Page 87 of Demo
“Thanks again, Monty,” Knox tells him, clasping a hand on his back and shaking his hand once again.
“Yep,” is all Monty responds before turning to me. “You good, kid?” he asks, and I think he’s referring to leaving me with Knox. I nod.
He starts to back away, but doesn’t make it far before I lunge at him and hug him tight, his arms trapped awkwardly at his sides as I squeeze him. “Thanks,” is all I say, and I hear him sigh.
I watch him get in his car and leave, then head back up the stoop where Knox is sitting on the top step, Kennedy perched on the step below. Resigned, I slide down beside Knox. We sit in silence for a beat before he scratches a hand through his hair, then drags it down his face. “You’ve got a lot of people who care about you, Lizzie,” he says, before turning to look at me.
“Yeah, I do,” I say, returning his gaze.
He breaks it as he looks toward the street and asks, “Why didn’t you call me?”
I follow his gaze and blow out a breath, giving him the truth. “Well, if we’re going to have separate lives, then I have to learn not to rely on you, right?”
I hear him grunt before he runs his hands over his knees. “Bullshit,” he grumbles.
“What?”
“I said bullshit,” he says louder. “I thought you just needed space. But is this it? Lizzie, are you done with me? Because I’ve been holding out hope over here. I haven’t given up.”
“That’s not fair,” I blurt out, but I’m cut off.
“I know. God, Lizzie, I know! I fucked up so royally and unforgivably, and if you need years of space, I can give you that.” He’s looking back at me now, ducking his head so he’s eye level with me. “But I gotta know there’s something we’re fighting for.”
I push up off the stoop, but I feel a hand around my wrist. I pull myself free and spin around to face Knox. “Did you tell him to keep tabs on me?” My tone causes Kennedy to bark.
Knox is standing now, too, and looks at me with questioning eyes.
“I’m talking about Monty. Do you get updates from him about me? Did you ask him for that?”
Knox is shaking his head. “When I stopped by the office after you were suspended—”
“You stopped by the office?”
“Yeah, I did. I wanted to see you. Anyway, Dee all but castrated me, but Monty and I caught up a little, and I just told him that I worry about you, and that I care about what’s going on in your life. I didn’t have to ask him to look out for you. I know he already does that. He called me on his own this morning.”
“And you came running.” It’s not a question.
Knox looks at me like he’s trying to decide if I’m making fun of him for running to me when I don’t necessarily want him here.
Then, he shakes his head with a chuckle, stands up and starts to walk away. But then he turns back. “Lizzie, I will always come running to you. I will always wait for you. I will always come back to you. You just let me know when you’re ready … again.”
And then he turns and walks away.
***
I take the long way to work today because I want the cruise time. I circle around back streets listening to mellow music, trying to settle my brain before I get to work. I’m in black faded tight jeans and a black hoodie—extremely unprofessional—but I’m out of cares today. Zero fucks do I give.
No makeup. Hair in a messy bun. I’m listening to Brittany Howard tell me I’ve got to “Hold On” while I pass the small city houses that line the streets too close together.
Before I know it, I’m heading away from the office and toward the police headquarters. I don’t know why. I don’t know what I’m doing, but I’m on autopilot. As I approach, I see Chief Scott exit his personal vehicle, coffee in hand, making his way toward the building.
The words are out of my mouth before I even realize I've formed them. “I thought your job was to protect and serve, asshole.” I shout the words through my open window, then pull my car haphazardly into the parking lot, taking up two spots on an angle, and get out of my car.
The chief is stopped in his tracks, taking in my current state.
“Ms. Mitchell,” he addresses me curtly. Eyes darting to my car, my clothes, my face. He looks puzzled, and a little concerned.
“What is wrong with you?” I say as I come to a stop in front of my car, only a few feet from him, arms folded across my chest.
