Page 2 of Recklessly You
* * *
The next morning,the police station smells like it always does—sweat and stale coffee—and my head pounds from the previous night’s activities. I pour myself some coffee and close my eyes for the first sip.
“Good morning.”
I cringe as I open my eyes. “Not so loud, John. Good morning.”
He chuckles. “How was the redhead last night? Saw you take off after you sucked all over her neck.”
I shrug, leaning against the marble counter of the break room. “Good. No complaints. Only screams of pleasure.”
He throws his head back in laughter. Last night we kicked it at Rocko’s bar, played pool, and drank some beers with a couple of guys from work. He shakes his head as we walk to our patrol SUV.
“You plan on ever having a girlfriend…settling down, man? Don’t you get tired of the bachelor life?” he asks.
I don’t have to think twice about it. I answer him swiftly, rubbing my fingers along my stubbled chin. “Nah, relationships are messy. Too much drama. It isn’t for me.”
He sighs as if I’m missing out on being tied down to one woman. “Maybe you haven’t found the right one.”
He looks at me as if he’s found the reason I’m still single, as if I’m searching for the right one. John and I met at the police academy. When we met, he was single. He was my wingman, but now he’s a married man with a baby.
“I’m not looking for Mrs. Right,” I proclaim as I start the engine.
“I wasn’t either until I bumped into Beth and was a goner. It could happen, man, when you least expect it.”
A call comes into the radio, a robbery at the liquor store. Fuck. This early? It’s ten in the morning. “10-4,” I say into the radio, turning on my light.
We rush to the liquor store. When we arrive, we jump out of our vehicle and find a young boy pinned against the wall by the store’s owner. The child is trembling, and tears are streaming down his face.
“What’s going on here?” I ask the bald man holding the boy.
“He was stealing a bottle under his shirt.” The store owner grips the collar of the young boy’s shirt and glares at him.
John shoves him away.
I drop to my knees so I am face-to-face with the boy, who appears to be about nine or ten years old.
“You drink?” I ask.
He shakes his head. “No,” he whispers.
“Then who are you stealing this for? You realize this is a crime?”
He nods.
I wipe his tears with my thumb. My heart breaks for the kid. He’s so young.
“My d-dad,” he stutters.
Fucking bastard piece of shit father, the poor kid has.
“Where do you live?” I ask sternly.
“At the apartment next door.”
“I’m going to take you back home, okay? I need to talk to your dad. I never want to see you steal again. Do you understand me?”
He nods and wipes his tears. John escorts him to the SUV.
