Page 15 of Everlasting Promises

I adjust my position, preparing to ask a tough question. “Can I ask about his father? Evan said he died in Syria.” Maybe it only happened recently.

Her eyes instantly darken with sadness as she drops her gaze, and I watch her slender throat move when she swallows. “Yeah. Almost six years ago. He was … uh … he … uh … he … died in an explosion.” Her fingers flutter up to her delicate collarbones. “Evan was only five when we lost his father.” She swallows again, glancing at me, then quickly averts her gaze, but not before I see the tears forming.

I watch her curl in on herself, wrapping her arms tight around her body as if she’s trying to hold herself together. Every instinct in my body is fighting to peel her arms away and replace them with mine, but I lock those thoughts down. That would be highly inappropriate.

“I’m sorry for your loss. I can only imagine your devastation.” I don’t want to tell her I appreciate her husband’s sacrifice for our country; it doesn’t seem right to say the words, because I bet she doesn’t want to hear them. His sacrifice has cost her and Evan dearly. This is the other side of the cost of war, and it’s devastatingly painful.

Hope nods once. “It’s been … uh … difficult.”

I bet. Shifting on the stool, I grasp the back of my neck. “I promised the manager that Evan would participate in community service.”

Hope nods, her eyebrows drawn tight. “Fair enough. What do we need to do?”

“I run a program for kids around Evan’s age down atThe Paw Palaceevery other Saturday morning. The kids spend a couple of hours with the dogs and cats, grooming them, exercising, and playing with them. They hang out with theanimals and give them some much-needed attention. I started the program to help kids who were making poor decisions and finding themselves in trouble. It helps the team at the shelter give the animals some one-on-one time, too. It’s a win-win for everyone involved. I’d like Evan to join us, if you’re okay with it. I think it’ll be good for him.”

Her fingers slide into her hair again, clearly a nervous habit. “I feel like that would be more a reward than a punishment for Evan. He’s always wanted a dog.”

I smile softly. “I don’t have a problem with it being a reward, and you shouldn’t either.” Her eyebrows slant down, and she opens her mouth, but I hold up my hand. “Sometimes redirecting behavior works better than punishment does. Several kids in the program have lost a parent, and it’ll give Evan the opportunity to see he’s not alone. These animals are homeless. Some of them have experienced abuse. Working with the animals gives the kids a sense of purpose outside of themselves, and I find it helps the kids get out of their own heads. The kids in the group are supportive of each other, and they’ll welcome Evan into the fold. It’ll provide him with community—people his own age with similar experiences.” She nods thoughtfully, and I stand. I’ve lingered too long, and if I stay any longer, I may never leave. “Think about it. We’ll be there at ten a.m. next Saturday.” I rap my knuckles on the counter. “I hope I’ll see Evan there. You’re welcome to stay the first time so you can see what we do, but after that, I prefer the kids to be on their own. He’s more likely to engage with the other kids if you’re not there.”

She nods again. “Thank you. I’ll bring him down. It may be exactly what he needs.”

My stomach flips at the thought of seeing her again. Hope follows me to the front door, past the shrine of a family that once was, but no longer is.

I don’t think Evan is the only one in this house struggling with the loss of his father. It’s clear Hope is lost, too. I step over the threshold of the front door, reluctant to leave, but I’m on patrol and can’t linger here for the rest of my shift. I have paperwork to do.

“Thanks for bringing him home and for speaking with the manager on his behalf. I appreciate your compassion and understanding.”

One side of my mouth rises. “You’re welcome. If possible, I prefer not to take a hard line with kids. They make mistakes. We all do. It’s how we learn who we are and what we’re made of. It’s how we make sense of our place in the world.” I trace my eyes over her pretty face, cataloging her delicate features and storing them in my memory. “Enjoy your evening, Hope.”

“You, too. Bye, Sergeant.”

“You can call me Ben.”

She bites her bottom lip and nods. “Okay. Thanks, Ben.”

I head down the porch steps, and once I’m on the pavement, I turn around. “Make sure you lock your doors.” My tone is firm, brooking no argument.

She uses two fingers to salute me. “Yes, sir.”

My cock twitches in my pants, and I smirk at her sassy comeback. Oblivious to my reaction, she spins on her heel and walks back inside. I hear the click of the lock and, knowing they’re safely secured inside, I walk the short distance to my cruiser.

Once inside, I drop my head back against the headrest and blow out a long breath. I can’t remember the last time I felt that level of attraction. I glance up at the house one last time, then start the car, pulling onto the road. I can’t wait for next Saturday.

7

HOPE

I slowly wake,then fold into a tight ball beneath my covers as awareness rolls through me—it’s the anniversary of the worst day of my life. Anxiousness has been my constant companion leading up to today. I’ve barely eaten, and it’s been a struggle to function.

I was determined to face this day differently than I have before.

I wanted to be stronger this time. I want to be overit,for fuck’s sake.

My stomach twists, and my heart stutters.

I’m so fucking weak.

I wrap myself tighter in the sheets and curl inward as if I can somehow protect myself from this pain.But how do I protect myself when the pain is inside me?It’s relentless. The devastation of my loss—ourloss—steals my breath and breaks my heart daily. It twists my mind into dark and treacherous places, and I don’t know how I’m supposed to move forward and break out of the clutches of this tragedy.

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