Fool Me Once

“Let’s go.” He opens the door, and his hand finds my lower back, as if he’s trying to get me out the door even faster. The bright sun momentarily blinds me, and I squint my eyes, trying to adjust to the brightness, but before they do, I hear, “Carterville Police Department. Put your hands where I can see them.”

I screech in shock as several uniformed officers rush into the house—all of them dressed in bulletproof vests and head gear that read: POLICE.

“Hands where we can see them,” one officer demands. There are four officers who don’t go inside and they have their guns drawn on Brenton and me. I raise my hands, not wanting to give them a reason to shoot me.

One officer approaches Brenton and turns him against the sidewall of the house, while another one asks me to do the same. I cooperate, turning with my back to the street and my face to the wall. I follow Brenton’s moves and raise my hands up, placing my shaky palms on the wall. I have no idea what is happening right now.

The officer next to Brenton searches him and pulls out several bags of… oh God, please no. Please don’t let that be drugs. My eyes meet Brenton’s and he gives me a look that conveys how sorry he is.

“Ma’am, do you have any weapons or drugs on you?”

“No.” I shake my head. “I… I didn’t know.” I don’t even know what to say.

“I’m going to search you now. Okay?” the officer asks.

I nod my okay.

His hands pat down the sides of me. Because I’m wearing a skirt, there’s not really anywhere for me to store anything.

“Thank you,” he says. “You can turn around now.”

I do as he says, glancing over at Brenton, who is now in handcuffs and is being read his rights.

I hear a shuffle to the right of me, and when I look over, I see the officers who went into the house are walking out with an older Hispanic man. He must be Brenton’s mom’s ex-boyfriend.

“He’s confirmed his name is Miguel Sanchez,” the officer says, dragging the guy down the sidewalk.

“Ma’am, at this time, we’re going to need you to come down to the station. Will you come willingly?”

I hear what he’s saying, but my eyes are stuck on the man who is opening the door to a police vehicle while another officer pushes the handcuffed guy inside.

“Ma’am,” the officer pushes, but I’m in shock, frozen in place, as I stare at the man who has worked his way into my heart. The same man I share a child with. He’s dressed in a shirt and jeans, but he’s wearing a bulletproof vest like everyone else. And then, in the sunlight, a piece of metal hanging on his hip gleams. A badge.

“Keegan,” I say breathlessly. “Keegan!” My voice rises.

“Oh, fuck,” I faintly hear Brenton say.

Keegan’s eyes lock with mine, and he walks over to me, not looking at all surprised to see me. “What are you doing here?” I ask. “What’s going on?” My eyes flicker to the gold badge. “Are you… a cop?”

“Motherfucker!” Brenton roars.

Keegan’s eyes leave mine, and his lips curl into a vicious smirk. “Get him in the car,” he says to the officer who is holding on to Brenton. When he steps forward, I find myself stepping back, and his eyes narrow, not in anger, but in confusion.

“Answer me,” I demand. “Are you a cop?”

“Yes,” he admits. “I’m a cop, and your friend here is under arrest for drug possession with the intent to sell.”

Keegan

One Hour Ago

“I can’t keep this shit up.” I slam the door to my dad’s office closed behind me and fall into the seat on the other side of his desk. “The guilt is fucking with me, and with us getting close to wrapping this all up, I’m having to find more ways to get around the truth.”

Dad sets his cell phone down on his desk and leans back in his chair, his arms crossing over his chest. “You need to have patience, son. When it’s all over, you’ll be able to tell her everything and she’ll forgive you.”

“Or not,” I argue. “She needed a ride today and I had to tell her I couldn’t give her one.”

“Which you would have had to do even if she knew the truth. You’re working.”

“No, because if she knew the truth, she and my son would be living in my house with me, and I would’ve already bought her a fucking car. But I can’t do that because she thinks I’m a goddamn broke college student.”

I sit forward, with my elbows on my knees, and bury my face in my hands. “Fuck!” I yell. It’s muffled, but still helps to alleviate some of the pent-up anger I’m feeling.

When I glance up, Dad is frowning. He hates this almost as much as I do. “We’re getting closer. Just stick to the plan, and we’re going to snag him, along with whoever he’s working for. I take it you saw the last photos caught on surveillance?”