Page 48 of Come Back to Me

The open-plan space holds five desks, two in a row twice over and then mine at the front.

If my buddies in the CAF could see me now, they’d either laugh at the perceived demotion or they’d congratulate me on finding a chunk of peace that allows me to control my combat-ready stance.

My day-shift staff are seated at their desks when I step inside the department, but it’s Martin Poitras who scuttles over to me. “Everything okay, chief? Nothing happened at the bar?”

Sensing my team of four’s interest, I hitch a shoulder. “Told them they were testing my patience. Doubt it’ll work, but it was worth a shot.”

That sends the others back to their work, but Marty mutters, “Had three more complaints.”

I scrape a hand over my hair. “Anything else?”

“General store reported some shoplifting?—”

“Local kids?”

He nods. “I took their names.”

“Send Berrien over to talk to their parents.”

“Will do.”

The day in and of itself isn’t a shitty one, but I linger on my initial meeting with Amy.

Paulie’s at the forefront of my mind. So’s Ricky.

I became a man with those assholes. We went up through the ranks together.

It’s hard not to feel like I’ve been abandoned.

No man left behind, my ass.

I’m relieved to get out of the detachment, less so when I finally take out my personal phone and see that Callan’s updated the trouble twins’ locations no less than four times.

Gritting my teeth, I set the map for their current destination and begin the drive into Saskatoon.

Callan’s right though. Little shit. I do like long drives. Sometimes, they’re all that’ll clear my head.

When my cell rings, I contemplate ignoring it. “Fuck.”

I forgot about Mike.

I accept the call as I crack my neck. “I’m on the road.”

“Fine with me. Why would I care where you are so long as you’re not putting yourself in danger?”

My initial sessions with him were fractious. His methods help, though. Even if he is annoying as fuck.

I heave a sigh. “Well?”

“You’re supposed to talk. Not me.”

“Aren’t you going to ask any questions?”

“How’s life?”

“Ted—” Before I can finish the word ‘tedious,’ I blink. Cracking my neck again, I mutter, “I’m not sure.”

“You were going to say tedious then you stopped yourself. Why? I know CBT practices are boring after a while, but there’s comfort in that.”

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