Page 54 of Before Now

“He means no more black eyes.” Sage cocks her head, swinging open the passenger door. “So, use the back seat. There’s more room.” And because she is Sage Teller, she slips in, “You drive a spacious SUV, right, Officer Hottie?”

Before my glare fully lands, she ducks into the car. They drive away as I turn, and Roman’s already staring down at me.

“You have no idea how glad I am she’s only minimally rubbed off on you.”

I laugh and fall into step with him when he heads down the sidewalk to his police-issued SUV parked at the curb. “She still has time,Officer Hottie.”

He chuckles, and I crawl in, smashing my poor wings against the seat.

Roman Moore is handsome, though. Dark brown skin and strong features that don’t go unnoticed, his beard trimmed short, and wavy hair in a low fade. And his eyes—deep brown and warm. They’ve always been so gentle. What you’d want to see in a crisis, which is why he says his grandma wanted him to become an officer. It took a while for life to get him there, but he made it.

Even when I first met him, he could make me feel safe. That was when I was eight, and he was a strung-out twenty-two-year-old, fucking my mom. I fully ignore the last part in my mind. I think he does too. Especially after Daniel married her and became Roman’s chief.

He’d been clean for years by then, got out of Hunts for a fresh start. I remember how bad it got for him before that. Before he told me he had to leave, and he was so sorry, and I didn’t see him for a long time.

By the time my mom and I moved to Ashfield, he’d been working here as a cop for a few years. The chief at the time thought his recovery and commitment to sobriety showed resilience. Too bad the man retired. From what I’ve witnessed, Roman’s one of the few cops under Daniel that stays clean.

As we pull out of the parking lot, Roman flips on the heat for me. He shakes his head when he looks over at my skirt, illuminated in a streetlight. But then his lips turn up, and he reaches over, squeezing my shoulder.

“I missed you,” he says.

“I’m pretty damn missable.”

He nods. “That you are. How have things been since the last time I snuck you away?”

“Nothing all that exciting,” I tell him, infusing it with pep. “It’s senior year, so everyone’s choosing colleges and hunting down scholarships and filling out?—”

The words stop when he hits the brakes, pulling into an alley behind the library that sits off our town’s square. He throws the cruiser in park and shuts off the headlights but keeps it running for the heat.

Then he unbuckles and twists toward me, gripping the back of my seat. He studies me in the dim light, and I swallow.

“Remi,” he says quietly.

My lids fall closed when he grasps my chin, but I still know when the dome light turns on. Tears sting the backs of my eyes. I wait until it stops before I open them, Roman’s gaze hard. His jaw’s even harder, his focus on the sliver under my eye not covered by face paint—where the bruising shows.

“What’s the lie you’re going to tell me?” he asks.

I half-smile. “Some chick elbowed me in gym class.”

The words are weak, little effort behind them since he already called me on it.

Then he looks down at my arm warmers, and my chest constricts.

“And what did she do to your arms?” After a second of me not answering, he lets his hand fall from my face. He slowly reaches for the top of my right arm warmer. He gives me every chance to stop him. Instead, I exhale and carefully draw down the left one and show him the bandage over the underside of my forearm.

“I landed on a broken wine glass,” I whisper the truth.

Roman’s nostrils flare, his head shaking. I can tell he wants to unleash on something, his fists clenched. He forces a slow inhale, hands loosening. “Is this the first time he’s hit you?” His voice sounds strained, the calm surface level.

My entire body hurts, and I can’t bring myself to say it aloud.

When no answer answers him, he laughs without humor. “Of fucking course it’s not.”

“It’s not normally bad for me. He usually…” I swallow and have to push the words out, “I got in the w?—”

“Finish that sentence, and I’ll lose my fucking shit.” He swings his gaze to mine, his eyes safe to me even when he’s seething. “The only way to get in the way is if it’s happening. If it’s happening, not a goddamn part of it is an accident.”

I nod because what else can I do? Disagree? Daniel accidentally gets loaded and fights with his pilled-up wife, and then unintentionally beats her? And me when I try to help too much?

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