7 Months (Time for Love 8)

“Uniform?” I asked, wondering if I needed to go back home and change.

“Nah, it’s just a meeting.”

“Got it,” I replied, then pressed end as I turned my car toward the station.

Tyler “Doobie” Dubois and I had been in the police academy and field training together, and were now partners. We were still pretty green, but luckily we weren’t in a big city and hadn’t come across anything we couldn’t handle yet.

We’d had a lot of firsts already. First drunk wagon, patrol, arrest, crime report, field interview. The hardest so far had been a DUI, and everything seemed to require paperwork. Tons of paperwork. Thankfully, the paperwork didn’t bother me that much. Unfortunately, Doobie hated it, so I was often expected to do it all. That’s okay. He was good at communicating with people, while I wasn’t, so things evened out.

We made a pretty good team.

He talked a lot, but as long as he did his job and had my back, I could ignore his constant rambling.

When I parked behind the station, I shot Ming a text before heading inside.

Got called in to work. Won’t be by tonight.

I rushed inside, wondering what the late-night meeting was about, while hoping I wasn’t the last one to arrive. I hated being late. Even if it was a last-minute thing I’d just heard about, I still hated feeling like I was running behind anyone else. I’d come into this job later in life, and I think that made me appreciate it more.

I’d chosen this job, and after years of working with Brock at his painting business, it had taken everything I had in me to follow this dream. Knowing I’d be disappointing Brock killed me, but this was something I had to do for myself. So I wanted to be the best at it that I could be. Give it my all and do everything above board and by the book.

I wasn’t going to fuck this up.

“There he is,” I heard Doobie shout out as I rounded the corner into the briefing room.

I stopped in my tracks when I saw the room filled with everyone who worked at the station. There was a two-layer cake, some poorly wrapped presents, and a large balloon that said “Suck me” tied to a chair at the head of the table.

“What the hell’s this?” I asked, my eyes narrowing as I took it all in.

“Happy Birthday, Irish,” my old field training officer, Smitty, said, his voice deep and gravely.

“It’s your first one with us here at DPD, and we had to celebrate in style,” Marsha, the dispatcher, said.

I looked at the clock on the wall, which read 12:04, then back at my co-workers as I tried to hide my shock.

“Nice threads,” Doobie said with a grin as he took in my well-worn jeans and sleeveless Whiskey Heat T-shirt. “Sorry to drag you away from all the ladies. You can go get laid after we have cake and hit the bar for some brewskies.”

“How old are you now? Twenty-five?” Smitty asked.

“Twenty-eight,” I replied, shutting my mouth tightly as I walked around to the chair they were all urging me toward.

I felt emotion rising within me, but fought it back the best I could.

As they all sang, I thought back to my birthdays when I was little, and the way my parents always made a big deal out them. For me, Brock, and Brendan, there’d always be a special breakfast, our favorite dinner, and homemade cake. After they died, Brock kept those traditions alive and always did what he could to make our birthdays special. Now, we always got together with everyone and celebrated with our now extended family.

But this … a group of people that I didn’t know just over a year ago, coming together in the middle of the night to do something special for me, a rookie cop? I felt something I’d never felt before. A sense of comradery. A feeling of acceptance and family that had nothing to do with blood or marriage, and everything to do with group of strangers who worked together toward the same goals, for the same purpose.

I choked down the emotion and worked to keep my expression bland, but as I made my wish and blew out the candles, I gave them all a tight smile and said, “Thanks.”

“Jeez, Irish, turn off the waterworks, you’re embarrassing us,” Doobie teased. Teasing was his specialty. Along with talking, joking, and goofing off. “Now slice up that cake so we can go out and get hammered.”

I chuckled as I cut up thick slices and put them on the blue paper plates, then I sat down and took a bite.

German Chocolate. My favorite.

“This is great,” I said, meaning it as I finished my piece in three more bites.

“Marsha made it,” Smitty said, and I turned to say thanks to the older woman, who was smiling broadly, a slight blush to her cheeks.