Page 51 of Sinful Reality

Finally, Fletch’s moon eyes make way for the real guy underneath. He shakes his infatuated doofiness off and turns in the direction of his apartment, waiting, but not rushing her. “I wanted to ask how you’re liking your new job, anyway.” He flips me off when she can’t see, because I’m still staring and maybe, just a little, taunting him with my grin. Then he places his hand on the small of her back and leaves me in his dust.

No goodbye. No ‘good work today.’ Not even a ‘we’re still best friends, and I’ll always have room for you in my life.’

Seraphina Lewis walks in and, suddenly, I’m not shit to him.

And yet, I spin on my heels with a stupid grin on my lips and start toward home.

Because Charlie Fletcher deserves happiness. And fuck knows, maybe it’ll be with her. Maybe it won’t. Maybe he’ll join a religious camp where they’re not allowed to talk or sleep or have sex ever again. But whatever he chooses, it’ll be because that’s what he wants, and no longer because of the giant gray rain cloud named Jada Watson hanging over his head, fucking everything up and acting as the guillotine that’ll eventually end his life.

Have fun, bud. You earned it.

Digging my hands into my pockets to stave off the cold, I drop my head and move toward home, dinner already on my mind. The rich aroma of the Chinese restaurant a block or two up teases my senses. Busses potter by, the stench of diesel infringing on what smells good.

I think on the to-do list that stretches out of my ass, and the irony that it’s longer now than it would be if Fletchwasn’ton light duties. If we could work a case right through, we’d be closer to tying things up and crossing items off the list. But we’re not, which means I add, ‘have Minka translate the forensic odontologist’s report’ to tomorrow’s list. ‘Follow up on the DNAsamples Aubree pulled from Danika’s bones.’ ‘Schedule a call with Warden Conroy to discuss Buke and Tarran.’ Separate meetings, of course. All on tomorrow’s list.

I’m so used to working from start to finish without taking a moment to breathe that a list is so rarely created. Usually, we just move to the next thing, then the next, dragging folks out of bed and making enemies until we solve a case.

It’s an unhealthy system, and yet, one that works for us.

But for as long as Fletch is ordered to clock off at five and our suspect isn’t an immediate threat to civilians, we have no choice but to obey orders and be home at a respectable hour.

But then again, being at home with my wife and eating dinner before midnight is no hardship. I pass the hospital with my head down and cross the driveway, stepping up on the other side, only to shuffle out of the way when a woman practically hugs the wall, her stride far slower than mine, the cane she clutches in her left hand, impeding her movements.

Her soft brown hair is essentially the only detail my mind clings to before I’m on Minka again, my feet moving faster, my sights set on home. I focus on the neon sign out front of Tim’s bar and stop myself from jogging, if only so I don’t feel so stupid for rushing.

But I push on, and in mere minutes, dash through the heavy glass door leading into our apartment building and past the man who makes a life of sitting by the bottom of the stairs.

“Detective. Arrest anyone today?”

“Not yet. You volunteering?”

His friendly chuckle echoes into the stairwell as I continue up. “If I made it through the messy sixties on this side of a cage, I assure you, I have no desire to switch things up now that I’m old and comfortable.”

“Good choice.” Smiling, I jog onto the second-floor landing. “Mayet home?”

“Yep.” He practically shouts to be heard. “Sick as a dog and not at all pleased about it.”

“But she doesn’t get sick,” I tease under my breath, holding the stair banister and propelling myself forward.Everyone knows it, Mayet. Everyone is laughing at you behind your back. My phone beeps in my back pocket, a text first, and then an email. So I fish it out and read on the move, risking my neck as I come to the fourth-floor landing.

Janelle McDermott. Tarran McDermott’s daughter. Copeland Correctional.Words appear bolder than others as I skim the details and blindly reach for my door handle, only for it to swing wide anyway, my eyes jumping to Cato’s as he waits on the other side.

Instantly, my stomach dips, and Janelle McDermott becomes nothing but a memory. “What?” I glance past him in search of today’s reason to hurt. “What happened?”

“Nothing. I heard you coming.” So he steps out of the way and dramatically gestures toward the living area. I don’t see my wife, but the television is on, and a bag of Doritos lays open on the coffee table. “She hides in her own filth.”

“What?” Cautiously optimistic, I step into our apartment, setting my phone on the counter and coming up behind the couch. Then I look over and find Minka slouched, her socked feet on the table, her chin resting on her chest, her hair tied in a messy bun at the top of her head—almost near her forehead, considering her awkward posture—and Dorito dust smeared on her sweatpants.

Mysweatpants, to be specific.

“What the fuck is this?” I lean over the back of the couch and grab her chin, gently tugging her back and pressing a kiss to her cheesy lips. “You’re, uh…” I cough and laugh, shaking my head when she scowls. “You’re a mess, babe.”

“I’m sick, okay?” She bats my hand away and drops hers to her stomach, groaning, though I can’t be sure if it’s because she’s unwell due to germs or the sheer volume of corn chips she swallowed since we were last together. “My fever goes away with meds, but it keeps coming back.”

“That’s usually what happens.” I forget work for a minute. Fletch. Fifi. I forget Cato, even, and hitch my leg over the back of the couch. Dropping down on the other side, I tug her against my chest until she burrows in and sighs. “It’ll take a couple of days to pass. You didn’t learn that in medical school? Or that corn chips aren’t a viable source of good protein and vitamins to help fight the germs?”

She growls low on her breath. “I took vitamins already. And probiotics. I’ve drunk so much water, my pee is clearer on the way out than it was on the way in. I’ve replenished my electrolytes, consumed a healthy lunch, napped from three till four thirty, and woke up wanting Doritos.”Pulling away, she pins me with a glare. “Don’t come at me because of the cheese dust.”

“I’m proud of your elite self-care abilities.” I kiss the tip of her nose, careful not to taste too much of her dried snot.Love is love, but a man must have his limits.“Napping is a big deal. Do you feel better?”

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