I’m more comfortable discussing case details with him than anything personal. I hate the reason why. Charlie is going to be a cop. A cop like me, like Griffin . . . like Danika. Holding myself back from him to avoid pain later is so natural, it’s hard to fight against. “I have an appointment with the medical examiner in twenty. Aren’t you training today?”

“Yeah, I’m on my lunch break.” He untucks a brown bag from beneath his arm—which I somehow missed in my exhaustion—and settles it atop the mountain of paperwork on my desk. “Those are leftovers from Danika’s mother’s party. Danika saved them for you, and it’s getting too depressing seeing them in the fridge.”

My stomach climbs up into my mouth and refuses to go back down. She kept food in her fridge for me while I was ignoring her phone calls? “Please tell me you didn’t come here to talk about girls.”

“I didn’t, actually, it just kind of popped out.” One beat passes. Two. “But since I’ve already brought it up—”

“Jesus Christ.”

Charlie holds up his hands. “Hey, I just thought you’d be interested to know that Levi asked Danika to reschedule their date this morning.” He whistles long and low. “Before inspection, even. The guy is after it.”

A bout of seasickness hits me like a battering ram. My right eye is going to twitch itself out of my head. I’m going to flip the desk. “What did she say?”

“Danika?” He draws out her name, scratching the side of his chin. “What did she say?”

My fist pounds down on the paperwork mountain. “Don’t play dumb with me.”

“She said . . .”

Eight seconds pass while he elongates the word said. I know, because the tic in my temple is keeping time. “You will live to regret this.”

His grin is unacceptable. “She said no.”

I don’t realize I’m leaning across the desk until relief slumps me back in my chair. It’s like having a bucket of warm water dumped on my head. “You’ve made your point.”

“Yes, I have.” He claps his hands together. “I only have one more minute before I have to head back, so I’m going to spend it telling you how not fucking awful it is to have a girlfriend.”

“I’m not in high school. I don’t have girlfriends. And please wrap this up in thirty seconds.”

“I’m going to channel Letterman and do this countdown style, sound good?” Charlie gives a loud ahem, like he’s preparing to sing opera. “Number three best thing about girlfriends? The jig is up, bro. Men like to cuddle, too. Girlfriends are cuddle magnets. Ever is the best one—she’s fucking taken—but there are others. Go forth and claim your cuddle magnet.”

“Get out of my office.”

“Number two,” he continues, undeterred. “When a girl is your girlfriend, other guys don’t ask her out. And if they do, you have permission to kick their ass.”

“I’m not going to beat up a recruit.”

“He won’t be a recruit after graduation, and number one . . .” He waits for me to stop raking both hands down my face before continuing. “You like protecting people. I like protecting people. Imagine protecting someone who loves you.” He’s serious for a few seconds. “You want to protect the whole world when someone loves you, because they believe you can.”

It’s possible while I was avoiding my brother, he became one of the most intelligent people I know. Doesn’t mean he’s right in this case, but I’m . . . proud of him. For something besides his eventual law enforcement glory. Still annoyed as shit, but proud. “This has been mind blowing,” I say, standing and slinging my jacket around my shoulders. “I’m late.”

Charlie has already slid halfway out the door, but his smug face is still located inside my office. “Think about what I said. And whatever you do, don’t impersonate someone else on a dating website just to find out what she’s up to.”

I pause in the middle of zipping my jacket. “What?”

“Forget I said that. Bye.”

When he’s gone, I stand there for a couple moments absorbing everything he said, lateness be damned. Despite my irritation, my brother’s words are already sinking in and making me think. I don’t want to think about anything but my job right now, because imagining Danika cuddled up on my lap will inevitably lead to a bad decision.

You want to protect the whole world when someone loves you, because they believe you can.

Goddammit, Charlie.

That was the worst thing he could have said to me. How will I ever be satisfied for even a second in this life unless Danika believes that about me?

The answer is: I won’t. But I’m not meant to be satisfied. I’m meant to be a cop who wakes up every morning, performs his sworn duty and doesn’t set himself up to become one of the tragedies he sees every day.

I know that. I know it. But before I leave the office, I still shuffle around some paperwork until I find the police report for Danika’s mother’s missing bike. Maybe I’m not cut out for cuddling, but it won’t hurt to make a few phone calls between meetings.