Page 18 of Tameron

“This is a good place to be, Orrin. No matter how you feel or who you are. You know that, right?”

Orrin swallowed heavily. He’d been here for a few months before Captain Grant retired, so he pre-dated me at the station, and I was starting to wonder if maybe things had been rough before I showed up.

“My dad told me not to apply for this job,” he finally said quietly. “He said it was…that it was no place for a guy like me.”

“That doesn’t sound very kind,” I said.

“He’s not a bad guy,” Orrin said very quickly. “He just worries. He also grew up in rural Arkansas, so…” He trailed off with a laugh. “I was born and raised here, but I got beat up a lot in school.”

I was a little surprised. Orrin wasn’t a tall guy, but he was bulky as hell. I’d seen him deadlifting at the gym more than I would ever attempt, and he barely broke a sweat. “You got beat up?”

He snorted. “Trash-canned every day between third and fourth periods. But my junior year, my PE teacher realized I was strong, so he had the office change my schedule to weight lifting, and I got good at it. Really good. They stopped trying to push me around after that.”

I couldn’t help a small laugh, clapping my hand on his shoulder. “You’re amazing. And for what it’s worth, you neverhave to tell anyone here anything personal. But if people are giving you shit, I want to know about it. That is not how I’m going to run this place. This will be somewhere I can bring my partner, no matter their gender.”

Orrin looked at me, opened his mouth, then shut it. He wasn’t ready, and that was okay. But at least he knew now he didn’t have to stay silent.

“Listen, I gotta run, but I’ll see you Friday.”

He nodded and walked back toward the truck as I climbed into the SUV and headed down the road. The radio went off a few times, but I ignored it since I was officially off shift and only on call if it required a supervisor and the two officers below me were busy.

It sounded cliché, but I wasn’t like most battalion chiefs. A lot of them truly did earn their reputation of being the smarmy assholes who answered every call and sped through lights to show up where they weren’t needed or wanted, so long as it wouldn’t be actual work.

I hadn’t aged into this job after spending years breaking my back and was now looking for something cushy. I’d applied for it because I felt at home in the role. I’d always been a natural leader and wanted to help my team grow in all the ways they needed to. And I wanted to support them in all the ways they wanted to be supported.

It helped on long, lonely days when I wanted someone to care for. Someone to need me. Maybe someone who wanted to care for me right back when things got rough. I wasn’t actively looking or anything. It never worked out for me when I did, but I was hoping that maybe the universe would surprise me one day with the one person it decided was absolutely perfect for who I was.

I was in a better mood by the time I pulled into my parents’ driveway. They lived in a nice little ranch-style hometo accommodate my mom’s bad hips. It was a rare floor plan for the area, and it had a very seventies vibe that reminded me of my childhood visiting my grandparents. Dahlia kept calling it the Brady Bunch house until my mom got her feelings hurt, and after that, she only used it in the siblings group chat.

The driveway was surprisingly empty, so I pulled alongside my dad’s Vespa and grabbed my laundry bag from the back. I punched in the door code before hitting the doorbell three times in quick succession to let whoever was inside know it was me. We each had our own flashing lights code, though Dax was the asshole who always forgot, and I swear he was going to be the reason for their heart attacks one of these days.

Heading to the right, I dropped my bag on the washer, then made my way through the house. It was quiet and still, so I slipped through the kitchen and found the back door cracked open. Unsurprisingly, I could see my dad a few yards down the grass with his ass in the air, fixing something near his chicken coop fence.

That was his newest hobby—chickens. He’d seen some Instagram reel with these adorable chickens with feathery poofs on their heads and immediately bought a dozen eggs to hatch. Only three did the first year, but now he had nine—no roosters, which Mom insisted. She didn’t want to be run out of the neighborhood by the angry hearing people who were woken up by crowing at the ass crack of dawn.

And Dad was fine with what he got. His girls, he called them. They each had little collars with bows, and he was always taking photos and signing to them like they were his other grandkids.

I was halfway to him when Rizz came hurtling around from the bushes. He barked twice at me, then ran to Dad and nudged his arm. Dad turned his head, and his face broke out into a huge smile as he climbed to his feet and brushed the dirt off his jeans.

“Hey!” he said loudly, opening his arms for me.

I was several inches taller than him, but he always made me feel small and safe when he hugged me. ‘Do-do?’ I signed, staring at the hole he was digging.

He scoffed. ‘Nothing. Just reinforcing the fence. Dolly keeps getting out, and Betty and Rita are encouraging her.’

I rolled my eyes, laughing. ‘Want some help?’

He looked me up and down, then waved me off. ‘Go. Sit. You look tired.’

‘Thanks,’ I signed with a heavy eye roll.

He gave my cheek a sharp pat before shoving me toward one of his sun loungers. There was a big glass of iced tea in the cupholder, and I took a sip, grimacing at the sweetness. I had no idea who’d turned my parents on to sweet tea, but I wanted to maim them for it. The shit was disgusting.

‘Give me five minutes,’ Dad said, then turned his back to me, dropping onto the grass.

When Rizz realized he was back off duty, he trotted up and jumped onto the lounger, immediately sniffing me all over. He’d been a little more curious now that I had Knives, and I was debating when I should bring her over to introduce them. I didn’t think she’d be thrilled about an overly enthusiastic corgi, but I wanted her to eventually be desensitized to strangers.

I gave Rizz a scratch between his ears before pulling back. ‘Ball?’ I signed. He knew a few verbal commands but wasn’t great at following them.

---