know.”
He nodded.
“Good.” She picked up her beer and took a cold gulp. She didn’t want to talk through it again. She’d been debriefed so many times she could recite it by rote now, and there was something terribly wrong with that.
“Are you all right?”
The way he said it caught her off guard. His look was so direct, as if he expected a straight answer.
“Flashbacks?”
She nodded.
He didn’t say anything, but it seemed like he was waiting for something. His hazel eyes were calm and patient.
And it hit her, as it did sometimes. The stark finality of what she’d done. Because of her, a young man would never fully experience life. His family would never stop grieving. What she’d done had saved lives, but it had ruined lives, too. And she couldn’t get away from it.
She glanced down at her beer bottle as she thought about what to say.
“You spend so much time training.” She looked at him. “But when it really happens, it’s different. I don’t know. I’d thought about it, but I’d always envisioned some drug dealer drawing down on me in an alley or something. I never pictured a freckle-faced kid in a crowded restaurant.”
He watched her intently. “They get you an attorney right away?”
He meant the officers union. She nodded.
“That’s good.”
She thrust her chin out. “I’m going to need it. I’ve already heard rumors about problems with my review.”
“Why?”
“I’m not supposed to talk about it,” she said, hating the way she sounded, like a lawyer or someone covering her ass.
“Are you going to leave?”
“No way.”
He watched her.
“They can fire me, but I’m sure as hell not quitting.”
“Good.” He covered her hand and squeezed it, and she immediately tensed. She wanted to pull away, but his palm was heavy and warm, and she liked the way it felt.
“You were telling me about Pearl Springs,” he said, changing the subject.
She tugged her hand into her lap. “Not much to tell. It’s a pretty small town, like Maverick. I moved there in middle school.”
“From?”
“Houston, where we lived with my mom. She died when I was eleven.”
His brow furrowed.
“I came home from school one day. Cops were there. Social services. My mom had been in a drunk-driving accident. Single vehicle.”
She could see the question on his face. Yes, in the middle of the day.
“She had a drinking problem. When she died, Gavin and I went to live with my grandparents.”
“Your dad?”
“Not an option.”
He turned his beer on the table, watching her.
“My parents divorced a long time ago,” she explained. “Probably best for everyone. It wasn’t a happy marriage.”
“What about you?” he asked. “Ever been married?”
“Nope. You?”
“I was engaged once. She called it off.”
Andrea looked at him expectantly, but he didn’t elaborate. “Did you love her?” she asked.
“I wouldn’t have proposed if I didn’t.”
“Do you miss her?”
The question seemed to make him uncomfortable, and for some reason, she felt glad. He looked down at his beer. “Honestly?”
“No, make something up.”
“I haven’t thought much about her in months.” He met her gaze. “When she left, she told me I was an ego-driven workaholic and I was destined to end up alone.”
“Ouch.”
“Yeah, it wasn’t exactly a smooth breakup.” He glanced at his bottle, then at her again. “You ever come close?”
“God, no.”
“Why not?”
“My job’s hell on marriages. It’s a proven fact.”
“There are exceptions.”
“There are.” She shrugged. “But not for me. Relationships need nurturing. I can’t even take care of a houseplant. What would I do with a husband?”
He laughed, and she felt the mood relax, even though it was a touchy subject for her. She’d been in dozens of relationships, and they were all the same: hot and brief. When she’d first recognized the pattern, it had made her sad and self-conscious, but now she’d accepted it.
He nodded.
“Good.” She picked up her beer and took a cold gulp. She didn’t want to talk through it again. She’d been debriefed so many times she could recite it by rote now, and there was something terribly wrong with that.
“Are you all right?”
The way he said it caught her off guard. His look was so direct, as if he expected a straight answer.
“Flashbacks?”
She nodded.
He didn’t say anything, but it seemed like he was waiting for something. His hazel eyes were calm and patient.
And it hit her, as it did sometimes. The stark finality of what she’d done. Because of her, a young man would never fully experience life. His family would never stop grieving. What she’d done had saved lives, but it had ruined lives, too. And she couldn’t get away from it.
She glanced down at her beer bottle as she thought about what to say.
“You spend so much time training.” She looked at him. “But when it really happens, it’s different. I don’t know. I’d thought about it, but I’d always envisioned some drug dealer drawing down on me in an alley or something. I never pictured a freckle-faced kid in a crowded restaurant.”
He watched her intently. “They get you an attorney right away?”
He meant the officers union. She nodded.
“That’s good.”
She thrust her chin out. “I’m going to need it. I’ve already heard rumors about problems with my review.”
“Why?”
“I’m not supposed to talk about it,” she said, hating the way she sounded, like a lawyer or someone covering her ass.
“Are you going to leave?”
“No way.”
He watched her.
“They can fire me, but I’m sure as hell not quitting.”
“Good.” He covered her hand and squeezed it, and she immediately tensed. She wanted to pull away, but his palm was heavy and warm, and she liked the way it felt.
“You were telling me about Pearl Springs,” he said, changing the subject.
She tugged her hand into her lap. “Not much to tell. It’s a pretty small town, like Maverick. I moved there in middle school.”
“From?”
“Houston, where we lived with my mom. She died when I was eleven.”
His brow furrowed.
“I came home from school one day. Cops were there. Social services. My mom had been in a drunk-driving accident. Single vehicle.”
She could see the question on his face. Yes, in the middle of the day.
“She had a drinking problem. When she died, Gavin and I went to live with my grandparents.”
“Your dad?”
“Not an option.”
He turned his beer on the table, watching her.
“My parents divorced a long time ago,” she explained. “Probably best for everyone. It wasn’t a happy marriage.”
“What about you?” he asked. “Ever been married?”
“Nope. You?”
“I was engaged once. She called it off.”
Andrea looked at him expectantly, but he didn’t elaborate. “Did you love her?” she asked.
“I wouldn’t have proposed if I didn’t.”
“Do you miss her?”
The question seemed to make him uncomfortable, and for some reason, she felt glad. He looked down at his beer. “Honestly?”
“No, make something up.”
“I haven’t thought much about her in months.” He met her gaze. “When she left, she told me I was an ego-driven workaholic and I was destined to end up alone.”
“Ouch.”
“Yeah, it wasn’t exactly a smooth breakup.” He glanced at his bottle, then at her again. “You ever come close?”
“God, no.”
“Why not?”
“My job’s hell on marriages. It’s a proven fact.”
“There are exceptions.”
“There are.” She shrugged. “But not for me. Relationships need nurturing. I can’t even take care of a houseplant. What would I do with a husband?”
He laughed, and she felt the mood relax, even though it was a touchy subject for her. She’d been in dozens of relationships, and they were all the same: hot and brief. When she’d first recognized the pattern, it had made her sad and self-conscious, but now she’d accepted it.
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