Page 87 of Once Kissed

This shit’s fucked up. All of it. And I’m not sure how long he’s going to keep it together, or if more of us won’t follow him down the same path.

I stomp down the stone steps of the church. A few of the boys loiter behind—including Arnie and Malik, the two retirees who had led tonight’s group. They stand close to Levon, but not too close, giving him the kind of space I think he needs and I’m not so sure I’m capable of.

Levon had finally shared, and that shit tore him in half. But how do you get over shooting a baby when the bullet was meant for his piece-of-shit dad gunning for you? You don’t. And you never will.

This is the ugly side of law enforcement the media never mentions, and one critics turn a blind eye to, the one no politician runs to point out. They don’t have to, I guess. They have that luxury. Levon, and others like us, never will. We relive our sins with each passing day.

I rub my eyes as my head continues to pound from everything I heard and felt. A part of Levon died that day, with that baby, with the realization he couldn’t bring her back. It’s obvious from the way he carries himself, and how his eyes beg for a quick death. It’s the one way he’s certain he’ll find his peace—he said it himself, which is why he’s being monitored so closely.

I want to shake him—to do something. Those cops Lu talked about blowing their heads off in the basement. Levon has that potential. If he doesn’t get it together, this may be the last time I see him. I told him as much during group—so did the other boys. But words don’t mean much to him. Not the way his mind is messing with him, and not with those crying babies he says he hears at night.

I glance over my shoulder. Arnie and Malik flank him, speaking quietly, trying to hold his focus. They’re good that way. But they’re not good enough to stop Levon if he wants to die bad enough. For the sake of his wife and kids, I hope Levon has the guts to hang on.

I cut through a small garden, the one dedicated to the Virgin Mary. Like I told Tess, I’m not a good Catholic, but I cling to the rituals I was taught. I kneel down in front of the statue and pray for Levon and his family.

“In the name of the Father, Son, and the Holy Spirit,” I mumble, crossing myself. I bound down the steps in time to see Joey, his long arms forcing the wheels of his chair along the walkway.

My stomach bottoms out, and I freeze. For all I think I need my cop face now, it doesn’t come. Every muscle on me tightens, the same way they do when I see a fist swing my way and know it’s a blow I can’t avoid.

I know he sees me, but his focus is so fixed ahead, I think for sure he’ll roll right past me, like he did during the trial. Instead he stops directly in front of me. “Hey, Joey,” I say.

He blinks up at me, his jaw set tight. “Hey, O’Brien.”

Neither of us says anything for what has to be the longest damn minute of my life. “You here for the group?” he asks.

“Yeah.”

“Been coming long?”

I try to shrug, but can’t manage. “A couple of weeks.”

“This here’s my first time.” His voice is hollow. Kind of like mine. “The sarge told me it might help. I don’t know, but what the hell. Got nothing else to do tonight but piss through a straw, right?”

It’s a kick to the nuts I don’t need. “Sorry” is all I say, but I feel it down to my gut.

Joey stares straight ahead, then angles his chair and keeps going, up the ramp as fast as his chair can take him.

Chapter 22

Tess

I flip through my Torts notes, trying to make a dent in my class work now that I finished emailing Declan all the documents he needed and wrapping up my phone call with the judge’s clerk.Good Lord, the Montenegro case has been brutal, and my law school work just as demanding. If it weren’t for Curran, I’m not sure I’d know anything but stress.

I miss him. Since he started attending his peer counseling group on a regular basis, his superiors have allowed him to return to the station one shift a week. It’s desk duty, which he gripes about, but it’s a step forward.

While I’m happy he’s moving toward something positive, it’s hard being away from him. The other police guards I have are nice. But they’re not him. They’re not who I love.

My fingers idle on the keyboard. As much as I think counseling has been good for him, I’m not blind to how hard it is. The stories his peers share have a profound effect. For a time, Curran’s nightmares worsened. I worried he’d stop attending, but he hasn’t, demonstrating his commitment to his well-being and our future.

The first night he shared his experiences was the hardest for him. I met his shattered expression at the door, saying nothing, only reaching for him. Although he was emotionally battered, it was the first time in months he seemed to sleep peacefully.

Curran’s progress remains slow. He continues to wrestle with his regrets and the uncertainty of whether he can be the cop he once was—the one who won’t hesitate, and the one his fellow officers can depend on. But each session he attends reinforces that he’s not alone.

A sharp rap to the door jerks me back to reality.“Contessa.”

Oh, God.

I barely manage to push away from my dining room table before he knocks again.

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