Page 4 of Sinful Reality

“If that’s all, Cap?” I give up on my farce and move to Fletch’s side again, my shoulder touching his and my heart pounding in my chest.For a million reasons, really. “Mia’s gonna be waiting for him, so it’s probably best that we head out now.”

“Of course.” Bower takes a step back, releasing Fletch from his obligation to stay the fuck still. “You’re dismissed.”

I grab Fletch’s arm and turn us, my feet moving fast and my entire body crashing against the heavy door to shove it open, only for a burst of freezing air to sprint into the precinct. “Let’s go.”

“Jesus.” He brushes my hand off and stops on the sidewalk, dropping his shoulders back, his eyes searching the dark sky and his chest lifting and falling in search of fresh air. “I thought I was cooked.”

“You’ll never get through trial without admitting to stealing a fucking cookie when you were five.Here, Judge, I pre-wrote a list of confessions so as not to inconvenience you, the jury, or the entire American legal system.So sorry it’s not double spaced for ease of reading.Fucking newb.” I fist his sleeve and yank him away from the front of the precinct, just in case Bower is still watching. “How are you, Charlie Fletcher—badass homicide cop, street kid, dude who knows how to fight with his hands,or else—but you’re out here whiter than a ghost all because the captain wanted to talk for a second?”

“Shut up.” He wrenches his arm from my grip, but at least he continues walking. “Mind your business.”

“I don’t need to ask if you popped Booth. You haveGUILTYwritten across your forehead.”

“I said,” he snarls, screeching to a stop and burning me with a glare. “Mind your business.”

“You stepped into the big leagues, kid, but you’re gonna strike out because you’re so fucking green. If you can’t live with the decisions you’ve made, you shouldn’t have made them in the first damn place.”

“I’m living with it,Capo. And whateveritis, is none of your business. My life is mine, and Booth’s death needn’t be discussed.”

“That’s the party line, anyway.” I run a hand through my hair and scratch in hopes of easing the tension coiling in my belly. “Fuck, Fletch. You can’t keep the secret! The second Bower calls you into his office, it’s all over.”

“You shouting this shit in the street is the only reason anything could be over for me.” He rolls his eyes and turns on his heels. “I’m going home. My baby is waiting for me, and our best lives are just getting started.”

“Fletch!”

“New episodes of Bluey dropped today.” He glances over his shoulder and smirks. “It’s called priorities, son.”

“Wait!” I plant my feet shoulder-width apart and put my hands in my pockets. But at least he slows and peeks back, his honeycomb eyes scouring my face and his lips curling subtly.

When I say nothing, he lifts his chin. “What?”

“You have a therapist you see most days?” My heart thrums to a steady, comforting pace, because I had no clue my best friend was taking care of himself so well. This new knowledge soothes hurts I didn’t know I was carrying. “Really? I’m proud of you.”

“Yeah.” He laughs and licks his lips. “Her name is Seraphina Lewis, and Iseeher as often as I can.”

His words are like a bucket of ice water tossed on my head. “What?”

“We don’t really talk,” he chuckles. “Mostly, she has no clue I’m around. Sometimes the onlyseeingI get to do is when she’s on the news with Lawrence. But alas, she’spuuurrty, and the fire in her eyes is like a balm on my burning skin.”

“You’re a jackass. For a second there, I was really fucking touched. Like you were truly prioritizing your mental health. Made me proud. Seraphina Lewis?” I turn and shake my head. “Someday you’re gonna end up in a hospital for the mentally deranged because you never gave yourself time to heal from things you needed to heal from.”

“You’ll visit me. That’s what best friends are for.”

“I’ll write you a letter on the first of every month,” I growl. “They’ll all sayI told you so, you fuckwit.”

“I look forward to them.” Laughing, he spins and continues toward his apartment. “Love ya, Arch. Enjoy your full night’s rest. My grief bought you relief from being on-call.”

“Mmhm.” Shaking my head, I start toward home with the happy anticipation of what I’m walking toward rolling in my belly. A hot meal, a steaming shower. Both to be enjoyed with my wife. My brother will probably be nearby, but he knows when to skedaddle. He’s young and a little stupid, but he respects a man’s need for alone-time with his wife, and he has somewhere else to go to wile away his time.

Taking out my phone and swiping the lock screen away, I spy a pebble on the sidewalk, round and smooth, but with a sharp edge on one end, like it was dropped from somewhere high up and part of it broke away on impact. Scooping it up, I slide it and my hand into my pocket while typing with the other.

I’m heading home, Mayet. I’m craving Mexican and you. I’m about to walk past the George Stanley, so you better not be in your office rotting away.

I hit send, only to cut right at the revolving glass doors of her multi-story building and catch the security guard’s eyes before I have to move more than four feet into the lobby. “She here?”

He shakes his head. Silent, stoic, straight to the fuckin’ point, exactly how I like him.

“She went home?”

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