Page 63 of Carter

“Okay, yeah,” I say, ignoring that guilt that’s seeping into my veins. It’s been a regular thing lately. “I’m almost home. Pick me up there?”

“Be there in about twenty minutes.”

I smile to myself as I finish the short walk to my house from work. One of the things I like about my job is that it’s walkable. Not a quick five-minute walk, but easier than most, and the only street I have to go down that isn’t a main street, is mine.

Hell’s Kitchen isn’t as dangerous as it once was, but it only takes one bad decision from someone to ruin a life. There are a lot of old buildings around here and still some people who think it’s like old times.

Walking alone at night wasn’t doable for a long time, and I took the financial hit and used rideshares or taxis because even the bus scared me.

I don’t bother going upstairs when I get home, I just wait on my front porch for Nash to pull up, bouncing on my feet and rubbing my hands together to keep warm. March is coming, and it’ll be cold for the duration and probably most of April, too. I doubt we will see solid warm weather until the end of May, or even June. Feels like forever. Maybe I’ll make time to go to the beach this year. I haven’t done that in a long time. Ryan and I took trips to the Cape over the summer. We only got to do it twice, but maybe if I can save some money, I could go by myself.

Nash pulls up and I hurry over, opening the door and hopping in.

“Hi,” I say as I reach for my seatbelt.

“Hey,” he responds tightly. That’s it.

Okay. Strange. Usually he’s more talkative. He always asks about my day. But he just got off work, and he doesn’t have an easy job. But what if it’s something else? What if he has bad news?

I swallow hard and stare out the windshield as he takes off, my body more tense than normal, already preparing for something it may not even get. My brain is always ready for the worst, andthe rest of my body jumps right on board, tensing up and going into fight or flight mode before it’s even necessary.

Music plays quietly from the speakers. Classical rock, same as it’s been all the other times I’ve been in his truck. I doubt he’s the kind of guy who flips through stations for something to listen to. We’re in the car for a few minutes with nothing said, and it’s starting to make me uncomfortable.

So I clear my throat, and say, “Where are we going?”

There is no response for what feels like an hour, but then he lets out a sigh, his grip loosening on the wheel.

“Sorry,” he says. “Rough day.”

“I figured.”

“Shouldn’t have to.” He glances at me. “Where do you want to go?”

“I’m not picky,” is what I say, but the uneasy feeling is still lingering. I don’t know why. He said he had a rough day. That’s an answer for why he’s acting the way he is, but I can’t help but wonder why he calledme? Why he’s takingmeout to eat? The only thing I can figure is that it’s because the bad day is related to Ryan’s case.

“Hey,” he says in a voice so gentle it has goosebumps crawling up my arms and my head whipping in his direction because I can’t believe it came out of his mouth. I expect to see another person sitting there, but it’s Nash with an apologetic look on his face. “I’m sorry,” he repeats in that same gentle voice. “Where can I take you for dinner?”

Now there’s all kinds of emotions swirling in my chest, so many that I can’t figure out what is what. Most of them are good, but I’m also confused. Not onlybyhim, but how I feelwithhim.

“Uh, I mean… steak is always good.”

He smirks, then nods. “Good choice.”

We don’t talk the rest of the drive, but it doesn’t feel as tense as it did when I first got in. In fact, it feels normal. His apologyheld a lot of weight. I knew he meant it, so it made me feel better. That thought freaks me out a little—that I trust him that much. But he’s a cop, and if there’s anyone you should be able to trust, it’s them. We just all know the world doesn’t work that way and there are too many cops who run on power trips. There are good ones, though. There has to be, right? Not everyone in this world can be bad.

But I should be honest with myself. Trusting Nash has nothing to do with him being a cop, and everything to do with how he’s treated me since we met. Ever since that very first day at the bar when I was having a rough night. One of the worst nights I’ve had in a long time. Something about him even that night had me thinking I could trust him. It’s why I talked to him—well, that and all the alcohol.

I’ve been better the last few months than I have been since Ryan’s death. I’m working, going to group consistently, and helping at the shelter. I have a routine; I have people that are kind of like friends. I’m settling into my new normal, figuring out what my life is going to look like alone. That night I ended up at the bar, it was rough, and maybe I’ll have those days now and then. It’s better than having them every day like I did for a while.

But before I even knew who Nash was, he left an impression. And now here I am, sitting beside him in his truck as he drives us to dinner.

I’m not stupid. I know this isn’t how things work. I know Nash is going above and beyond for me, and I stopped trying to ask myself why. I will just accept it because everyone deserves good things—okay, maybe not everyone. But most people.

Nash has been on my mind a lot lately, mostly since he visited me at the shelter. My mind likes to wander and play out all the what-if scenarios, and the only way I won’t spiral down the Nash rabbit hole is if I just take things for how they are. So, that’s what I’m doing. All of this doesn’t have to be a thing. He’s just adetective trying to help me out because I have been through a lot—becausehe’sa good detective.

I was coming to terms with the fact I’d never know who killed Ryan. I’d realized that catching that person didn’t make a difference—not in a way that mattered. Even if he was caught and put behind bars where he belonged, Ryan would still be dead. I would still be hurting. Justice is deserved, but it won’t give me the peace I crave. Nothing can do that but me. Which is a really hard thing to grasp. It’s not something that can easily be fixed. It takes time. So much time.

But then I had a really bad day. I went to the bar. And there was Nash.