Page 14 of Eternally Devoted

I’m a cop. It should be easy.

Snaking through the hall, into Sterling’s room, then into his bathroom, I find him crouching, Juniper sitting on the edge of the tub with her back against the tile wall. He’s unlacing her boots, speaking softly, as if he knows what exactly is wrong and how to fix it.

“You’re safe now, sweetheart. Whatever happened, don’t worry, okay? You’re safe. We’ve got you.” Something about him saying that while she’s unconscious makes my chest tight. With both boots off, I watch his cumbersome hands gently roll down her socks and peel them off. He has such an imposing, strong presence with his burly frame yet he moves with grace, and despite the fact I don’t know what the hell is going on, my heart squeezes.

Sterling casts a look in my direction. “Grab her some clothes so we can get her changed.” I nod, and curve the corner into his room, yanking open the top drawer on his dresser. Neatly folded shirts rest inside, traces of his soap and cologne worn into every single one. I can smell them from here. There’s a weighty pull in my groin as I drag my fingers along the shirts. Sterling startles me, leaning back so his face is visible in the open doorframe.

“Yours will fit better,” he says, “mine will be way too big.” Shutting the drawer, I go to my room. I change from my work blues, getting comfortable for what the night has in store. Aftergrabbing sweats and a faded shirt—the very first two items I find—I head back, discovering Juniper is awake.

“Oh, thank God,” I breathe, setting the clothing on the counter, near Sterling’s electric toothbrush.

The golden dog nuzzles under Juniper’s hand, and she winces at the contact.

“Welcome back,” Sterling coos softly. “We gotta get that hand cleaned up, but first, I’m gonna wipe your arm and face, okay?”

Juni stares blankly at him for what feels like eternity, then nods.

“Good girl,” he praises, getting to his feet to wet a washcloth at the sink. I close the lid on the toilet and come to sit next to her, opening her the bottle of water I brought. After passing it to her, I ask, “Can you manage this with your good hand? Take a few sips for us?”

Her wide green eyes come to mine, and she nods, sipping the water while keeping her gaze trained on me. Sterling returns with his washcloth, and gets to work on the dried red streaking her arm.

“That’s a lot of blood,” I comment cautiously as Sterling drags the washcloth over her skin.

I shove my hands in my pockets, hiding the way they’ve begun to violently tremble. I’ve seen bad shit on the beat, but I could see a hundred accidents without my hands shaking. Seeing Juniper this way, it’s rattling me to my core.

“We’re gonna get rid of it all and as soon as you’re ready to talk, we’re here,” he continues, saying just the right thing. He rises to wring the cloth into the sink, wetting it again. This time, he smooths it over her chin, and my chest contracts at the gentle way he places his hand on the column of her throat, using his thumb to tip her head back slightly. Carefully, he wipes at the splatter until she’s clean and the cloth needs another rinsing.

She sips the water I handed her, passing it back to me when she’s done. Sterling drapes the damp washcloth over the sink, and slides his hands under her arms, lifting her to her feet.

He brings his face close to hers, talking quietly as the dog clambers near her feet. “We’re gonna get you changed into clean clothes, okay?” He tips his head in my direction, glancing my way, his hazel eyes drowning in concern. I get to my feet, carefully helping pull her shirt off over her head. Together, we feed her arms through my Bluebell PD t-shirt before Sterling drops to a crouch. “Pants,” he says.

Juni’s eyes come to mine, and I search hers for approval, getting a nod a moment later. Carefully, I help her out of her jeans, struggling a little with the button and zipper at first. Sterling tugs them off of her feet, and holds the legs of my sweatpants open, coaxing her to step in.

Neither of us take note of her panties or bra. When she’s redressed, she sits on the edge of the toilet this time and finally speaks. “He—he—he’s got blood in his hair, too,” she starts sobbing, pointing to the dog curled up at her feet. He won’t let Juni out of his sight.

Sterling nods, still completely calm and cool, all the while, my heart is racing. But not as fast as my mind.What happened? Whose blood is that? What was Sterling about to say before she got here? Where did that dog come from? How is he so calm?

Needing to find some semblance of control, I open the first aid kit on the counter. “How about Sterling gets the dog cleaned up and I take a look at that hand, hmm?” I ask her, keeping my voice comfortably low.

She lifts her hand, almost as if she forgot she was hurt, and blinks at it, going pale. “Oh my god,” she breathes. “I’m still bleeding.”

“You’ve been moving around a lot. It’ll stop once you do, okay? Let me have a look.” I collect her face in my hands for amoment, holding her eyes with mine, feeding her much-needed reassurance. “Just watch Sterl, okay?”

Her green eyes dart between mine for a second, a little detached and lost, before she nods. “Okay.” Then she focuses on him while I kneel at her side, pulling her hand into my lap. Using the shitty blue plastic tweezers from the first aid kit, I carefully pull out small shards of glass before asking her to stand and rinse it beneath the sink. She does and sits, returning her focus on Sterling, who gently cleans the dog with a damp towel. He unties the rope from the dog’s neck and scratches its throat as I apply antibiotic ointment to Juni’s palm, then cover it in a few squares of gauze. After taping her up and double-checking for other injuries, I put the kit away and wash my hands.

Sterling collects her in his arms, and I follow him to the living room, where he lowers her to the couch, the dog in tow. We sit on either side of her and I place my hand on her knee. “What happened, Juni?”

The dog stands in front of us, staring at Juni like she hangs the moon. Juni reaches out, stroking him gently. “I just f-found him… he was hurt,” she stammers.

I glance down at his paw, noticing a glob of something still on him. That’s too thick to be blood, and besides, it’s not even red as much as it is…purplishred.

I know what that is. Because I consume an ungodly amount of it every month. There’s jam on his paw, and Sterling notices at the same time.

“Did you break a jar of jam?” he offers, searching for an explanation. The police officer in me doesn’t want to feed her ideas, as it’s less likely to get the truth. But the niggling worry in my gut wants her to agree that it's just jam—that this is all okay. Not at all what it feels and looks like.

The cut hand, the blood, the jam, that would make sense if the jar broke. But… “Where’d you find the dog, sweetheart?”

She twists her focus between us, caught clearly in a storm of choices. Something is going on, and it spans far beyond an accident with a jar of jam and stumbling upon a dog. But her jaw wobbles, and she never quite finds words she’s comfortable sharing. After a few more tears which she wipes away with the back of her good hand, she finally says, “On the side of a road, when I was making deliveries tonight.”

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