Page 48 of Bent, Not Broken

“Did you answer?” She jotted down some notes on her pad, and I sighed.

“Yeah. Until yesterday.” I resisted the urge to cross my arms in case she took it as hostility while trying to use some shrink Jedi Mind Trick on me, and instead laid my arm along the back of the sofa, leaning back into it.

“Why didn’t you answer the phone, then?”

Because a stupid, sexy lawyer convinced me that to not engage would be a real punishment. I shrugged again, and she cocked her head.

“There must be a reason why you chose not to.” Her voice was soft and melodic, and once upon a time, I imagined fucking her so hard that she became an animal in bed. Now the thought made me inwardly wince because the only person I wanted to fuck was a certain annoying someone who I was not going to fucking call or message again.

“I decided to finally punish him. He’s in prison for murdering my mother. He doesn’t get the luxury of hearing my voice anymore.”

She smiled then, like a mother proud of her child, and wrote in her notepad. “That’s a very mature thing to do, Evan. How do you feel about not taking his call?”

How did I feel? Calm. There was something peaceful about saying no to accepting his call. I’d been holding on to him for so long that I never imagined how freeing it would be to finally cut those strings. I snorted instead of telling her any of that. “All right.”

She squinted at me from behind her glasses. She’d been trying to get more than a couple-word answers out of me for years, but never won. I didn’t see the point of talking to a virtual stranger about problems she couldn’t help with. “Only all right? You must be feeling more than that.”

“Nope. I’m just all right.” I grinned at her and took joy in the slight irritation dancing across her face.

Her smile strained. “You’ve been avoiding me before today.” She tilted her head. “You know the department’s requirements, especially for you.”

Especially for me meant they were wary of my history, or at least of my father’s crimes. They expected me to resemble him in some way, and while they couldn’t forbid me from becoming a police officer without prior offenses, they could still expect extra from me because of the trauma I’d experienced from finding my dead mother’s body.

“I’m here, aren’t I?”

“Yes, with protest, though. I caught you in the bullpen trying to avoid me again.”

It wasn’t her I was doing an end run on. I saw Paxton at his desk, and while he hadn’t glanced up at me, I’d been skulking around the room to see everyone’s reactions. I expected he’d said something to the other cops, or would soon, but no one had batted an eyelash at me, at least none except Vasquez, who always stared at me with those big doe eyes.

“I wasn’t avoiding you. I just got into work. You could at least let a man settle in first.”

Molly tugged off her glasses and let them fall onto her notepad. Her stare was poignant, and even the strongest man would have squirmed under the scrutiny. She had this look that made it feel like she was staring into your soul. “I’ve watched you over the past few weeks.”

“That’s called stalking.” I winked at her, but she wasn’t deterred.

“You’ve changed, Evan. You’re less tense. Usually you tromp around this bullpen and snap at someone for accidently walking in front of you. The other day Hooper spilled coffee on your boots, and you calmly told him to be careful. I don’t know what’s changed in you, but it’s a good change. Whatever, or whoever, it is, it’s done you good.” She slipped her glasses back on her nose and dropped her notebook on the small decorative side table next to her chair, then stood. I knew this meant the session was over, and usually I’d run out of here, but this time I didn’t move. She watched me calmly when my gaze slid up to her face.

“I don’t know how to be with him.”

If she was surprised by my confession, she didn’t show it. She sat down again without her notebook and leaned forward on her knees. “There’s no manual to being with someone, Evan. You just be with them.”

I swallowed around the acid in my throat and nodded sharply. I stood and didn’t bother saying goodbye as I stalked out through her door and toward the bullpen. Paxton was still at his desk, eyes narrowed on some paperwork he was doing while he waited for me. I breathed through my discomfort and headed toward him. I got halfway there when he raised his gaze and dropped his pen.

“Finally,” he said in his watered-down British accent, which made me wonder how long he’d been in America. I’d seen it before, people who’d moved countries and lost most of the thickness of their accent. His seemed to ebb and flow, depending on his mood. My aunt Nora was born in Canada and raised there until she was ten, before my dad was born. Even though she’d lived in New York since then, she still had traces of her Canadian roots.

Paxton rose, stretched out his back, and winced. “I hate paperwork. I’ve been mad for getting out of here.”

I frowned, and when I didn’t move, he waved his hand.

“Excited, mate. I’m excited.”

“Ah. Come on, let’s go, then.” We got our equipment in silence, and by the time we were heading out, my jaw was tight, and I felt antsy deep in my bones. He hadn’t mentioned me and Polunin yet, and I hated the tense silence in the car, even with the radio speaking every so often. Finally, I sighed when we got into a smaller, no-good neighborhood known for crime. “I’m not gay.”

Paxton focused on the side window, but the moment I spoke, he turned toward me with a frown. “Never said you were.”

I nodded sharply and tightened my grip on the steering wheel, listening to the squeak of it under my palms. “Good. Because I’m not.”

Paxton shrugged and went to look out the window again, but I wasn’t finished.