“I told you, I have it.”
“What, exactly, is it?”
“My car died again. I had to walk a mile and a half, and it’s damn cold outside, but I’ve been carrying more layers in the car, just in case.”
“I thought it was fixed.”
“So did I. Obviously, not.”
“You need a new car.”
“Right.” She scoffs. “I’ll get right on that. Listen, I just wanted to fill you in. Go eat. What are you having?”
“Wings and beer with the guys.”
Another pause. “Oh. Well, go enjoy your night out, then. Talk to you later.”
She hangs up, and I want to kick something.
Why should I feel guilty for going out for dinner after a shift? And why should she be mad about it? It’s ridiculous.
But rather than have a long conversation about it, I pocket my phone and walk back into the restaurant to finish dinner.
I’ll talk with Natasha later.
* * *
I have roughly twelve hours to go before I can get in the truck and head home. I miss the kids like crazy. It seems whenever I FaceTime in the evening, they’re already in bed.
And don’t even get me started on how much I miss Tash. I want to touch her. Kiss her. Shit, I just want to be with her.
I’m sure that what I have is an old-fashioned case of homesickness, but it sucks ass, and I’m ready to get back home.
One more shift.
I can do it.
I’ve just started going down my list of things to do when I first arrive when the chief pokes his head out of his office. “Waters, I need you for a minute.”
“Sure, Chief.”
I walk inside, and he shuts the door.
“Am I fired already?”
“No.” He laughs and shakes his head. “No, things are going well. I just needed to let you know that I need you next week. Diego is taking the week off, and I have some more training for you.”
“So, no week off.”
“No can do,” he says absently. “But the upside is that the overtime pay doesn’t suck, right?”
“Sure.” I wipe my hand over my face.
“You’ll have tomorrow off, and then I need you back here the following morning, same time as usual.”
“Got it.” I nod and stand, then leave his office and dread the call I’m about to make.
I dial her number and wait for just a second before Natasha answers.
“Hey there,” she says, her voice light for the first time since I left last week. “I’m so glad you called because I’m about to go to the grocery, and I’m going to buy steaks for dinner tomorrow night. Do you want a ribeye or a sirloin?”
“Listen, babe, about that—”
“If you’re not in the mood for steak, I can make something else. Would you rather have lasagna? Kelsey was asking for that the other day.”
“It’s not that. Tash, take a breath and let me get a word in, okay?”
“Sorry.” She giggles. “I’m just excited.”
My heart hurts. “I know. I was too. Look, the chief just pulled me into his office.”
I fill her in on the new development.
“Oh.”
I hear the defeat in her voice and feel like shit.
“I’m sorry. I had no idea.”
“I know. It’s not your fault.” Her voice is hollow. “We’ll just see you next week.”
“Well, that’s my usual week on, so it’ll likely be another two weeks.”
There’s a pause. “Right. Of course.”
“Sweetheart, I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t be silly.” I hear the tears in her voice. “It’s your job, Sam. These things happen, especially when you’re the new guy. It makes sense they’d want you to fill in for vacations and stuff after you had to wait so long to go out there. They probably had to wait for their time off.”
“Yeah, that’s what I figure, too, but I should have thought of it. I’m an asshole for not realizing.”
“It’s okay.” She clears her throat. “We’ve already made it one week. We just have to do this twice more and you’ll be here. No big deal.”
It’s a big deal. I can hear in her voice that she’s full of shit.
It’s a big fucking deal.
“Tash—”
“Oh, I’ve got another call coming in I have to take. Thanks for letting me know, Sam. Love you.”
She clicks off.
Fuck.
Chapter 19
~Natasha~
“Give me the spoon.” I hold my hand out toward Kevin, but he stares me in the eye with a frown on his adorable little face and then runs away with the utensil. “We have to go to school! Come back here.”
He’s done with his cereal. Why is he running around this house with the spoon? Just to drive me crazy?
Make me cry?
Because I’ve cried more in the past month than I have since Monica died, and that’s saying quite a lot.
“Kevin, if you don’t want me to be homicidal, you’ll put that spoon in the sink and get your damn shoes on so we can walk to school.”
“You’re not supposed to swear,” he yells back.