Page 88 of Cuffed By Your Love
The room went quiet, but his words stayed loud, still shaking in my chest like they had nowhere else to land.
I didn’t even know how to breathe right now. My lungs felt too small for the air I needed, my heartbeat too big for the body I was in. Because everything he just said was beautiful. Terrifying. Reckless. Holy.
How do you hold on to a man who’s willing to burn his whole life down for you without becoming the match in his hand?
He doesn’t see it—how dangerous I felt right now. Not dangerous to be with, but dangerous to love. Because love for me clearly came with sirens, badge numbers, and consequences. He was talking about baptizing streets in my name while I was sitting here praying he wouldn’t end up a cautionary tale in EJ’sbedtime stories. My God, how the hell could I live with myself if that happened?
I should tell him to stop. Should tell him that my safety wasn’t worth him risking the only steady thing his son had left. But then he looked at me with that kind of devotion, the kind you can’t fake, can’t buy, can’t find twice, and I felt my spine soften against my will.
The messed-up part? There was a sick, selfish part of me that craved it. That was starving for the way his words wrapped around me like a bulletproof vest. It was aching for somebody to be unhinged about my safety because I’d spent years being disposable to people who swore I mattered.
But the guilt didn’t let me keep that feeling for long. It dug in like glass under skin, whispering every possible headline that could have his name in it if he made good on those promises. I could see it so clearly, badge gone, career gone, freedom gone, all because I didn’t know how to stay out of trouble’s way.
And still… God help me, I didn’t know if I could walk away from him even if I tried, not when he was looking at me like I was both the war and the peace he’d been training for his whole life.
Because for the first time in forever, I was starting to wonder if maybe I was worth loving like that.
Even if it killed him.
Elias’s voice came low but dangerous, like the hum of a live wire right before it sparked. I overheard him talking to Chambers and his police sergeant: “I’m not just her man. I’m her fucking shield, her sanity, her answered prayer walking in real time. Anybody that even thinks about coming for her, better hope God get to ’em before I do. Because I ain’t askin’ no questions; I’m clearing the whole board for her.”
The words wrapped around me, thick and warm like August air, but heavy with the weight of everything he meant. His scent, clean soap with that faint trace of his cologne, rose between us,mixing with the faint saltiness of my own sweat and the warm, faintly metallic tang of the air from his badge resting against his chest. I could hear the slow drag of his breath, feel the way it expanded against my back, steady but charged.
And I should’ve felt nothing but safe, but safety wasn’t simple for me anymore.
He didn’t even see it… how close he was teetering to the edge for me. The same edge I’d been shoved off before. He was willing to risk his badge, his paycheck, his reputation, for a woman still learning how to believe she was worth protecting. And if he lost it all because of me,… how could I ever live with that?
The thought scraped down my spine like cold water, but the warmth of him at my back fought it. I could feel his hand splayed over my hip, his thumb rubbing slow, absent circles against my skin, like it was his way of telling me,Nah, I’m good as long as you’re good.
But what happened if the next time somebody came at me, it was worse? If his restraint slipped? If his job came calling for his head? I’d seen how the system loved to eat up Black men with tempers and good intentions. And this one… this one had both when it came to me.
I swallowed, the movement loud in my own ears, tasting the faint sweetness of the lipstick I’d bitten off hours ago. My pulse was steady but deep, thudding in my throat, in my wrists, in every place he touched me. And under all the fear was something stubborn and selfish, something that didn’t want him to let up, didn’t want him to stop claiming me out loud and in every action.
Because the truth was that I’d never been someone’s always. Never been somebody’s worth the risk.
And now that I’d tasted it—this heat, this protection, this unshakable loyalty—I wasn’t sure I could give it back, even if it scared me senseless.
The ride to the station wasn’t just quiet. It was loaded. Silence that didn’t sit still but fidgeted in the corners of your thoughts, scratching at the drywall of your sanity. Elias kept one hand on the wheel and the other locked on my thigh like he was grounding me, or maybe grounding himself. He was holding back a war in his chest. His jaw was clenched, that vein in his neck popping like it had its own pulse, and I swore I heard him whispering prayers between gritted teeth like he was battling both God and vengeance.
We pulled up to the Self Ridge Police Department. It was on the corner of Broad and Lakeview, a squat two-story red-brick building with weather-worn steps and a parking lot full of tired cruisers. It looked like it’d been through too many storms and not enough sunshine. The windows were tinted and lined with blinds, like the place had secrets it didn’t want the sun to see. Even the flag out front looked exhausted, barely flapping in the thick July air, hung low on the pole like it knew peace wasn’t on shift today. A busted cruiser sat lopsided in the corner of the lot, and even the automatic doors opened slowly, like they didn’t wanna witness what was walking in.
Elias pulled into a reserved spot markedDetective Edmonds. Before I could even reach for the door handle, Elias was out of the car and at my side. He moved like a man on a mission, circling the hood like he was reclaiming me from the mess, as if he was erasing Kam’s touch just by being near.
“Nah, baby. Let me,” he murmured, opening the door and holding his hand out. “A queen shouldn’t have to open shit but her mouth to speak her truth. They get carried if it comes down to it.”
I took his hand, warm, calloused, safe. The grip he had on my hand reminded me who I belonged to. He lifted me from the seat like I was breakable China wrapped in gold. My knees were wobbling, but it was his arm around my waist that kept me from crumbling into dust and sorrow.
As I stepped out, his other arm slid gently around my waist, steadying me like I was made of memories and glass. He walked me in slowly, shielding me with his whole body like I was some treasure he dared the world to touch. Every step we took together was deliberate, like he was counting them in his mind to keep from breaking down.
The inside of the station smelled like strong coffee, government-grade cleaning supplies, black ink, and anxiety. That cold, institutional air, cheap and recycled, hit my skin like I was walking into a flashback, the air that never quite got rid of the scent of stress.
It was cold, not physically, but spiritually. Like all the trauma ever spoken between those walls was still floating around like dust.
I felt myself shrink, and Elias noticed.
“You alright, baby?” he whispered.
I nodded. “Just… feels like we on an episode ofFirst 48.”
