Page 166 of Brazen Mistakes

“I kind of wish I looked like me.”

“It’s just for tonight.”

“And tomorrow.”

“And tomorrow. Play a little game, pretend, and then come back to us, just the way you are.”

I lean into him as he unlocks the house. “That’s a promise I can keep. This is just a role. Just for a little bit. And then, I’ll be back. Me. Only me.”

Chapter 58

RJ

Closing out of the tabs I’d thrown open earlier for the cop makes my chest tight. I should be happy that these four monsters are off my watch list. But handing that data over made me sweat. I’m lucky today is windy and frigid, otherwise it would have been coming down my face in rivers.

If only I could figure out what’s stressing me out about it.

It might be giving intel to a cop making my skin itchy. I’ve never been a fan, and the past year has made it abundantly clear that in the eyes of a man in blue, I’m only ever a threat. And every time I’m near a cop, it just gets worse. Clarified. I never sought out any enemies, but I have them, nonetheless.

There’s also the chance that I simply hate giving up control. I already know I will check up on the task force to make sure they’re dealing with these monsters. They’re on a silver platter, so it shouldn’t be difficult, but Idon’t have a lot of faith that the cops will do what needs to be done. I’ve added work to my pile, not taken it off, despite what Clara thinks.

Or it might be Clara taking the risk on my behalf. I don’t want her tied up in anything involving her ex and his pervy network, even as a secret champion for those kids I’ve seen. Officer Reed now knows that she’s involved insomething, even if he doesn’t know exactly what it is. And I don’t want that for her. I want her to be invisible to every threat she comes across.

And if not invisible, able to protect herself.

I don’t doubt that she’ll get there. But there’s a nagging sensation that I’ve missed something. That she’s going to need what I can teach her sooner than I can get her ready to face it.

Which brings back the feeling that things aren’t right, even though logically I did the right thing today.

Instead of dwelling on it, I check on my dad, finding him at home, where he should be. Looking at his past locations since New Year’s, I’m happy to see that there aren’t any pings from casinos. There’s also a little over an hour spent yesterday at a church we don’t attend, and when I dig into it, I find a Gamblers Anonymous meeting held there. The hint of hope flares.

I shove it back down. At least until I dig into his medical records and find an appointment at the VA a few months out.

I don’t want the hope to catch, but it digs into my ribs without permission. Maybe this time can be the last time. Sending off a little “Good job, Pops,” message, both an honest accolade and a heads-up that I’m watching him, I let the hope grow until it’s bright in my chest.

Hope is dangerous.

It’s also necessary.

A knock on my door distracts me. Throwing it open, wishing it’s Clara, I find Trips, freshly showered but dressed in sweats. My phone buzzes a second later, and he pockets his, signaling where my message came from.

He paces into my room, his lip twisting into a sneer when he sees the mess on my desk, then spins and goes back to the other side of the room. Closing the door and pulling up my chair, I wait for whatever he wants to say. Because there has to be something.

“So,” he says.

I wait.

Two more passes, and he huffs out a breath. “Are you okay?”

“How so?”

“After that bullshit cop shit on New Year’s.”

The tightness in my chest gets worse, but I force myself to pretend nothing’s changed. Like I told Clara, I don’t want to talk about it. I’ll process it my way in my time. “Good enough.”

“Good.”

He stands there, fists clenched, panting like he’s run a mile, and I decide to at least acknowledge the effort. “Thanks for checking, though.”

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