Page 3 of Sinful Reality

“I’m concerned,” Bower rumbles, his rounding body double the width of Fletch’s. And I know that because, of course, I turn my head and peek at the pair. “Things are very serious right now, Detective, and I’m worried.”

“About?”Fuck me over and stick a flagpole up my ass, because Fletch’s voice cracks like he’s fourteen all over again. “I’m doing the job, Cap. I’m turning up and working through our case load. Our reports are on Lieutenant Fabian’s desk every day for his approval, so it’s not like I’m getting lazy and going unchecked.”

Stop. Fucking. Speaking.

“I’m concernedbecauseyou’re coming to work,” he grumbles. “You buried your wife a week ago, Detective.”

“Ex-wife. We haven’t been together for a long time.”

“You buried the mother of your child,” he snaps. “Just one week ago.You stood up under the scrutiny of Midtown Detectives while they investigated her death.”

“I was cleared. Quickly and easily. My alibi was tight, sir. And the Midtown cops got what they needed without turning it into a whole fuss. My focus is on moving forward now. It’s about getting my daughter through this mess and coming out the other end with our hearts and minds intact.”

“Exactly my point.” He shifts on his feet, his two-hundred-and-fifty-odd pounds moving with his new stance. “You should be at home, Detective, concentrating on your child and probably a grief counseling session or two. Despite your divorce, Ms. Watson was someone you once swore your life to, and she was still very much your daughter’s mother. Her grief is your grief. I need to know you’re here, Detective Fletcher, healthy and intact.”

“I am. I swear.”

“It’s too soon.”

“Being at work is how I’ll heal. Keeping my daughter out of school helps nobody. Staying home does nothing but breed racing thoughts and those annoyingwhat ifsa man is apt to conjure in situations like this.”

“Detective Fletcher?—”

“My daughter needs to be in school with her friends. Routine and normalcy, so when we’re together in the evenings, we can be healthy and positive for each other. I’m better off coming to work,” he insists, “being with my best friend, sitting at my desk, seeing my colleagues, and nearly shitting my pants because my captain singled me out just now.” He chokes out a nervous laugh, lowering his gaze as he toes the floor. “I’m fine, Cap. The school is handling things and helping Mia through. They have a counselor on staff, not only for when my baby needs it, but as a weekly check-in from now until I decide we can do without. I havemy owntherapist, too, and I see her almost daily. My family and friends have set these safety nets up for us because they care that we’re okay. So with those precautions in place, I’d really like to just get back to work.” He brings his eyes up again. “Let this be my normal. I’m begging you. I’m ready and able to be here.”

Bower considers for a long beat, searching Fletch’s face, then glancing over his shoulder and catching my stare. I swing my head around again and go about my task of minding my own business—not—until finally, he huffs. “Fine. But Lieutenant Fabian has been ordered to pay particular attention to you, Detective Fletcher. You’ll be last on the on-call register until I decide otherwise.”

Curious, I peek their way again.

“Sir?” Fletch’s brows drop low to shadow his confused stare. “We’re on-call tonight. That’s the job.”

“The job is whatever I say it is. And for now, staying home with your child instead of crawling out of bed and onto a crime scene at three in the morning is what I’m ordering.”

“You’re benching me?”

He smiles, the bushy lines of his mustache rolling with his lips. “No, Detective. But I’m cutting you a little slack for the next little while. I’ll toss you and the eavesdropping Detective Malone back into full rotation when I see fit.”

One thousand speckles. One thousand and one. One thousand and two.

“Until then, you’ll do your standard hours and go home in time for dinner.”

“If you’re not benching me, then you’re allowing us to catch a case. If we catch a case, then we don’t get to clock out at five just because it’s nearly dinnertime.”

For God’s sake, dude. Shut the fuck up.

“We’ll juggle,” Bower counters, though his eyes dance with subdued humor. Reaching out, he pats Fletch’s shoulder. “I’ve said it before, but I want you to know you have my condolences. If you need time off, ask for it. Otherwise, I expect Fabian’s reports to come back squeaky clean. Once I’ve deemed it appropriate, I’ll toss you back into rotation and you won’t even notice my presence anymore.”

“Sure. Fine.” He exhales a breath of relief. Appreciation. Exasperation. “It’s a deal I’ll take. Oh, and thanks for hooking me up with the Commissioner’s Fund for Jada’s burial.”

“The Commissioner’s Fund?” Curious, Bower’s eyes come across to me.

“Yeah,” Fletch continues. “It made everything so much easier, knowing I didn’t have to find the money for all that.”

I nod, stony faced and serious, until Bower’s eyes flicker back to my partner.

“If I find myself in a position to contribute in the future, I’ll do my best to pay back what we took, so someone else can make use of the fund.”

“The Commissioner’s Fund…” He firms his lips into an almost straight line. “No problem. Glad we could help.”

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