“Yeah,” I answer, a bit of shock in my voice as I take the paper and read the print across the top. It’s the form we have to fill out when we request to be transferred. The form I’ve never bothered reading until now.
“If you’re interested, I think you’d do really well over there. I know you and Ben have talked about becoming detectives for years. You’d be damn good at it.”
I look up. “What about Ben? There’s only one spot open?”
He nods, closing the file and leaning back in his chair. “Ben wouldn’t move right now; not with the baby coming in a few weeks. And he has roots here.” He gives me an empathetic look, one I’m used to seeing, before continuing. “How’s your dad doing?”
I shrug, because that’s all I can give him. I don’t talk about my dad. He’s practically dead to me.
His phone rings loudly and he puts his hand on the receiver, not picking it up. “The spot’s yours if you want it. Kennedy will want an answer from you soon.”
I stand, folding the paper up and putting it into my pocket. “Thanks, Captain.”
He nods before bringing the receiver to his ear. “Meyers.”
I slip out of his office, pulling the door closed behind me. I’ve always thought about making detective in Ruxton, not transferring somewhere to do it. But who knows when a spot here will open up. It could be years before I’m given an opportunity like this again, if it even happens. And, like Captain said, Ben has roots here. I don’t. There’s nothing keeping me here.
There never has been.
“What was that about?” Ben asks as I return to my desk.
I slide my chair out and sit down, reaching up and scratching the back of my neck. “There’s a detective position open in Port Deposit. Captain offered it to me.”
Ben’s eyes widen as he sips his coffee. “Really? Shit, that’s awesome. Are you going to take it?”
I pull the transfer paperwork out of my pocket and stick it in the top drawer of my desk. “Yeah, I think so. I’ve wanted this for a long time. It’ll be weird, though. Having a different partner.” I look over at him. “I’m used to your dumb ass.”
He laughs. “You’ll have to give me your new partner’s number so I can warn him about all the annoying shit you do.” He pauses, placing his mug on his desk. “Are you going to tell Tessa?”
“Why would I tell Tessa?” I ask, annoyance in my voice, and suddenly pissed off at the hidden implication that I should be telling her. “What the fuck does it matter to her what I do? She dumped me—remember? She kept something from me I deserved to know about. And according to her, we were never even together.” I take in a calming breath, trying to swallow down the rage that’s burning the back of my throat. “She’s a deceitful bitch.”
“Hey,” he warns me with a raised voice, bringing my attention back to his face. “I get how pissed off you probably feel about what happened between you two, but don’t talk about her in front of me like that. I’ve stayed out of it, but I won’t if you call her that again.”
I grind my teeth, holding in my rebuttal as I lean back in my chair. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. But no, I’m not going to tell her. She gave up the right to know shit about me when she ended it.”
He laughs quietly before he replies. “Yeah, because when you two were together, you were an open fucking book.”
I scowl at the insinuation in his voice, shaking my head, and busying myself with arrest logs I need to fill out. “Whatever, man. I just need to get out of here. You have shit here worth staying for. I don’t.”
I keep my head down as I fill out my form, not wanting to glance over and see the concerned stare I know he’s giving me. He doesn’t respond in any other way, which I’m grateful for. I don’t need to hear how this move may or may not affect his sister. I don’t care. Maybe moving to the other side of the state will be the distance I need to finally forget about her. Because staying in the same town and not seeing her isn’t doing shit.
***
Ben doesn’t bring up his sister for the rest of the day, but that doesn’t keep me from thinking about her. I look up every version of Tyler Knight’s name in our system, hoping to find something, anything on this guy. I don’t want to go to this bonfire unprepared. Hell, I don’t want to go at all. But there’s no fucking way I’m going to trust Reed to make a judgment call on this pervert. I know him. He’ll be so deep in some random chick’s pussy, he won’t care who Tessa shows up with, or if she’s even there. So I’m going, but only to eye up this guy. No one else.
I take a shower as soon as I get home, letting the scalding water beat down on my skin for as long as I can stand it. After securing a towel around my waist, I step out and rub my hand across the fogged up glass. My eyes immediately go to the tattoo on my chest, the only spur-of-the-moment tattoo I have. The only one I regret getting. My arms are covered with ink, some on my back, my hip, and even the side of my ribcage, but all of those tattoos I thought long and hard about before I got them. I’m not a quick decision kind of guy. I never have been, especially with shit that’s permanent. But for some reason, I wanted something on my body that represented her, and I thought it over for a whole five seconds before I went and got it done. It’s not huge, but it’s fucking there. The only tattoo I have on my chest. It’s dark, heavily outlined, because I wanted it as deep as I could get it.
Break my skin, and embed her inside me.
I’m an asshole, and I need to get this shit removed. Every time I look at it, it reminds me of everything I’m trying to forget. I picture her fingers tracing over the letter. I feel her lips pressing against it, and the slide of her tongue as she tastes the skin. I see her face; the only one I’ve seen for the past fifteen months. The one I never want to see again.
I want to shatter my mirror, and every mirror, so I never have to see this reflection.
I want to go back to that fucking fundraiser, but this time, be the one who walks away.
I want to take a knife and carve out not only the mistake I branded myself with, but also every memory I have of her.
I’ll probably die from that wound.
But in death, maybe I’ll finally find release.
Some days, I wish I had chosen a different career path.
This is my fourth time rewinding Dr. Willis’ dictation because I can’t understand a word he’s saying. I get these from him occasionally, when he decides to record his post-op notes during his lunch hour. Between the sound of chip bags rustling, and his obnoxiously loud chewing, I’m picking up every third word.
“The anterior chamber crunch same incision with crunch diamond blade to rustle, crunch, crunch.”
“Ugh.” I hit the pause button for the hundredth time and slip my headphones off, tossing them on my desk.
I need a break from this. Nothing is more annoying than the sound of that man’s chewing and if I listen to it anymore, I might just throw a few choice words into my report.
“The patient was brought to the fucking operating room, placed into a supine fucking position on the operating room table. A general fucking anesthetic was administered.”
Really fucking professional, Tessa.