Page 10 of Play Pretend

THEO:

Uh-oh! Someone’s in trouble!!

Brynne, did you make my sweet little sister play hookie again?

BRYNNE:

Your “sweet little sister” is a psychotic heathen who is a bad influence on ME!

THEO:

All I’m saying is that she didn’t have a tattoo before she met you…

BRYNNE:

She was seventeen when she met me. OF COURSE she didn’t have a tattoo, you buffoon.

They continued their conversation, and I sighed, locking my phone. I scanned my office, still tapping my pen on the wood. It wouldn’t be the first time Trin was hiding somewhere in plain sight just to jump out and scare me. But my eyes caught and lingered on my desk, and exhaustion weighed heavily on my shoulders.

The neat stacks of papers seemed to grow by the minute. Why had I agreed to do this job again? It was a never-ending stream of paperwork and townies calling to yell at me.

What was that saying? No good deed went unpunished or some shit?

Not that I thought I was god’s gift to the world, but I liked to believe I made my little corner of it a bit safer. Apart from this string of burglaries, Cedar Ridge was the safest place on the planet. Women didn’t have to worry about walking alone at night, people could usually keep their doors unlocked, and nothing nefarious happened.

Other than calming down the rivalry between Cedar Ridge and Blackrock Bay at The Taphouse, it was a quiet town. Which was what I liked.

Everything was predictable, familiar. I knew exactly what to expect. There were no surprises. It was better this way—safer.

I’d tried to be a cop in the city, but the shit I saw…another breath filled my lungs. There was a reason I came back to my hometown six years ago, and it wasn’t entirely because I missed my family.

I wasn’t ashamed to admit that I didn’t want to be a part of the boys' club with the other cops. Every one of their jokes went against my very nature, against everything I stood for as a man.I bristled. I fought the urge to punch my brothers in blue in the face every time one of them opened their mouth and sexist bullshit fell out.

But I couldn’t do that.

So, I left.

I came back to a place I knew was safe, a place I knew wouldn’t treat its female citizens likethat.

I was happy, but it plummeted a year later.

With a groan, I got to my feet and pushed those memories away. It was getting close to the anniversary, but I couldn’t stand to think about it, to remember it. And with every day closer, my OCD got worse, my PTSD reared its ugly head more than usual, and my insomnia was the worst it had ever been.

I hadn’t slept in days. At all. Not even the pretend sleep where I was awake, but my eyes were closed. They were pried open, like that horrific scene inA Clockwork Orange. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t close them, couldn’t shut off my memories. Images flashed through my mind, reminding me of everything I’d almost lost.

My footsteps echoed as I trudged down the hallway. Another deep breath filled my lungs, and I slowly released it. Before I could take another step, a smaller body barreled into mine. I jolted backward, mostly from surprise, and let my hands instinctively shoot out to grab the person before they fell.

“Gotta go, big bro! Someone was shouting for me!” Trinity wiggled from my grip and blazed past me, her words registering a moment later. Spinning, I grabbed her arm before she could get too far. She bounced on her toes, antsy to get away. “Ro, man. I gotta go!”

“Iwas shouting for you,” I said, exasperated, pressing my hand to my chest. “It was me, Trin.Me. I’m the only person with an office back here. You know that?—”

“Oh, it was you?” She tilted her head to the side, her wild blonde hair spilling over her shoulder. Had she even brushed it this morning? I gave myself another moment to take her in, making sure she was whole and alright, then sighed when I realized she wasn’t wearing her uniform. Instead, she had on a yellow cardigan, blue jeans, and a black tank top. “Weird. It didn’t sound like your voice.” Her blue eyes, a mirror of my own, widened. She glanced around as she took a step closer, dropping her voice to a conspiratory level. “Do you think it's a wendigo? Or a shapeshifter?”

“Trin—”

“Wait! Don’t tell me!” She slapped her hand over my mouth, and I blinked at her. Thankfully, my OCD didn’t manifest in fear of germs, but right then, it took all I had not to rip her hand away.

The tip of my middle finger tapped against my thumb.

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