Bullets & Bonfires

“He’s away for work. But a childhood friend of ours is staying with me.”

“I’m glad to hear that.” She shuffles through her papers before continuing. “You don’t have children, correct?”

“Correct.”

“Good. Often the violence only escalates when the woman gets pregnant.”

I’m aware of the statistics. I’d diligently taken birth control since I was a teenager. At one point, I was pretty sure Chad tried to tamper with them, so I hid them in my car. No way would I let him dictate when I brought a child into this world. Not after the way I’d grown up.

I let out a breath, relieved the conversation shifted away from anything to do with Liam. Guilt tugs at me. Something tells me Diana wouldn’t approve of my feelings for Liam.

She’d be right too. One thing is painfully clear after this session. I’m a mess. No good for Liam.

Not that he wants me, anyway.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

I rub the back of my neck, feeling slightly claustrophobic in the cab of my own damn truck. Both of us still pretending our argument and the conversation afterward the other night never happened.

It’s my day off and as a peace offering, I asked Bree if she wanted to go fishing with me. Her enthusiastic yes gave me hope we’d moved past the awkward spot in our friendship. But she hasn’t spoken more than a few words on the hour-long drive.

I pull into the small convenience/tackle store near the reservoir and shut off the truck.

“Stay put. I’m going to grab some worms.”

The tension in the truck melts as Bree scrunches up her face into the same yuck expression she made as a kid. “You still haven’t made your peace with live bait?” I tease.

“It’s gross. Can’t we use lures?” she asks.

“Yeah, if the bait doesn’t work.”

As I stride over the asphalt, a truck door slams behind me. I glance back and find Bree hurrying to catch up with me.

“You don’t have to come in.”

“I want to use the bathroom. Unlike you, I don’t like to pee in the woods.”

“One time, Bree. Once.” I hold out my hand and relief spreads through me when her soft fingers curl around mine.

The small shop has minnows and worms. Bree doesn’t care for either, but I buy some of both anyway. I want her to have fun today. Best way to do it will be keeping her fishing line in the water.

“What’s the bucket for?” Bree asks as she joins me at the register.

“Minnows need something.”

“Poor fish.”

I nudge her with my elbow. “Go grab some waters and whatever snacks you want.”

She ambles over to the candy display and goes right for the chocolate. At least some things haven’t changed. “Do you still like peanut M&M’s?” she asks, waving the yellow packet at me.

“Sure.”

At the last minute, I remember she needs a fishing license. We take care of that at a different counter.

Finally, we return to the truck.

“I haven’t been here in years,” she comments as I drive us through the park’s front gate.

I take one dirt road after another until I find the right spot and park.

“The water’s low,” she shouts from the other side of the truck.

“We’re in a drought.”

“Think we’ll catch anything?” she asks, coming around to my side.

“Hope so. Or we’re not eating tonight.”

“That doesn’t sound very encouraging.”

She helps me carry our gear, and we hike down to a spot not a lot of people know about.

“You didn’t warn me we’d be hiking,” she grumbles as we trudge through the woods. I peer over my shoulder and slow my pace so she can catch up.

“Your brother and I found this spot last year. Caught a lot of trout, and no one bothered us all day.”

When we finally find the spot, I mutter a curse at all the discarded fishing line, beer cans, and other garbage littering the shore. So much for it being a spot no one knows about. Bree pulls an extra plastic bag out her pocket and helps me pick up the area. Once it’s tidier, I rig the poles up.

I can’t seem to stop watching Bree. Her long periods of silence bother me. I’m not sure if she’s still angry with me or it’s a sign of something else.

The words I want to say to her ping-pong in my head before I line them up the way I want. “How’s therapy going?”

Without turning around, she answers, “Okay.”

Well that’s not very informative. Should I probe for more information, or leave her alone?

I choose to probe. “Do you like the person you’re seeing?”

Finally she turns around. Her lips push into a curious pout. “Why do you want to know so bad?”

Every answer I come up with is bound to insult her. I want to be sure she’s comfortable with the person so she keeps going. “Just making sure you’re okay.”

Her lips curve up. “Oh. I thought you wanted to report back to Vince or something.”

To be honest, she has a point. Vince will bug me for an update soon. Even though I know Bree’s spoken to her brother a bunch of times, Vince counts on me to give him the “real deal,” as he so tactfully puts it.

“No. You can talk to him about that yourself.”

“I haven’t talked to him in a few days.”

I hide my surprise by casting my line out again. My mouth quirks when the bait lands exactly where I’d been aiming.

“Still got it,” Bree says. The crunch of gravel makes me turn my head. She drops down onto a rock next to me.

“You watching your rod tip?”

She points to her pole, which is nestled in some rocks. “You’ve been asking me that for close to fifteen years.”

“Nah. We haven’t even been here an hour.”

She doesn’t laugh at my lame joke. Instead, she picks up a rock and drags it through the dirt in intricate patterns. “You’re going to mess up your pretty nails,” I caution without thinking.

The rock falls from her hand and she stares at her fingertips as if noticing the sparkling polish for the first time. “Chad hated when I wore any color but pink. Said it made me look cheap and trashy.”

Anger beats against my forehead. Chad better pray he never gets out of jail. “You could never be anything but sweet and beautiful,” I say as calmly as possible.

She wiggles her fingers in the sunlight, flashes of blue and silver dancing on the tips.

“It’s pretty.”

My opinion doesn’t seem to register. She wraps her arms around her legs and lays her cheek against her knees. “She wants me to take an antidepressant,” she murmurs so softly I almost miss the words.

Bracing my pole against the same rocks Bree used, I lower myself to the ground next to her. “There’s nothing wrong with that.”

She picks her head up and finally looks at me. Tears sparkle in her eyes, shredding me inside. “You don’t think it makes me weak?”

It’s impossible to keep my distance any longer.

I slip my arm around her shoulders and pull her closer. “No. Never. It’s okay to get help if you need it.”

While she ponders that, I consider whether I should share something with her I’ve never even told her brother.

“I took one for a while.”

She pulls back and studies me for a second. “Why?”

I blow out a breath, considering if I’m really going to talk about this with Bree. “My second year on the job, I shot someone.” Memories rush back and a chill expands in my chest.

“What? How come you never told me?”

I’m not sure if she realizes it but she takes my hand, pulling it into her lap. That’s the Bree I know. The girl who always wanted to comfort everyone around her. “I couldn’t talk about it. It was in the local papers. Masked guy held up the liquor store downtown. He had a gun on the owner when we arrived. Ignored me when I asked him to put the gun down. He swung

it my way, and I shot him. That’s what we’re trained to do with an armed suspect.”

Stunned silence stretches between us for a few beats. “Liam, I’m so sorry,” she whispers. “You did what you had to do, though. You probably saved the store owner.”

“Sometimes I still see his face after we took the mask off. He was just a kid. Barely eighteen—”

“Old enough to know better,” she insists.

“He was tweaked out on meth.”

“Doesn’t sound like he gave you much of a choice.”

“The gun wasn’t loaded.” There it is. What’s bugged me ever since. What would’ve gotten me kicked out of the department if it hadn’t been for the numerous witnesses and the video proving the kid turned his gun on me first.

“How could you know that?”

“I couldn’t. But the thought of how young he was wouldn’t leave my head. He could’ve straightened himself out. Gotten help. Something.”

“Unlikely.” She pauses and squeezes my hand. “So, you talked to someone?”

“I’m sure it seems obvious, but cops don’t like talking about their feelings. They don’t like to admit that they can’t handle the ugly stuff. So, the department requires mandatory counseling after a shooting.”