Page 62 of Somewhere in the Sunset

“Honestly, I just wanted to go home, and Weston was taking off in an Uber. I shared a ride with him,” I explain, but although it was only five weeks ago, it feels like a lifetime. I was in a totally different headspace then, and it’s thanks to Weston that I feel as stable as I do currently. “I cried a lot, and he hugged me. We were both having a tough week. He left his phone at my place, so he came back to get it the next morning.”

“That’s kind of cute,” Peyton says, relaxing back in her chair. “I’m not going to lie to you, Gracie, I was a big fan of Charlotte and I’m so disappointed in him for screwing things up with her. I’m still mad at him, and I’m also confused.”

I nod, listening. My bond with Weston has strengthened incredibly fast, and I’m perfectly aware that it may not make sense to most of the people closest to us. I was so in love with Luca for seven years that I’d resigned myself to being single for a long, long time before I would ever be ready to date again, and I imagine Weston felt similar when it came to life after Charlotte. We can’t help the timing of when we met, but wedidmeet, and now things are developing in a way I could have never imagined. New feelings don’t invalid the feelings we once had for Luca and Charlotte.

“Wewereonly friends at first,” I promise Peyton. “But we just click. We get each other, and I have no idea how I would have survived the past month without him. He’s making me believe that it’s possible to fall in love again.”

Peyton’s lower lip juts out. “Aww,” she says, and I own my vulnerability. I’m not playing games. What I feel for Weston is definitely real, and I need her to believe that. “Listen. Weston’s the youngest of the three of us, and he’s also the softest. He’s sensitive. He has a good heart,” she says. “So, I hope he learns from his mistakes and treats you right. If he doesn’t, you let me know, and I will kill him with my bare hands.”

I laugh as she scrunches up the empty chip bag and stands up. “I was worried you wouldn’t like me,” I confess.

“Don’t worry. I already knew I’d like you when Weston told me you want to be an elementary school teacher,” she says with a grin, offering out her hand to pull me up. There’s a flicker of fondness in her gaze as she adds, “Teachers are the best kind of people.”

WESTON

I glance at Bill out of the corner of my eye. “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“You’re my field training officer. You’ve been watching me for the past nine weeks. The weekly reviews you give me are acceptable. Not great, not bad. Average.” I pause, staring at the road ahead as I navigate the cruiser through tight traffic. “Do you think I can do this job?”

I sense Bill watching me as he mulls over my question in silence. It’s the final hour of a relatively quiet shift and I’ve taken charge with ease and confidence, but that’s only because there have been no high-stake calls. Nothing I haven’t seen before, nothing dangerous that’s gotten our blood pumping. On days like these, I think maybe Icouldride this out.

“I believe you’re capable of being a great officer,” Bill says at last, drawing out his words slowly so that they truly sink in for me. “Physically, you can do it. You are tactful and fair. You follow protocol well. But mentally?” He tuts pityingly. “You struggle. I’m planning on extending your training.”

There are still another seven weeks of field training to go, and it comes as a surprise to me that Bill has already made the decision this soon to extend it. I’ve been struggling with the mental load of such a demanding, emotional job, but I thought I’d been hiding it well. I’d perfected my poker face, and I only let slip thatoneshift .?.?. But it seems Bill can see straight through me.

“You’re giving me an extension?”

“Yes,” he says simply. “We look after people, Weston, but we also need to look after ourselves. You need to work on that. There’s no use saving anyone if it means losing yourself.”

I flash him a cynical look. “You’re being suspiciously nice to me. You don’t have to be, you know.”

Bill chuckles but says nothing more. He fiddles with the onboard computer as I drive, then sits up straight as our dispatcher crackles to life over the radio. She reports a call for a possible break-in. The full details are unclear, but the scene is secure. There’s no need to throw on the lights, but I do kick things up a notch and increase our speed. Hayes Valley. An apartment community. Fourth floor.

My heart skips a beat.

It’s Gracie’s apartment.

“Responding,” Bill confirms with dispatch.

“I know her,” I blurt, stepping on the gas. We aren’t far away. Our ETA is two minutes.

Bill looks at me funny. “Who? The dispatcher?”

“No.The girl who lives in this apartment. She’s .?.?. a close friend of mine.”

“Is that why you’re speeding?”

I ignore him, because I’m the officer in charge. I decide how fast we arrive on scene, and when Gracie is the civilian who requires our help, Ineedto race there. It’s a suspected break-in, but her apartment complex is secure, so I’m already racking my brain as to possible scenarios. It’s also six in the evening. The sun is out. Break-ins almost always occur during nightfall. What the hell has happened?

I park the cruiser outside one of the entrances to Gracie’s apartment building and buzz us inside with the access code provided by dispatch. It’s a much easier method than my usual off-duty way of buzzing random apartments until someone lets me in. We ride the elevator to the fourth floor and Bill watches me intently the entire time. In this phase of my training, I do most of the work while he observes. He’ll only step in when necessary.

“It’s down here,” I tell Bill as the elevator doors ping open. I’m always determined to arrive on scene as fast as possible no matter what the call is, but when there’s a personal connection involved,of coursethe stakes are higher.

I march down the hall, Bill close behind, and I see her.

Gracie’s waiting outside the open door of her apartment, wringing her hands together in distress. She’s pale, her face white.

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