Page 19 of Concealed

Jesus.

My tolerance has dropped to zero.

“Are you okay?” Wyatt asks in alarm, immediately rising to rest his hand on my shoulder.

“I’m good. Sorry. I just… don’t usually drink.”

His face softens, and the tenderness makes me absolutely melt. “Thank you.”

He’s so close that I can’t breathe or speak. The smell of him is more intoxicating than the wine, and I want to taste him even more. The heat of his body makes my core clench, and maybe I’m profoundly drunk.

“For trusting me,” he murmurs, and the sound is rumbling and intimate.

He’s right, and I only realized it right now. I haven’t let my guard down in years, and it’s like everything inside me can breathe a sigh of relief to finally be able to relax, even a little bit.

“Thank you for being someone I can trust,” I whisper.

Tonight is a huge step forward and maybe we’ll even become…

Friends.

Chapter 5

Wyatt

Rightbeforemyshiftwas supposed to end, I caught an arrest and had to spend extra time booking, processing, and doing paperwork. All of my favorite things. But on the bright side, Grant is still in his office when I’m heading out.

Since Rebecca and I shared dinner yesterday, and she might have made something else for us tonight, I decide to send a text and let her know that I’m running extra late. It’s not like we’re dating or owe each other explanations, but I’m still compelled to do it.

Probably because I want us having meals together to become a pattern.

I send the message and then knock on Grant’s door. Even though it’s well past the time he should be home with his own family, he greets me with a smile and sets the file he’s reading aside.

“Harrison, come on in. What can I do for you?”

I cross the threshold and close the door behind me, taking a seat in front of him. Deciding not to waste any time on bullshit when I’m sure we both want to go home, I say, “Wallace told me about the task force.”

Grant steeples his fingers and stares at me with an unreadable expression on his face. I wait for him to say something, but he doesn’t.

I guess he isn’t going to make things easy on me.

But that’s okay – I love winning uphill battles.

“I want to be on it,” I say.

“I thought you might. But do you think it’s a good idea?”

I expected the question, but it still riles me up. It wouldn’t be prudent to show him that, though, because my temper is exactly what’s causing his concern.

“If I didn’t think that I could handle it or be an asset to the team, then I wouldn’t ask. I’m not here to repeat my mistakes. I want to make detective and put the past where it belongs – behind me.”

“You just got here,” Grant says. “I think you should spend some time acclimating and getting used to your actual job before taking on any more work.”

“With all due respect, sir, this job is a cakewalk compared to my last beat, and I would welcome more responsibility.”

“And you want to start with tackling human trafficking and sex crimes.” It’s not a question, and his face is so neutral that it makes me think he’d be excellent at the poker table.

When I found out that my uncle molested my cousin, white-hot rage that I didn’t know how to process burned throughout my entire body. I couldn’t kill him, so I become a cop instead. It’s also what compelled me to drive my fists through a couple of pedophiles’ faces.

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