Page 41 of I Do With You

She’s right in some ways, but oh-so wrong in others.

“People,” I grunt. “People get to me. Don’t like them looking at me, condemning me as some worthless punk or thinking I got to where I am by luck. I’ve worked hard my whole life to not end up where everyone assumed I would—prison or a street corner.”

“And you succeeded,” she praises me. “It sounds like you and Sean have a good thing going, so I’m sure you’ll figure things out. If you didn’t care, you wouldn’t be fighting with him, so the fact that you’re still arguing with each other shows how much you both care.”

People use. People abuse. All in a refusal to lose. You don’t see it. You see sunshine where I see rain. You see hope where I see pain.

I reach over, weaving my fingers under her hair to grip the back of her neck. She melts into my touch and rests her head back as she turns those sparkling eyes to me. “Thank you,” I tell her, meaning every syllable. “You have no idea how much I needed to hear that.”

Her smile is easy. For one split second.

But the moment’s broken by the sound of a siren right behind us. I glance up into the rearview mirror and see red and blue lights.

“Fuck a duck.”

Usually, cussing about the police would be my gut reaction since me and the law aren’t exactly best buds. But this time, it’s Hope, and I go into defensive mode because she’s freaking out enough for the both of us. “Is it Sheriff Laurier? Shit, shit, shit. I’m gonna kill Roy if his dad arrests me for not marrying him. That’s not even illegal, probably. Breach of a verbal contract at best.”

“Stay calm. We’re good.”

I pull over to the side of the road, turn my flashers on and the car off. As much as I hate to let go of Hope, I put my hands on the steering wheel, up high where they’re visible. I know the drill. I’ve done this before.

Except something tells me small-town justice is different from what I’m used to.

“Good afternoon, sir. Uh, hey, Hope,” the man says as he walks up to the driver’s window. He’s in his late twenties, I’d guess, with a fresh undercut, sharply trimmed beard, and a gym-bro vibe despite the crisp uniform.

Hope’s release of her nervously held breath is audible as she sees it’s not Sheriff Laurier. “Oh hell, you scared the bejesus outta me. Hey, Brandon,” Hope responds, apparently familiar with Officer Bro. “What seems to be the problem?”

“Deputy West for now, please,” he corrects her, standing on formality.

Hope narrows her eyes, looking at him like a second head just sprouted on his shoulder and is speaking Latin. When he holds firm, she sasses back, “Seriously? M’kay, I’ll remember that next time you come in to see Dr. Payne. You can call me Miss Barlowe while I’m scraping the tartar off that weird back molar of yours.”

His lips turn down at the corners, but he doesn’t otherwise react. “Sir, I pulled you over because it seems like you might be having some difficulty driving. You made a questionable U-turn, and then it seemed like you swerved when the road is perfectly straight. How much have you had to drink today?” He thinks he’s slick, using every subjectivequalifier like “mightbe having difficulty” and it “seemedlike” I swerved, and not askingifI had alcohol, but rather how much.

He’s playing the game fast and loose, so it’s a good thing I’ve played before too.

“That U-turn is totally legal,” Hope informs him, leaning over the console. “If you’re gonna start ticketing people for that, you’re gonna have to write more tickets than you’ve got on your little pad”—she wiggles her fingers at the fake leather binder in his hand—“and everyone in town’s gonna riot.” She grins primly, like her argument will totally shut him down and end this charade.

We all know he has no real reason to pull me over, that the turn-around and swerve Ididn’tdo aren’t why we’re here. Hope is.

He’s definitely a Team Roy sort of guy, probably thinking Hope should shape up and bow down to her man or something equally antiquated, and when he saw her in the car with someone other than his boss’s baby boy, he sprang into action like the kiss-ass he is.

I let my eyes go deadly vacant as I stare into his muddy-brown ones. “This is what you’re going with?” He blinks first, not expecting the challenge but also not taking back the question. Grunting softly, I add, “Fine. I’ve had no alcohol today.”

“Deputy West,” Hope says, her tone sharper than a blade, “we’ve been at my house for hours, with four other witnesses that’ll vouch that we haven’t had anything to drink. Just my mom’s cheesy-chicken casserole, green salad, and ice water. Anything else you want to know?”

I could kiss Hope right now. I could also kill her so she’d shut the fuck up, because she’s gonna get us both arrested. I love that she’s finding her spine, but with her ex’s police buddy probably isn’t the best place to do it.

“Do you have your license and registration for the rental car?” the deputy asks me, choosing to ignore Hope’s argumentative attack. But he’s gritting his teeth to do it.

“Yep. Wallet’s in my pocket.” Slowly, I get my license from my wallet and then gesture for Hope to move so I can get the rental paperwork from the console. She huffs as she plops back in her seat, crossing her arms over her chest and grumbling about “assholes all over this town who think they can do whatever the hell they want.”

I changed my mind. I only want to kiss her. And maybe give her a megaphone so she can shout her rant from the rooftops of the town hall or wherever people congregate so they’d hear her version of why she ran. They’d understand then, and nobody would be on Team Roy. Not even his daddy’s lackeys.

When I hand the paperwork over, Deputy West looks grateful to get the hell away from Hope, nearly running back toward his SUV and leaving us alone for a moment.

I don’t have any outstanding tickets, warrants, or offenses. I know that without a doubt. I’ve been a good boy for years, and even if I hadn’t been, AMM would’ve taken care of it. But I don’t trust that this deputy is playing by the rules, and I think there’s a very real possibility I’m leaving this traffic stop in the back of his SUV, to be taken to an undisclosed location for Roy to beat the shit out of me while his boys play hype squad and hold me down.

“It’s gonna be fine,” I tell Hope, keeping my voice steady even as I prepare to fight. “But if anything happens, the code for my phone is 1111. Sean’s in the contacts. Call him for me, okay?” I push my phone at her before she can say a word, though I catch the sudden flash of fear in her eyes as the seriousness of the situation hits her. But it’s too late to reassure her any further because the deputy returns.

---