Page 33 of Missing

I remembered the stories Phil and John would tell about people vomiting or relieving themselves in their squad cars, and how awful it would smell until it could be detailed.Poor guy. We talked for a little while longer then rescheduled our plans for the following night.

“I’m sorry again for having to reschedule.”

“I totally understand.” I was disappointed but understood. It came with the territory when dating someone whose job was unpredictable.

Not to mention dangerous.

Did I really want to get involved with a man who risked his life to save others?Am I ready for the chaos that comes with his schedule, the risk that comes with his job?Would it be fair to Chase?The rescheduled dates, the canceled plans, the missed holidays?

The freak storms that caused life-ending accidents?

Could I put Chase through that?

“Thanks for understanding, Beth. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“You’re welcome. Good night.”

I finished my wine and poured myself another glass. I barely paid attention to the movie as my mind kept pondering the reality of dating Doug. Before long, my mind drifted to his client. Doug hadn’t shared much, but he had mentioned the homeless camp, and the drug addiction. I couldn’t help thinking about how I’d feel, what I’d do, if Chase ended up in a situation like that. I’d love him and support him, of course, but would I be able to provide the tough love required to help him? Could I force him into rehab and therapy? I’d like to think I could, if that was what he needed, but I didn’t really know.

And I hope I never find out.

I finished my second glass of wine and debated pouring another. Drowning out the negative thoughts in a third glass didn’t sound like a bad idea.

Having a third glass in such a short period of time would leave me feeling like shit, so I decided against it.I’m not as young as I used to be.

After washing my glass, I re-corked the bottle and put it in the fridge. My mind wandered back to Doug’s client as I got ready for bed. As I turned off my light, I prayed to God Chase would never want, or feel the need, to use drugs.

Chapter 18

Beth

The next night, Doug came over after Chase went to bed. It wasn’t a date, per se; all we’d be doing was sitting on my couch watching TV or talking. I changed into a nice shirt and applied a little lip gloss anyway.It never hurts to look good.

The first thing I noticed when I opened the door was The Chocolatier bag in Doug’s hands. The thrill of seeing the bag was quickly replaced with worry—Doug’s face looked like he’d gone a round with an angry cat, and lost.

He said he didn’t get hurt.

“What happened?” I shut the door behind him and turned the deadbolt. It was compulsive for me to lock my doors, both in my car and at home.

“A few scratches, that’s all.” He handed me the bag, and changed the subject, “I hope you don’t mind that I brought ice cream as an apology instead of flowers.”

“Not at all.” Instead of taking the bag, I reached up and turned his head so I could look at his scratches more closely.

Doug endured my examination, a patient smile on his lips. “Is this the worst of it?” They didn’t look deep enough to scar.

“Yes, and I washed them out with hydrogen peroxide after I got home."

I nodded as he talked, my eyes scanning the bare skin on his strong arms looking for evidence of other injuries.

“Beth, honestly,” he lifted my chin with his free hand, “these scratches are my only injuries.”

“Okay.” Men like Doug tended to underplay their injuries, so my skepticism was warranted. I nodded as I mumbled, “Good. Good.” My concern slowly subsided.

“Come here,” he said as he set the bag on the counter and pulled me into his arms. “I’m okay, I promise,” he whispered in my ear before kissing the top of my head. When he pulled away, he asked, “Are you ready for some ice cream?”

I wiped away a wayward tear, this one from relief, as I stepped back. “Always. What flavors did you get?”

“Brownie Delight and Pistachio. Please tell me you like at least one of them,” Doug said as he took the containers out of the bag.

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