Page 19 of Bleeding Outside the Lines

I slowly lean back into the soft booth, careful not to tear my stitches, and take in Garrett sitting a few feet away from me.

“You remember when we were kids, and we would ride our bikes in that neighborhood with the flowers?”

“You mean the bikes we stole?”

I can’t help but laugh. “Yes, those bikes. Do you remember the neighborhood?”

“The one with the um…” He huffs. “What the fuck were those flowers called, they were purple, right?”

“Yeah, but the flowers aren’t the point. You remember the neighborhood?”

“We used to pop those suckers.” Garrett smiles, his own train of thought not yet on course with mine.

“Fucking hostas G.” I glare at him. “Again, not the point. Anyway, you know how there was that huge ass hill, and we would ride down it with our eyes closed?”

“Those were the fucking days, Cass. Man, I miss that shit.”

“And sometimes,” I continue, “we would take our hands off the handlebars? Scared shitless that we would crash, but also seeking the high of it?”

“Yeah, man.”

“That feeling? I haven’t felt that way in a long time. Even when I’m torturing some poor sap that got in over his head. Or killing that guy the other night? It was just work. Same shit, different day. And the worst part is, I didn’t even realize that’s what was missing until her.” I signal to the bar for a refill and finish the drink I’ve been babysitting for the last half hour in three sips. “Because Ruby? She’s like an active bomb, and I just want to be the one to cut the right wire, but I’m also feeding off the fact that she could blow.”

Garrett’s head tilts to the side, his brows furrowed. “Can’t you just go skydiving or swim with sharks like a normal person?”

“Only you would think that shit was normal.”

He shrugs his shoulders. We both know he craves that shit too. It’s why he’s constantly getting his dick wet. In his casethough, it’s about the one who got away. The one he couldn’t have, and the one he couldn’t save. He won’t admit it, but I see through him. He looks for her everywhere, but she’s gone, and she can never come back. You don’t come back from death, but it doesn’t stop her ghost from haunting him. Hannah’s been haunting him since we were sixteen years old.

I think a part of him will always blame himself. He watches the crowd grinding on the dance floor, a smile plastered on his face, but it’s just a prop. It doesn’t reach his eyes. It never does.

That tired old story, the one about the girl from the suburbs falling for the guy on the wrong side of the tracks? That shit was Garrett’s real life until it was his very real nightmare. Her dad forbade Hannah from seeing Garrett. He took her car so she couldn’t go to him, but that brave ass girl got herself on the bus. It would be her first and last time. Her broken, bloodied body waited for us on the front porch of my house. Garrett and I were both arrested for her rape and murder but were eventually released when a video of us shoplifting at a local store confirmed our alibi. If we had gotten home sooner, maybe she would still be alive. If she and Garrett had never met, maybe she would still be alive. If I had made a different choice, maybe she wouldn’t haunt us both.

Garrett’s eyes widen slightly, the only tell that something is off. I follow his gaze and see two detectives flanking my empty-handed waitress. Their worn, ill-fitting suit jackets giving them away. Not only is she bringing cops to my fucking table, but she’s doing it empty-handed. I make a mental note to fire her after I get rid of the pigs.

The detective to her right sees me and slows. He’s an older guy, with graying hair and a little weight around his middle. He puts out an arm in front of the waitress to stop her and turns to say something in her ear. Her momentum slows and then stops.She glances up at me, and I nod her my permission. She scurries back to the bar.

The other guy is a rookie, but it’s not only his young face that gives it away. It’s his bravado. The guy has no idea that he walked into the wolf’s den. The moment he sees me, his chest puffs and his movements quicken. I bet he creams his pants before he even gets his dick out. In his mind, he’s big and bad. In everyone else’s, he’s earnest and asking for a fight he cannot win.

He’s the first to arrive at the booth, his eyebrows stand at attention over his dark eyes, and he widens his stance in an attempt to look larger. Garrett and I make eye contact across the table, rolling our eyes in tandem. Is this guy for real?

“Cassius Cross?” he asks, his voice barely audible over the music.

I tap an index finger to my ear and lean forward, my face screwed up in confusion.

“Cassius Cross,” he says louder this time.

I strain my head closer, pulling my large body out of the booth just enough that the rookie takes a startled step back.

“Cassius Cross,” he screams this time.

“Jesus Christ,” the seasoned detective yells, finally joining the circus. “He’s sitting right fucking there.”

He gives the rookie a pointed look that reads,shut your damn trap.

A laugh escapes me, and I nod my head in greeting to the two men.

“Cassius Cross,” the rookie begins, and the older one actually slaps him upside the head.

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