Her finger trails over my temple. “What is it?”

“There’s a peer counseling group that meets twice a week. It’s not therapy—at least not the sitting-on-the-couch, pouring-my-heart-out kind of shit—just a bunch of retired vets from the force who listen to you, and tell you what they’ve seen.”

“Like an emotional sharing network?”

I frown. “Don’t pussy it up for me.”

She laughs, but I keep going. “It’s cops talking to other cops. I don’t know—given my choices, maybe it’s not so bad.”

Her smile softens. “I think this could be exactly what you need,” she says. “But if it’s not enough, I need you to be honest with me, and yourself.”

“But it’s a start, right?”

“It is,” she agrees.

“Then what’s up? You look like I stole your favorite pair of argyles.”

Her finger stops along my jaw, and an odd expression plays across her face like I hurt her. Really hurt her. Damn, what did I say?

She averts her gaze and takes a breath, obviously needing a moment. When she faces me again she seems on the brink of tears. “Curran, I don’t know how you feel about me, and I’m not asking. But I’m to the point where I can’t picture my life without you.”

What she says then—about the future—is exactly what I’ve been thinking. Hell, I think about it all the time, seeing how we’ve all but moved in together. But the hurt in her features warns me that something’s wrong. “That’s supposed to be a good thing, isn’t it?”

A tear dribbles down her cheek. “Not if I have to walk away. But I will if you don’t get the help you need.”

My voice grows an edge as I lift off her. “Are you threatening to break up with me if I don’t do what you ask?”

She shakes her head. “It’s not meant as a threat, Curran. I’m only trying to be honest. I’ve spent the first part of my life being miserable. I don’t want to spend the remainder the same way.” Her voice trembles. “But I can’t be happy if you’re not. So go to counseling, and get the help you need, so we can be happy together.”

Chapter 21

Curran

As much as I told Tess I was willing to give peer counseling a shot, I never expected it to be what it is. The first group session, following a brief introduction, I just sat there, steeling myself to be tested and judged. I was the new guy, right? I had to prove myself—just like I did in the academy, and just like I’d done on the force. But it wasn’t like that. All focus quickly left me. Those who weren’t directly looking at the group leaders were drilling holes into the floor with their stares.

David, a retired cop who served thirty-two years on the force, started us off. “Me and Thomas are leading tonight. Shit gets too rough, you stop. All’s there is to it. You don’t have anything good to say, get the fuck out. No one needs to hear it.”

Some people nodded like they understood or simply agreed. Others like me barely moved as David’s gaze swept around the circle. I didn’t expect anyone to understand me. Yeah, I mean I know they’ve seen and done shit they regret. But they’re good men, good cops. They don’t know the fucked-up emotions striking me like a pickax through my skull. They don’t feel what I feel when I crawl into bed with Tess and hold her against me—the fear that comes that millisecond before I give in to sleep, wondering what my subconscious is going to do to me this time. Or when I wake, what will trigger my guilt or shame. No way. As much as they hurt, they aren’t me.

Holy shit, didn’t I get an earful and a real eye-opening.

“You okay?” Tess asked afterward.

I didn’t tell her how I wasn’t sure how I made it to her place. Didn’t admit how I don’t remember the drive. I slipped into my truck and then there I was, knocking on her door. For as much as I tried to set my “cop face” in place, I couldn’t manage. “Baby,” she whispered as she wrapped her arms around my neck. My hands clutched her hips, then slid to her back as my head fell against her shoulder. Jesus help me, I thought I’d never let her go.

Did group get easier? Hell, no. But one thing it showed me was that I didn’t stand alone in my mistakes, my guilt, and yeah, my pain, too.

Tonight was a rough one. I pat Levon’s shoulder as I step past him. He nods once, his way of giving me the pass to leave. I think I should stay, but everything in his sunken eyes tells me he’s done talking and needs room to breathe.

This shit’s fucked up. All of it. And I’m not sure how long he’s going to keep it together, or if more of us won’t follow him down the same path.

I stomp down the stone steps of the church. A few of the boys loiter behind—including Arnie and Malik, the two retirees who had led tonight’s group. They stand close to Levon, but not too close, giving him the kind of space I think he needs and I’m not so sure I’m capable of.

Levon had finally shared, and that shit tore him in half. But how do you get over shooting a baby when the bullet was meant for his piece-of-shit dad gunning for you? You don’t. And you never will.

This is the ugly side of law enforcement the media never mentions, and one critics turn a blind eye to, the one no politician runs to point out. They don’t have to, I guess. They have that luxury. Levon, and others like us, never will. We relive our sins with each passing day.

I rub my eyes as my head continues to pound from everything I heard and felt. A part of Levon died that day, with that baby, with the realization he couldn’t bring her back. It’s obvious from the way he carries himself, and how his eyes beg for a quick death. It’s the one way he’s certain he’ll find his peace—he said it himself, which is why he’s being monitored so closely.

I want to shake him—to do something. Those cops Lu talked about blowing their heads off in the basement. Levon has that potential. If he doesn’t get it together, this may be the last time I see him. I told him as much during group—so did the other boys. But words don’t mean much to him. Not the way his mind is messing with him, and not with those crying babies he says he hears at night.

I glance over my shoulder. Arnie and Malik flank him, speaking quietly, trying to hold his focus. They’re good that way. But they’re not good enough to stop Levon if he wants to die bad enough. For the sake of his wife and kids, I hope Levon has the guts to hang on.

I cut through a small garden, the one dedicated to the Virgin Mary. Like I told Tess, I’m not a good Catholic, but I cling to the rituals I was taught. I kneel down in front of the statue and pray for Levon and his family.

“In the name of the Father, Son, and the Holy Spirit,” I mumble, crossing myself. I bound down the steps in time to see Joey, his long arms forcing the wheels of his chair along the walkway.

My stomach bottoms out, and I freeze. For all I think I need my cop face now, it doesn’t come. Every muscle on me tightens, the same way they do when I see a fist swing my way and know it’s a blow I can’t avoid.

I know he sees me, but his focus is so fixed ahead, I think for sure he’ll roll right past me, like he did during the trial. Instead he stops directly in front of me. “Hey, Joey,” I say.

He blinks up at me, his jaw set tight. “Hey, O’Brien.”

Neither of us says anything for what has to be the longest damn minute of my life. “You here for the group?” he asks.

“Yeah.”

“Been coming long?”

I try to shrug, but can’t manage. “A couple of weeks.”