After We Fall (4 page)

Why did I let Penn get to me at a job interview? Why do I let him continue to get to me at all?

My knuckles begin to hurt and I glance at them. They're bloodless.

“Calm down,” I order myself. Peeling one hand and then the other off the steering wheel, I flex them, wincing as they tingle with blood flow.

When I was healthy enough to leave the battered women's shelter, I refused to see another counselor. I didn't want to relive my nightmarish existence. I didn't want to talk about letting go or forgiving. I thought I could just shove everything away. I thought I could go about my life and he couldn't touch me anymore.

I was wrong.

Yet, it's not my fault. The only thing that changed for me, besides moving to Rose Haven, is talking to Hunter Sloan. Sure, he's the man who helped me at the hospital. Sure, he's the man I clung to when I was brought, by him, to the women's shelter, but now I know that I was high on pain meds and he reminded me of my brothers. Men who would never, ever lay a hand on a woman. So, of course, I trusted him.

Grabbing my phone, I text the only person I trust to help me—Piper Simmons, the woman who helped me at the women's shelter after Penn beat me so badly that I finally found the courage to leave him. Even though I have only spoken to her twice since I left the shelter, I know she won't ignore me.

Me:
Hey there. Can we meet to talk?

Piper:
Yes. Where, when, and what time?

Me:
Tomorrow at 6, at The Tea House.

Six should be late enough, I think.

Piper:
Perfect. See you then.

I rest my forehead against the steering wheel and begin to pray for peace, for calm…and to be left alone. It's not exactly easy for me to do this anymore. When I was younger, I loved going to church, loved singing in the choir and volunteering. So every time we moved, I found a new church home.

But Penn hated anything that had to do with God and Jesus freaks, as he liked to call me, so I eventually stopped going at all.

Of course, my dumb ass didn't find out about how he felt until after we were married. My only excuse is that I was in love. Penn had healed my broken heart and, when he would drive all the way from Fayetteville just to see me, I couldn't help but run away with him after only a month of dating.

Stupid girl.

In any case, the bruises on my face and arms drew attention, too, and I hated lying to everyone, so it wasn't
that
hard to stop going.

Or so I liked to tell myself.

Thing is, I know if I had told the truth to anyone there, I would have been helped because I worked for the committee that helped abused women and children.

Ironic, huh?

After a shitastic day at work, I am eager as hell for a beer and a juicy steak on the grill, but before I can grab a bottle from the fridge, my phone rings and I groan.

It's my partner, Dwight. Today he was promoted to detective, and, while I'm proud of him, I don't want a new partner. Shit, I'm half afraid they'll put me with Roberts and I'll end up killing the guy on the first day we're together. While that might do the world a favor, it won't help me when I'm up for promotion.

“Sloan.”

“Now he speaks,” Dwight says with a laugh. “Wasn't sure if I would get the silent treatment or not.”

Rubbing my forehead as I walk to the window and peer out, I say, “You know I'm proud of you. Just not too keen on possible candidates for my new partner.”

“Aw, I love you, too, man.”

I roll my eyes, then push a couple of blinds apart and spot Evangeline in the parking lot, washing her car. Right then and there, my day goes to one hundred percent.

“It won't be the same without you,” I point out. “If I get stuck with Roberts, then I'll have to listen to techno.”

“Better than that mariachi shit you made me listen to.”

“One song and it was because my momma called the station to play it on my birthday. Man, I can't believe you would insult my mother. You know how she feels about you.”

“Yeah, yeah. We both know she's in love with Hayden. He speaks
en español
better than me.”

“Hayden speaks better Spanish than I do.” But I have my father to thank for that. He liked to brag to his friends that he beat the Mexican out of me while keeping my back strong. The asshole. Not sure why he married my mother, or even got involved with her, since there was no denying her heritage.

“How she doing?” he asks, even as I keep my gaze on Evangeline. She picks up the hose, her leggings stretching over an ass so fine—fuck. I can't be thinking about a woman's ass while my mother's in the conversation.

“Fine. She's still in Tijuana. I think she's extending her visit by another month or two.” I'll keep sending her all the money she needs to stay down there for as long as she wants, if it makes her happy and gives her peace. The woman has been through hell and back, toting me on her hip until I was old enough to willingly hold her hand, and she deserves peace.

“Good for her.” Dwight exhales. “Alisha says to stop by for dinner sometime.”

“I will.”

“So we good?”

“Very good,” I reply, then let the blinds fall into place. “I'm happy for you, bro, and we'll go out to celebrate soon.”

As soon as we wrap up our conversation, I grab a beer and head to the door, checking on Jake as he snoozes away in his bed in front of the fireplace.

“Want to go outside, boy?” I ask.

He opens one eye and then lets out a huff.

“I'll take that as a no.” Ruffling the fur on his head as I pass by, I have to laugh. Jake's no spring chicken, but he's not ancient. However, when he's done, he's done for the day. The college kid over in apartment A comes to check on Jake and walk him twice a day between classes, so I know he's being taken care of.

“Tomorrow, I'll take you to the dog park when I get home.”

Jake's tail thumps on the floor.

“Yeah, I've seen the honey you have your eyes on. We're going to make that happen.” If I could fist-bump Jake, I would, mostly because I'm sure he would give me the same back. I'm really going to hate it when a family finally adopts him.

By the time I get to the parking lot, Evangeline is scrubbing the right side of her car. I make sure my steps are loud so that she hears me. Sneaking up on her would only make her run.

“Need some help?”

Blue-green eyes peer up at me through black lashes and her plump lips part. Damn, she's pretty. Those plump lips of hers thin for a moment. “I'm perfectly capable of washing my own car.”

“Yeah, but washing a car is a two-person job.” I won't be deterred by her brush-off, but I won't frighten her, either. It's a seriously fine line I have to walk for this woman. But for some reason, I already know she's worth it.

Sticking my hand into the bucket between us, I grab a sponge and start washing the front-door panel while she works on the back. She makes a noise but doesn't order me away.

I consider this the greatest victory in the history of victories. We work in silence until it's time to rinse. Our hands reach for the water hose at the same time and my hand covers hers.

Desire flares. I tighten my grip a little.

Evangeline's eyes widen and she gasps, but before she can snatch her hand away from mine, I let go.

“Ladies first.” I give her my friendliest smile, but the pink blooming on her cheeks turns red.

“I—um…thanks.” She sprays the car down and moves to the front.

Immediately, I dunk the sponge in the soapy water again and start scrubbing at the pain-in-the-ass grille. It's like a bug graveyard.

After a beat or two, she joins me, and we continue this silent dance around the entire car until it's gleaming. Finally, she tosses the hose down and crosses her arms. Water makes her skin slick-looking.

“What do you want?” she asks.

My reply is immediate. “World peace.”

Her eyes narrow. “Try again.”

“What do you have against world peace?” I lean against my truck, which is parked right beside her car.

This time her mouth falls open. There's a fire in her eyes that I would love to get burned by. “I don't have anything against world peace. Sheesh.”

“What do
you
want?” I ask, my voice low and husky.

She blinks, as if no one has asked her that in a long time. “For you to tell me the real reason you helped me wash my car.”

“You got me, angel.” I put up my hands in mock surrender. “I do want something from you.”

“Figures,” she mutters, then starts to gather her things.

“I'd like to borrow your stuff so I can wash my truck”—I wait a beat before adding—
“neighbor
.
”

“I bet you would—wait.” Her nose scrunches. “You want to what?”

I want to laugh at the adorably confused look on her face, but I don't. “Borrow your stuff”—I nod at the bucket and bottle of liquid soap—“so I can wash my truck. It's been a while and after today, I really don't feel like making the drive down to the Wash and Go.”

“Oh.” The self-righteous state she almost worked herself into seems to leave her. “Sure, but…since you helped me, I'll be neighborly and help you. Then we'll be even-steven.”

“Even-steven.” I level her with a look. “People still say that?”

She tips up her chin. “I still say that. So does my momma. In fact, she was the one to teach it to me.”

I purposefully soften my face. “Moms are great for stuff like that. I know my mom is.”

Her rigid stance finally relaxes. “Yes, they are, aren't they?”

Grabbing on to that as my opening, I refill the bucket with liquid soap and then add water as I say, “How was your day?”

“Fine.” She swallows. “How was yours?”

“Shitty.”

“I've had days like that.” She turns away from me, her shirt riding up on one side. There's a white line that curves around her waist. It's short in length, but I know who it's from, and I can only imagine what her shitty days were like.

Fucking piece of shit ex.

My hands tighten into fists and my jaw clenches, but I take a steadying breath to calm down. Without a doubt, Evangeline would bolt if she saw how furious I am right now, and that's the last thing I want her to do.

“Well,” I begin, attempting to lighten the tone, “I might be upset because my partner got promoted. He actually called to check on me because I wouldn't speak to him today.” Yeah, I probably sound like a little punk-ass, but I figure she will appreciate the truth.

She turns those pretty eyes on me. “You're jealous of him?”

“Hell, no. Do you know how much more of a caseload he'll get now? And the cost of the non-uniform uniform he'll have to wear each day? No, thanks, I'll keep walking in the blue.” I rinse off the top of the truck and then begin to work on the hood. To my eternal surprise and gratefulness, Evangeline follows me, squatting down to get the low parts. It's a gesture that I find to be very thoughtful without her knowing why.

I'm a big guy, so me and low spaces don't always get along too well. Plus, my knee pops like a son of a bitch when I sit, stand, or squat for any length of time. I'd like to say that I got the injured knee from fighting, but it was actually something majorly stupid.

And less cool.

I step to one side and my knee creaks like a door opening in a haunted house.

“Was that you?” she asks, her gaze zeroing in on my legs.

“Bad knee.”
Great.
Trying to avoid that conversation. Wait. Who cares if she asks about my knee? It means she'll keep talking, and if she keeps talking, I might have a chance with her.

“I have one of those, too,” she admits. Then her gaze turns wary. “Guess you got that on the job?”

“Yeah, but not from chasing down a perp or pulling a kid out of a burning building,” I say, tossing the sponge into the bucket. “Tripped over a filing cabinet. First day on the job and they had me bringing coffee for everyone—you know, typical FNG stuff.”

“FNG?”

“Fucking new guy,” I explain, and her mouth quirks. I am so close to making her smile. “Anyway, I got two trays of latte-bullshit-soy and didn't see the open drawer. Went down like a ton of bricks, but I was determined to save the coffee, so I landed on my knee and then it twisted. Cried like a baby.”

Evangeline smashes her lips together, but an adorable dimple appears on her cheek. Never knew I was a fan of dimples until this very moment.

I lean in to her, but not too close. “Go ahead and laugh. Just promise you'll still respect me in the morning and keep it to yourself.”

A giggle escapes her. She slaps her hand over her mouth. “I'm sorry.” Her words are muffled behind her palm.

“Don't be.” Don't ever be sorry around me, I want to say, but I don't. “Worst part, there's photographic evidence on Facebook.”

Slowly, she lets her hand fall away. “It sucks for everyone to know about your most embarrassing moments, huh?”

I shrug. “I don't know about that. Sometimes, if the right person knows, it can be a good thing.”

She frowns. “How's that?”

“Lets them know that you're relatable…that you're human.”

One of her fingers traces the
THIN BLUE LINE
bumper sticker on the tailgate. “Do people forget that about you?”

“Sometimes.”

“Do you ever forget that about yourself?” Her ocean-colored eyes are haunted when they gaze up me.

I nod. “A couple of times.
Shit.
More than a couple. I'm supposed to be impartial when I arrive to a scene. Things aren't supposed to bother me because I'm a professional—I've been trained, you know?”

Rubbing a hand over my neck, I glance around the parking lot. It's just the two of us. The sun is setting, and the conversation is turning intimate. Ordinarily, this would be when a guy would use it as an opening to ask for more. Ordinarily, I wouldn't share such things with anyone other than my partner, Dwight, or with Hayden. They know what it's like to have unreasonable expectations of impassiveness while attempting to correct wrongs and get victims to hospitals. Or worse…

“I need a beer,” I mutter, then turn my attention back to Evangeline. “Want to grab dinner with me?”

“No.” She steps away from me, her body visibly tensing. “Look, I'm not interested in getting involved with anyone.”

What a shocking revelation. “And I'm only interested in dinner. Although, it's a damn shame because we have a lot in common like bad knees, world peace, and car maintenance.”

Her eyebrows rise and she presses her lips inward, like she's trying not to laugh. For a moment, I think she's going to reconsider, but then she walks away, saying nothing.

And I let her go.