Page 39 of Cuffed (Everyday Heroes 1)
“There’s no pressure here. I just wanted to spend some time with you, have a few drinks, and catch up on what you’ve been up to. That’s it.”
Our eyes hold as I struggle with laying down my defensive shield and not running away at the mere mention of catching up. Catching up means talking about the past, and my past is dark as hell. And while he may already know the gist of my dark, it’s hard not to be defensive over something I’ve always protected.
“I’d like that.” I don’t remember telling myself to say the words, but there they are, out in the open, making his grin widen and his shoulders relax some.
“Good. That’s good. Because as stupid as it sounds, I’ve really missed you.”
Because as stupid as it sounds, I’ve really missed you.
Every time Grant laughs, I hear him saying those words. Every time he smiles, I hear him saying those words. Every time I want to clam up at a seemingly benign question, I remind myself that I only have to tell him as much as I want to and think of him telling me he missed me.
Those are words I don’t think anyone has ever said to me.
“So tell me something . . .” Grant laughs as he slides next to me in the booth and then pushes a fresh drink in my direction. His eyes are a little glassy, but his smile is still kind and his humor is becoming of him. “What’s a girl who’s scared of heights doing jumping out of airplanes?”
“Who said I was scared of heights?”
“Oh come on,” he says, patting my thigh with a tipsy flourish and then absently leaving it there. “This is coming from the girl who refused to climb Old Man Conner’s tree because it was too high off the ground. You threw up all over his daisies just thinking about it.”
I stare at him, flustered by his hand. Warm. On my thigh. Contact. When I should really be freaking out that Grant is talking about a memory I have no recollection of, but I can’t. All I can focus on is the ache currently simmering a few inches from where his fingers reside.
“I don’t remember that,” I say and shift to face him in the booth. He moves his hand back to his drink and shakes his head.
“You don’t? I made fun of you for weeks, calling you Daisy until you got so mad you told me you weren’t going to come over to play anymore unless I stopped.”
Daisy. The taunt ghosts through my mind, but I don’t recall it. What I do know is that, even back then, we played games with each other. Sure, they were different games, innocent fun, which is a far cry from the one we are playing now. But just like then, I still feel the same sense of ease with him. The same level of comfort. I can’t remember a single time I didn’t want to go over to the Malone house to play. It was safe there.
I felt safe there.
“No. It’s been a long time.” I take a sip of my drink and hate how my fingers tremble ever so slightly.
“But skydiving, Em?”
I shrug. “It’s my peace. For a few seconds, everything is there, laid out before me. It’s calm. There’s no noise in my head, just the wind in my ears, and I’m forced to only think of the present.”
“The present is good.”
“Mm-hmm.” There’s a look in his eyes that says a million things at once, and I can’t pinpoint any of them, so I don’t try. “So, a cop, huh?”
“Yep.” He places his arm across the back of the booth, and his fingers automatically toy with a strand of my hair, as if it were the most natural thing in the world to do.
“I could have figured. All those hours playing cops and robbers on our bikes. You always had a hero complex, wanting to save anyone and everyone . . .” I’m stepping too close to no-go territory for me. Panic tries to find a foothold, but I ignore it and smile at Grant. “Remember that time we found—”
“The bullet shell smashed in the street, and we swore someone had broken into the Parker’s house and robbed them?” His eyes light up.
“Yes! And we called 9-1-1 because we thought we were real detectives.” I smile wider, thrilled to remember this memory and not draw a blank and feel stupid.
“Yeah good ol’ Chief Malone read me the riot act for distracting officers from legitimate calls.” He shakes his head and laughs.
“How is your dad?”
“He’s good. Real good. He retired about eight
years ago, and I think it’s driving my mom crazy that he has nothing to do. Occasionally, the force asks him to consult on an old cold case, which keeps him occupied, but other than that, he’s just busy being a grandfather to Luke. That’s Grayson’s son.”
“Oh, I didn’t realize any of the infamous Malone boys were hitched,” I say with a wink.
“We’re not. Gray’s is a long story. Too long for right now.”
