Page 33 of Enemies with Benefits
"Because...cops aren't always there just to help kids who need it. They're there to," I grimaced, trying to find the best way to explain it, "catch bad guys. Sometimes that helps people, but sometimes it just means getting the criminals."
"Oh."
He looked thoughtful, and I wondered what age he would be when he managed to parse what I’d just said and figure out what I hadn't said—that what I'd said was the grim truth and a high hope. That cops really were just there to catch criminals, but at the same time, there was so much politics and corruption that law enforcement fell short of their self-appointed role of serving and protecting. There were far too many on the force who were there to simply punch the clock, to serve their own interests, or, worst of all, to add to the problems the city had an abundance of already.
But you don't tell a kid there were cops out there who shouldn't be trusted. Even with that knowledge, I wanted him to at least believe in goodness and justice in the world for a while longer. And being a young kid like he was, the chances of those corrupt or violent cops being a problem for him were low. Or at least that's what I wanted to believe because only the worst of the worst would ever think of hurting some kid who needed help, and those were usually the type that even other corrupt cops were willing to root out. Not always for altruistic reasons, but because they were low-hanging fruit that could be sacrificed to draw the heat off the rest of them.
"Does Mason not like you because you're a police officer?" Micah asked suddenly.
"Uh...I don't think that's the reason. Why?"
"Because he's said to people before that you should never trust a cop."
Ofcoursehe fucking did, goddamn it, Mason.
I desperately wanted to refute what he'd been told, especially because it had come from Mason of all people. But I could also feel the bite of anger in the thoughts, and I swallowed it before it escaped. The last thing I should do was set the boy in opposition to his uncle. Mason was a bastard, unlike many I had met in my life, but he obviously cared for Micah, a mutual feeling, clearly, but I knew that, despite everything I felt about the man, he was still a good uncle. Clearly teaching Micah things I'd rather he didn't, but that wasn't something I could change.
"Well, I guess some people feel that way," I said, the words sounding lame. "Not everyone agrees about how cops are or aren't. I guess you get to figure out how you feel about that for yourself."
Micah wrinkled his nose. “That's what Mason says too."
"Really?"
"Yeah."
"Does he say anything else?"
"Mmm, a lot of things. He talks a lot."
It was said with irritation and affection, an interesting combination for an eight-year-old. Which sounded condescending in my head, but I wasn't used to dealing with kids in...calm situations. I didn't know when kids started becoming aware of how messy and complicated emotions could get sometimes, but he was clearly of two minds about at least one of his uncles. Then again, I'd heard that same tone from just about everyone in his family when it came to Mason, especially Moira. So apparently it was just Mason's effect. In some screwed up universe where I could feel anything but seething dislike for the man, I imagine that irritation would go hand in hand with affection for him.
"That sounds about right," I said dryly, again trying to be conscious not to let my dislike slip through the net. The kid was already aware of Mason and my feelings toward one another, soI didn't want to add to his worries by being blatant. Plus, Mason had apparently learned how to keep his mouth shut for the sake of other people, since he could have easily made starting this conversation hard for me. When in fact, the asshole had helped me, even going so far as to stop me from fleeing before I'd gotten started, which was… nice of him.
Fuck, now I was going to have to thank him, wasn't I?
A new, somewhat familiar voice piped up. "Micah! You're late!"
We both turned, with Micah practically contorting himself in the chair to look behind him. It took me a moment to recognize who was standing there, a scarf wrapped around her red hair. I knew from the past that it was either a wig or dyed. There was a smile on her face that had aged since the last time I'd seen her, but was still as bright and warm as ever. Her eyes fell on me for a moment, and she winked.
"Oh...hello again, Mrs. Lincoln," I said, knowing full well that if I hadn't dated Moira, I would have defaulted to using the twins' last name instead. It had taken a handful of times calling her by her late husband's last name before I'd managed to get into the habit.
She had always been kind about the slip-up, but I had always felt like I was treading on something personal and painful every time I accidentally brought him up. Moira had insisted I was being paranoid and not to worry about it. She'd always claimed that enough time had passed that the wounds weren't nearly as sensitive, that she and her mother could talk about him without the overwhelming wave of grief that used to come with the memories. When I'd asked her why she hadn't included Mason, she gave me a calculating look before reminding me that one of the agreements to us dating was that she and I never discussed Mason, so I shut my mouth.
"Well, hi there, Jace," Mrs. Lincoln said warmly as I stood up. "It's been a while."
"Nine years, give or take," I said, trying not to look at Micah, who had also gotten up for his grandmother and stood near me beside the table. I glanced over Mrs. Lincoln's shoulder and was startled by the familiar people staring back at me. It took me a moment to realize I was staring into a mirror, or mirrors to be more accurate. One of the wide pillars in the lobby was arranged with mirrors cut into random shapes that still fitted together.
The effect distorted the reflected image just enough to give a fun house effect, but not enough to make it unrecognizable. It made Micah's reflection splash in multiple directions, as did mine, and the two images were side by side. If I hadn't seen the similarities, the bewildering effect made everything it reflected more obvious. It was like looking into a kaleidoscope that spun the image of my past and present self together, making it impossible to see anything but the similarities so strong that I wondered how I had never seen it the first time I looked Micah in the face while arguing with Mason.
Micah glanced at the reflection, furrowing his brow and giving his head a little wiggle. It made the reflection dance and instantly broke the effect. I tore my eyes away to look back at Mrs. Lincoln. The smile hadn't shifted from her face, and she motioned for Micah to come to her. The boy grinned and immediately went over. It wasn't subtle on my part, but I stepped aside so I wasn't looking into my distorted reflection; the image was unnerving without Micah standing there.
"It's good to see you again, Jace," she said, folding a hand over Micah's shoulder and giving it a soft squeeze. "What brought you in after all this time?"
"I..." Glancing over her shoulder, I watched as Mason and Kayden approached, apparently deciding to join us now Micah and I had been interrupted. "That's?—"
"He decided that after all these years, he was going to look up Moira. I guess she broke his heart so thoroughly that he came crawling back," Mason said, apparently deciding to be helpful again.
Except that I saw the way Micah perked up, turning to face me with a curious expression. "Did you date my mom?"
