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“Then I hit the officer again when he continued to mouth off,” Maggie adds. “It was less a slap and more of a left hook.”
Hunter whistles. “Respect.”
“He was an asshole, and I won’t take him insulting me or anyone I care about,” Maggie says.
“I think I might really like your boss, Emily,” Hunter says. Then he extends his hand to her through the bars. “Nick Hayes.”
“Dr. Margaret Simmons. But you can call me Maggie.”
“Nice to meet you, Maggie.” He turns to me. “So, what do you need from me?”
There are many things I want from him, but some of them I’m too embarrassed to say. Like the fact that I just wanted to see him because I thought it would be one of the few things that could calm me down and make me feel strong enough to work through the problem that I’m in. Even when it’s for something minor, your life changes when you’re arrested, when you’re put in a cell, when paperwork is drawn up and filed that has your name on it for committing an infraction, even if it’s a justified one. You suddenly realize how fragile you are, how ephemeral your dreams are, when you see the machinery of the system and you have officers — some of whom are friends of the asshole you slapped — telling you, over and over, exactly what they have the power to do to ruin your life.
I swallow those thoughts. “I need a ride.”
“Is that all?”
There’s a look in his eyes, like he’s willing to do so much more for me, and all I have to do is ask. But I don’t want to ask. I don’t want to be a burden or a liability to a man who’s already dealing with the struggle of raising a child and building a life for himself.
“Just a ride.”
“Then I’ll give you a ride, Em.” Something twinkles in his deep ocean blues, and his smile takes on a shape that makes me want to crawl through the bars and stick my tongue down his throat. Right here, right now.
Being in jail has already changed me.
“It shouldn’t be much longer,” Maggie says, and even as the words leave her mouth, a middle-aged man with a goatee, brown hair with a hard side part, and wearing an expensive-looking suit enters the lockup area, escorted by Officer Alvarado. “In fact, speak of the devil. Here’s my lawyer.”
Officer Alvarado leads the man over to the cell and unlocks it. “Dr. Simmons, Emily Mitchell, you are both free to go. If you insist on going forward with your complaint process against Officer Abrams, you can come in tomorrow to give your statements and file the paperwork.”
“We will,” Maggie says, after giving me a look and receiving a nod. “We both will. And any further communication can be made through our lawyer, Mr. Keith Doberman.”
Hunter’s eyes widen a little, as do mine. Officer Alvarado just shrugs. “Of course. I understand. And, like I said before, I’m willing to give my statement regarding your complaint against Officer Abrams. I’ve given my card to your lawyer. I suggest you two stay clear of Officer Abrams until after the process has resolved itself.”
As we step out of the cell, I feel a wave of relief wash over me. The fluorescent lights of the police station seem brighter now, almost blinding after the dimness of the lockup. Hunter is right there, his hand finding the small of my back as if to steady me. His touch sends a jolt through my body, grounding me.
"You okay?" he asks softly, his breath warm against my ear.
I nod, not trusting my voice just yet. The adrenaline is starting to wear off, leaving me feeling shaky and drained.
Maggie is deep in conversation with her lawyer, their heads bent close together as they discuss strategy in hushed tones. I catch snippets about "excessive force" and "abuse of power," but my mind is too foggy to focus on the details.
"Let's get you out of here," Hunter says, gently guiding me towards the exit.
As we walk, I can feel the eyes of the officers on us. Some look curious, others disapproving. I keep my head high, channeling some of Maggie's unwavering confidence. I may have been arrested, but I'm not ashamed of standing up for myself or my friend.
When we reach the parking lot, Hunter opens the door for me, and I notice that there’s no sign of Charlie’s crib. It’s just him and me.
I give him a look as he gets into the driver’s seat and turns on the engine. Is he planning something? Why else would he have gotten a babysitter when I’d just called, saying I needed him to stop by the police station for a minute to come get me? And if he’s got another babysitter, does that mean he’s planning on replacing me?
We drive in comfortable silence for a while, the hum of the engine and the soft whoosh of passing cars lulling me into a state of calm. I watch the city lights blur past, trying to piece together where we might be headed.
"You know," Hunter says suddenly, breaking the quiet, "I meant what I said back there. About selling my bike if I had to."
I turn to look at him, studying his profile. "Why would you do that for me? We barely know each other."
He glances at me, his eyes softening. "Sometimes you just know, Emily. Sometimes you meet someone and it's like... like you've been waiting your whole life until the moment they come into it. Like, there’s a point before them, and a point after them, and once you cross over, you can’t ever imagine going back to your life before."
My breath catches, and I want to say something about how I feel the same, about how I’d been so afraid of opening up, but the second I found him and Charlie, opening up and welcoming someone new — two someones — into my life has made me feel more whole, more unbroken, than I’d ever thought I’d be. With him, I feel safe. With him, I feel lov—
