Then Comes Marriage (8 page)

“Thanks for flying out here,” I say softly to Noah, who’s still sitting in the living room. He’s been playing on his phone, and though he hasn’t said anything, I’m sure he’s bored. “And sorry this interferes with your life.”

Noah shakes his head. “Don’t be sorry for what that asshole did.”

I nod, wrapping my arms around myself. “How’s work?” I ask. I’ve known Noah since high school, and since he’s been friends with Lauren’s brother for years, we crossed paths multiple times, and have stayed the night at Lauren’s at the same time. But we never really talked, and this is a bit awkward.
 

“Busy but good. I’ve been shooting a lot of wed—fuck, sorry.”
 

“It’s okay. Lauren told me you’ve been photographing more weddings lately.”
 

“Yeah. I don’t particularly like it, but it’s nice being able to work close to home. I used to like traveling for work but it’s hard leaving Ella now.”
 

I just nod again. I’ve never been good at making small talk like this. Pair that with exhaustion and a broken heart, and it’s like pulling teeth.
 

“It’s for the Brown-Martin wedding,” Lauren says.
 

I close my eyes. I knew this would hurt. I knew canceling each event would be like ripping off a Band-Aid, exposing the wound. But I’m not at all prepared for the feeling of being sucked backwards into a vortex of mortification. I feel so stupid.
 

Noah grabs the TV remote, and a few seconds later, the sound of Spongebob Squarepants muffles Lauren’s words. I pull my knees up to my chest and lean back. If I focus, I can follow her conversation. I stare forward, concentrating harder on this stupid cartoon than I did when I took the NCLEX to get my nursing license.
 

An hour later, Lauren joins us on the couch.
 

“I got all that I could handled and you’re getting deposits back from most places,” she starts. “The venue needs your dad to call, since the credit card on file is under his name.”
 

My heart skips a beat. “They’re not going to call him and tell him, are they?”

“No, I made sure to ask about that. The place you bought your dress said you can sell it on contingent if you want. I said you’d make a decision later and get back to them.”

“They can have it,” I spit out. “I don’t want it at all.”
 

She nods. “And the manager at the resort wasn’t in, so I left a message for him to call you back. They were really rude, just to warn you.”
 

I fold my hands together and realize I’m still wearing my engagement ring. The world spins around me when I look down at the sparkling diamond. My eyes close as I twist it off, heart pounding in my ears. The damn thing gets stuck on my knuckle and I frantically yank at it as if the Ring Wraiths are nearby. It lands on the coffee table with a click.
 

“I want to throw that thing in a lake,” I say through gritted teeth.
 

Noah leans forward and picks it up, looking at the diamonds. “I think selling it would be a better option.”
 

“True,” I say and lean back on the couch. “I’ll pawn it. I just want it gone.”
 

Lauren puts her hand on mine. “Speaking of gone, have you decided what to do?”

“I want to go home.”

“You mean home-home?”

“Yeah.” I swallow the emotion rising inside. “I miss Michigan. I miss you. I miss my family. I moved here for Travis, and now that we’re…now there’s no reason to stay.” Tears pool in the corners of my eyes. “Home. My parents. They’re going to be so disappointed.”

“Not in you,” Lauren says softly. “When do you want to leave?”

“As soon as possible.”

“What about work?”

“I’ll quit.” I rub my eyes.
 

“You don’t want to give a notice or anything?” she asks. “I don’t want you to regret anything later.”

“Oh, I won’t. Even before this mess I wanted to quit. My boss is evil.”
 

“Most bosses are.”
 

“Not like MaryAnne,” I say. “Trust me, if you met her you’d be tempted to get the salt and exercise the demons that reside inside her soulless body.”

“Exercise?”

“Yeah. Like an exorcism,” I tell her.
 

“I don’t think exercise is the right word. It’s not very scary. I mean, you don’t hear Sam and Dean threatening demons with exercise.”
 

“Well they should. Everyone knows how awful jogging is.”
 

“I thought you liked jogging.” She leans back and smiles.
 

“I lied. No one likes that shit. I just say it to sound cool.” I let out a sigh. “I’ll find another job in Michigan. Long-term care has a high turnover rate. And if I can’t find a job, I’ll become a mail order bride or something. You know, that’ll probably be the only way I’ll get a wedding now.”
 

“Rachel,” Lauren says with just enough sternness. “I know you can’t see the light at the end of the tunnel now, but it’s there. Besides, you’re too old to be a mail order bride.”
 

I nod. “You’re right. I’ll try out for a survival show instead. Maybe one I have to get naked for. Make all that dieting I did worth something.”
 

She cocks an eyebrow. “Remember the one time we went camping? You didn’t last more than half the night and we were in my backyard.”
 

“Oh, right. I don’t like bugs.” I shake my head. “I hate how insecure this is making me. I hate how I feel like I don’t know who I am.”
 

“You feel that way right now. But you are Rachel Brown. My best friend. A nurse. A fashion blogger who is Instagram famous.”
 

“I don’t have enough followers to be Insta-famous,” I say, adverting my eyes.
 

“Not yet. But you will.”
 

I rest my head against the couch. “Maybe. If I ever get back to blogging.”
 

“You will. I know you will, and you’ll come back stronger than ever before. Write something amazing that will take off and make you even more popular than you already are, and then some big brand will want to partner with you and the next thing you know I’ll be seeing you walk the red carpet at the Oscars.”

I raise an eyebrow. Having a break out post, something that goes viral and puts my blog on the map is a dream, but not one I expect to happen. “I’m too weird to be marketable,” I grumble. “And I don’t think bloggers go to the Oscars. But thanks for being optimistic.”
 

She smiles. “I learned it from you. We all know I’d win a prize in worst-case-scenario thinking. You’re the one who can see the good in any situation.”
 

“What the hell’s the good in this?”
 

Noah leans forward. “You can find someone else to marry who’s last name is Green.”
 

I raise an eyebrow. “Huh?”

Lauren gives Noah a look and shakes her head. “He likes
Friends.
”

“Oh,” I say. “Who doesn’t?” I smile hoping it’s not obvious how desperately I’m trying not to fall into a million pieces. My heart is hanging on by a thread, and that thread is fraying more and more with each and every beat.
 

I wish I never said yes and put that stupid ring on my finger.
 

I wish I never moved to stupid Dallas where the stupid sun always shines.
 

I wish I never envisioned a future, picked out names for our future children, and planned my whole entire life around stupid Travis.
 

And I wish, most of all, that there was an un-love button I could push and make myself stop caring. Only someone you love can break your heart. And that is so messed up.
 

Almost as messed up as falling in love.
 

We rip our hearts out of our chests, taking them from the safe cages they resided in, and put them in someone else’s hands. Then we trust them not to crush the very thing that keeps us alive.
 

I can’t think of anything more stupid. Stupid love. Stupid, fucking love.

Chapter Eight

Derek

“I’m here because I’m working the nightshift,” a patrol cop named Renner says, coming up behind me. He sets a paper cup of coffee on my desk. We used to be partners before I made detective. “You’re here because you have no life.”
 

“This guy has no life.” I tap the image of the dead homeless man. “Not anymore.”
 

I grab the cup and bring it to my lips. The office coffee is always stale and lukewarm. I’ve gotten so used to it, the bland drink is almost comforting.
 

“You’re gonna end up that way if you don’t stop working the way you do. But only less tragic. You’ll keel over right here in this desk from lack of sleep. It might be a few hours before anyone even notices since you’re always here anyway.”
 

I sigh and lean back, wooden chair creaking under my weight. “I’ll stop when this case is closed.”

“Another will open before that is closed. Hell, another will open before the night is over. This glorious warm weather brings out the killer in us, you know.”
 

I run my hand over my face. I am tired, I can’t deny that. It’s going on two in the morning, and I’ve been going over files for the last three hours. I haven’t gotten up from my desk, haven’t eaten or had anything to drink all night. Okay, fine…I’ll admit I’m feeling a little shitty.
 

Food will help with that. A good night’s sleep will cure it. But I haven’t had one of those in…fuck. I can’t even remember the last time I slept peacefully through the night.
 

“Dude,” Renner starts, perching on the edge of my desk. “You’re a good cop and an even better detective. But even the best can’t run on empty.” He pauses, waiting for me to fill the silence, only I have nothing to say. Because he’s right. “When was the last time you had fun, did anything besides work? You haven’t played football with us in over a year.” His eyes flick to Andy’s empty desk, and I know the two of them must have talked. “And we could really use you. Contrary to popular belief, not all us cops are fit and active. We’re losing. Losing bad.”
 

I force a smile. “We can’t have the Fire Department win. They get cocky.”
 

“Oh, they’re past cocky. We’re playing them Saturday.”
 

“I might show.” I feel like the words are a lie. My interest in football has dwindled to nothing. Having played in high school and again in college, football has been a passion, a good escape. I’m good at it, yet I don’t want to play.

Yes, that’s an issue. An issue for another day.
 

“I’m gonna hold you to it,” he says. A call comes in about a domestic dispute, and Renner leaves to respond. “Gotta call the wife,” he says as he heads out.

“You’re still doing that?” I remember back when we were rookies, he’d call his wife to tell her he loved her and the kids in case things went south, which they can in the blink of an eye. I gave him shit for it then, but came to a sudden understanding when I thought I too had a family.
 

“Always,” he says with a half-smile then ducks out of the room. I watch for a moment too long, feeling the familiar twinge of pain begin to tingle around the edges of my charred heart.
 

There’s a chance of dying every single day.
 

You’re only alive because you’re not dead. Life has meaning because it can be taken away.
 

It’s not a question of what you take with you when you go, but what you leave behind.
 

Memories.

Impressions.
 

Legacies.
 

All depend on people. People remembering you. People honoring you. People telling your story fifty years later, keeping you alive if just through words.
 

Who will remember me when I’m gone?
 

The hole in my heart, the one punched through when my family was pulled out from under my feet, aches less and less. Eventually, there will be nothing left. You can’t break what’s not there.
 

I blink, and get hit with the image of the baby’s face. We named him Benjamin. After my father, who died from cancer five years ago. I became a cop because of him, determined to uphold the same values and justice he instilled in us.
 

Fuck.
 

I drain the rest of the coffee, get up to pee and get another cup, and go back to my desk, trying to find a connection between the homeless men that were shot execution style at close range. The bullet from the first victim was a match to the gun we got off of Roger, who claims a man gave it to him with the instructions to pawn it.

Something about that doesn’t add up. It’s too obvious. I fold my arms across my chest, trying to think why someone would give a murder weapon away. Roger is no innocent man. He has a trail of charges, all petty, but enough to make him a suspect. Was the gun given to him as a set up?
 

I pull up the toxicology report for Roger. He was high on a few things when I arrested him, cocaine being one of them. I skim through it, then have that lightbulb moment detectives live for.
 

There was cocaine on the first victim’s finger tips, but not in his system. He touched cocaine and didn’t use it. Was he a runner? My brain explodes as I draw connections, and everything around me fades. My heart hammers with excitement as I piece this together, getting the bones laid out to crack this case wide open.

~*~

The insomnia is getting so bad that just looking at my bed feels like a joke. I get home at four in the morning. Physically, I’m drained. My legs are stiff from sitting at my damn desk for so long. I take a shower, get something to eat, then collapse in bed as dawn approaches. I get just enough sleep to keep me going, then I’m up and back at it. Stay busy, stay focused.