Greer

I’m drunk.

Just not drunk enough to blur the images in my head.

So I keep pouring. And pouring.

But the image only doubles, so the joke is on me.

When Griffin died, I only saw the aftermath. I was spared the fear on his face. I didn’t have to participate in those precious seconds where he watched his life hang in the balance. But I witnessed both of those things with Danika today. Oh, she’d still had her temper. That refusal to give up. She’d been on shaky ground, though. And watching as she ran through her final options will haunt me for the rest of my life.

I’m so goddamn angry at her. So why am I sick without her in front of me? I don’t understand. I’ve never wanted to shout at someone and hug them at the same time. She took a decade off my life today, but if she walked into the apartment right now, I would throw myself at her feet like I’m the asshole.

Jesus Christ, I am a mess.

I throw back a shot of tequila, my eyes squeezing shut in deference to the burn. Closing them is a mistake, though, because there’s Danika, gorgeous and fierce, baseball bat raised above her head. Pulse hammering in her neck—I can hear it all the way out on the landing. Gleaming steel reflects in her brown eyes. If I make one mistake, or hell, a single sound, this kid is going to get spooked and pull the trigger. After being shot last week, I’ve never been less confident. With my girl on the line, I could make a fatal error. I could watch her die. My worst fear. It’s my worst fear, waiting to unfold.

That realization is the last thing I can remember before my body sprung into action, refusing—refusing—to fail with Danika on the line. Thank God.

Failure is all I feel right now, though. My body feels like hollow, lead armor.

She needed me today. She was shaken up after having a gun pointed at her. I could have held her and whispered comfort into her neck, but I left. That was my privilege as of a few hours ago. Not anymore, though. I’m choosing solitude over having myself flayed open every time Danika tries to be big and brave. No matter that . . . I love those things about her. Those traits are a damn liability, and she flaunts them without thinking of the consequences.

God, I wish I was still shaking her.

I wish she was underneath me, too. Touching my face while I stroke my tongue up the side of her neck. I could scold her while she’s under me, in between kisses. Flip her over and spank her, soothe her, drive into her. All while telling her she almost killed me. Afterward, I’d make her apologize again. Then I’d apologize, too, for being predictable. For reacting exactly the way she knew I would.

Would those things have made me feel better?

I’ll never get the chance to try. The decision is made.

This wound in my chest is going to scab over eventually. It has to. I can’t survive like this. What’s the phrase? Can’t live with women, can’t live without them? Truer words were never spoken. I can’t be with Danika. But I can’t fucking imagine my world without her. After such a short time, I’m already missing a limb with her gone. Imagine if the worst happened.

I just have to keep imagining. What if, what if, what—

There’s a knock at my door.

And whoosh. All my resolve drains out through my ears. If it’s Danika on the other side of the door, I’m going to make a fool out of myself. I should be praying it’s someone else. But my heart is in control, and Danika is at the switch. So I stand and force myself to walk with an even gait, feat though it is. With my guts in my throat, I open the door—

And catch a mean right hook across the face.

There’s a crunch, followed by pain, and then I’m staring at blood spray across my entry table, where I catch myself. My left eye throbs, my nose feels like it was stepped on by an elephant. Sticky cobwebs lace in patterns on my brain, muddling my thoughts, but I finally command my body to straighten and confront my attacker.

“Jack.” Blood drips down to slur my words. “I was expecting you.”

The recruit is looking at me with nothing short of disgust. The way I probably used to look at him. Amazing how fast tables can turn. “I told her. Told Charlie, too. You were going to chew her up and spit her out. No one listened.”

Who the hell does this prick think he is? Coming here and spitting in the eye of my misery? In Danika’s name, no less, which is something I’m supposed to do. I’m the one who makes people pay for hurting her.

No, I was.

Agony swarms in my ears. “It’s not your job to defend her honor.”

“Whose job is it? Yours?” Jack’s eyebrows lift when I can’t answer. Because I don’t know who to listen to—my head or my heart. “Oh, you don’t realize you lost her forever yet?” His scoff starts a pounding in my temples. “She’s long gone, man. You might still be in limbo, but she’s not hanging out for more of this bullshit. Danika might have taken a chance on you, but she’s too smart to take two.”

“I’m not in limbo. I’m doing . . . I did what needs to be done,” I manage, staggered. The way we parted today seemed final, but we’ve been in so many arguments, I’m not sure I processed the difference until now. Jack’s right. She’s done. She gave up on me. “You’ve thrown your punch,” I rasp. “Now go.”

He stares at me in silence. “I think I’ll stay awhile.” Ignoring my dark look, Jack swaggers into my apartment, but he’s brought up short when he sees the open tequila bottle on my kitchen table. His hands slide into his pockets, and he breathes in and out, before turning around and ignoring the tequila. “Look, before I met my Katie, I would have bloodied your nose and walked away whistling.” I’ve never seen Jack serious, but he’s deadly serious now. “I can’t do that anymore. She forced me to deal with the shit in my head . . . and I’m thinking maybe it’s my turn to pay it forward.”

A scoff scrapes up my throat. “I’ve had enough forced therapy for the week, Garrett.”

“Because you discharged your weapon.”

Did Danika tell him? No, she wouldn’t. Must have been my brother. “Yes.”

Jack tilts his head. “So you’ve been completely open during those sessions?”

“What is this?” My hands shove through my hair. Had I been honest during the mandated therapy? No. I hadn’t. I’d given the standard answers that would get my paperwork through and an early dismissal. Feeling jumpy, I go to the tequila bottle, cap it and shove it in my freezer. When I see the framed family photo among the frozen vegetables, placed there by Danika, I swallow a lump in my throat. “You go to a couple weeks’ worth of AA meetings and now you’re ready to diagnose me?”

He sighs. “Let me ask you a question.”

“Go ahead. Blow me away.”

I get the feeling he’s bracing himself and realize too late there’s a good reason. “What if you’d died that day? Instead of your partner.” He pauses. “What would you have missed in the years that came after?”

This punch is twice as powerful as the one he delivered at my door. I’m staggering while standing still, trying to catch my breath in the middle of my kitchen. My mind searches for an answer, flipping back through almost three years and coming up with nothing. Nothing since Danika walked into the academy for orientation and my heart started hammering. There are a few snatches of moments with my brother, those rare occasions I let myself spend time with him. One memory of my father squeezing my shoulder and telling me I’m living up to expectations. Between those snippets of time, there’s a gray void. All those days spent going through the motions, keeping a buffer between me and the world.

I haven’t been living at all.

“You can punch me now if you want,” Jack says, scratching the back of his neck. “I didn’t like asking you that, but hell if the hardest questions don’t pull a head out of someone’s ass the fastest. I know it worked for me.”

I’m stripped so bare, I can no longer keep myself from demanding what I’ve wanted to know since he arrived. “Is she okay?”

He’s back to looking like he wants to sock me. “No. But she’s the master at pretending she’s fine. We’re all taking turns keeping her company, which is annoying the shit out of her. Katie and Ever are on shift right now. Me and Charlie take over in the morning. Unless she murders us in our sleep.”

She’s pretending to be okay. That’s so Danika, my ribs crank open another inch. “Thank you.”

Jack nods. “I’ve got my redhead waiting for me, so I’ll leave you alone.”

“Good.”

“After I say one more thing.” He ignores my growl. “When the love of a lifetime gets dropped in your lap, you can either strap in for the ride or hit the brakes like a pussy. But if you decide to man up, you better be ready to work. Danika sets her mind to something, she accomplishes it. And right now, her mind is set on getting over you.”

Hearing that, I’m done. I’m the boxer swaying in the ring with bloodshot eyes and a fractured jaw. A stiff wind could knock me out. “I’m ready for you to leave.”

He makes a crackling radio noise into his fist. “Ten-four.”

When the door closes behind Jack, the silence is piercing. It has been like this for years, and I never noticed it until . . . her. Before Danika swaggered into my life, I would have gone on like this indefinitely, assuming it was the better, safer route. And it is. I’m one hundred percent safe right now. Alone. I have the lowest chance of having someone I love being ripped away.

I do love her, don’t I?

Jesus, yes. I think I loved her the first time she hit the training mat, squared her shoulders and got back up to do it all over again. She’s mine. I claimed her. She let me. Then I shoved her away. All because she made a decision to prevent me from shutting her out.

I hear wheezing and realize it’s me. Reaching toward the kitchen counter, I snag a dish towel and wipe the blood off my face. With the slight improvement of my vision comes the first slice of clarity I’ve felt since this afternoon.

Griffin lost his life, along with all the experiences he might have had. But I might as well have died with him. Unless I do something to change it. In three more years when I look back, what do I want to see, instead of gray fog where memories should have been made?

Danika. Me and her. In this kitchen. Walking along the sidewalk carrying beer. Sitting at her mother’s kitchen table. In the grocery store. On vacation. Christ, I could take her places.

Hiding from potential loss is stopping me from being happy. More importantly, making her happy. There’s nothing stopping me from trying, except me.

And the fact that she’s already moving on.

Panic clashes with determination in my gut. I have to get her back.

I’m going to get her back.

I need her so much.