Coup De Grâce (Code 11-KPD SWAT 7)

“Hey big boy,” I said to him.

He was old.

He was a black lab that had a white mask covering the entirety of his face.

He moved slow as he made his way to me.

I went down to my haunches, holding out my hand for him.

He nudged my hand, and I started to pet his head.

“You’re a sweet baby,” I told him, scratching behind his ears.

“That’s Mogley,” Hannah said from behind me. “He’s a sucker for some lovin’s.”

I smiled. “He’s sweet. I used to have a black lab like him named Nike. My dad had to put him to sleep when he was fifteen because he couldn’t walk anymore. Too many Frisbee tosses, I guess.”

“Mogley’s a whiz with a tennis ball. He used to be my ex’s, but Joshua didn’t want to take care of him anymore when he started to lose his desire to duck hunt,” she said sadly.

What a dick.

How could you just get rid of a dog who was too old to do what you asked of him?

Certainly not me!

I’d kill for a puppy, but my apartment’s pet deposit was outrageous, and you couldn’t have a dog over twenty five pounds.

And, although I loved small dogs, I couldn’t handle the high pitch barking that came with them.

I much preferred a dog that would protect me. Play with me. And genuinely have fun with me.

I’d have that again someday.

“He’s a sweetheart,” I told her.

Michael came up to the porch and offered Mogley a scratch on the head before he started stripping off his boots, followed quickly by his pants.

“Got anything I can change into?” He asked.

I blinked when he stripped right down to his boxer briefs.

“What would you do if I didn’t?” She asked laughingly.

He glared at her.

“Drive home in my underwear,” he said simply.

Of course he would.

Although, men could get away with that.

They could get away with almost anything.

Whereas, if a woman had tried to drive home in nothing but a bra and panties, she’d get into trouble for it.

“I have some of Joshua’s old clothes in the spare bedroom. They won’t fit you well, but I’m pretty sure there’s a pair of old shorts and a t-shirt or something,” she told him.

He grunted and walked into the house, completely ignoring me.

“Hmmm,” I said once he left.

“He’s in one of those moods,” she explained softly.

I nodded. “He’s fine.”

She looked at me carefully.

“You know,” she said simply.

I blinked. “Know what?” I asked innocently.

“That he’s bi-polar.”

I nodded. “Yeah, he told me.”

Her eyes widened in understanding.

“He loves you,” she whispered. “And you love him.”

I blinked.

“Well…” I did. I just didn’t want his sister to know.

I was waiting.

I sensed that that was somehow crucial to our budding relationship.

If I spooked him, he would run.

Which was why I was denying, with everything I had, what I sorely suspected wasn’t food poisoning or a stomach bug.

I was pregnant.

Very pregnant.

Because since I’d hooked back up with Michael, I’d not had my period.

I was so regular with my period that I could set a timer to it.

I could tell you within the hour of when I was going to start, because it started at the same time every month.

Which meant that the first time we were together we’d conceived a child.

A child that he didn’t want.

A child that I had to convince him that he could have. Who could be healthy. Who could be a good person, just like he was. Whether he wanted to admit he was a good man or not.

“You love him,” she confirmed, nodding her head. “Good. He’s a good man.”

See? I knew he was.

“I know,” I told her. “He’s a really good man.”

“He’s a sap for a little kid, though. As you can see, he’s collecting them once again,” she said with a snicker. “A year or so ago, he saved a little boy from a car crash, and stayed with him for four hours while he was cut out of a car. Now Jackson is Michael’s biggest fan. They still hang out with each other every once in a while. Hell, he’s Reggie’s best friend. He’s all she talks about sometimes.”

That knowledge that he loved kids gave me hope.

I’d already known that, of course, but it was good to have it reiterated.

“How old is Reggie?” I asked, gathering up Michael’s clothes and boots and putting them into a trash bag that Hannah had magically produced out of a planter/secret hiding spot between two chairs on her porch.

“She’s two and a half, going on eighteen,” Hannah laughed. “She’s Michael’s little mini-me. Imitates everything Michael does, and it drives my ex-husband bonkers. I love it.”

I laughed with her.

Which was how Michael found us.

He wasn’t in a bad mood any longer.

No, he was in a great mood.

Which he proved when he said, “I like it when my two favorite girls get along, smiling and laughing.”

I gave him a thumbs up. “Well, we were laughing at you. Does that make you feel any different?”

He shook his head in the negative.

“No, it doesn’t. As long as you’re getting along,” he announced.

I raised a brow at him, studying his attire.

He was in a black pair of jogging shorts that were seriously too tight on him, mostly because I could make out the outline of his cock through the shorts. And although it was a very nice outline, it wasn’t something I wanted the world to be seeing.

His shirt wasn’t much better, but at least it was something.

I was happy to see his tattoos in the daylight, though.

Normally, I only got to see him when we were at his house or mine. And it was only in the privacy of our bedroom.

Michael wasn’t like normal men.

He didn’t go without a shirt. He always had one on. Always.

Unless he was going to bed or getting out of the shower.

“Why wouldn’t we get along?” I asked curiously.

Hannah was the one to answer.

“Joslin and I didn’t get along. At all. She was selfish and stuck up. She also hated the fact that I called her on her shit when I picked up ER rotations. Something she really, really didn’t like,” she answered.