Page 13 of Kings Don't Break

Dropping into my seat, I put on my well-practiced smile. “I hope you all enjoy. It’s my special butter chicken recipe.”

“Stricklin mentioned a rump roast,” Captain Vargas says.

Ken cuts a pointed stare in my direction. My face warms up at once, my pulse climbing.

Oh no…

“But,” Vargas continues with a pleased nod, “this is even better. You were right about your wife being great in the kitchen. If she’ll be bringing her meals to the precinct picnics, we just might promote you after all.”

“You’re up for a promotion!?” Mama gasps innocently. She clasps her hands together, forgetting about her plate of food.

I have to lean over and remind her to eat—she can’t take her laundry list of medications if she doesn’t, and it’s never good when her blood sugar gets too low.

Talk around the table turns official. Captain Vargas and Lieutenant Gillard grill Ken about his career and whether he truly feels he’s a good fit for the Pulsboro PD.

“I’m almost nine years into my career. I’m ready for the challenge,” Ken says.

“Being lieutenant isn’t just a challenge,” Gillard corrects, his expression serious. His lips have thinned the tighter he’s pulled his mouth. “It’s the biggest responsibility you’re yet to have. We’ve reviewed your record, Stricklin. You’re a damn good sergeant. But there’s a difference between supervising a couple uniforms and helping run a whole precinct.”

Captain Vargas nods. “Even one as small as Pulsboro.”

I remain engaged the entire time. Throughout the talk, I give whoever’s speaking my undivided attention, and I pretend whatever he’s saying is the most fascinating thing known to man.

Really, in the back of my mind, I’m thinking about earlier.

Not about my failure. Not even about the hit-and-run.

I’m thinking about the man I saw for the first time in a decade—the only man that I’ve spent every night wondering about.

No matter how long it’s been. No matter how far away.

Many years ago, Blake Cash stole a piece of my heart that’s yet to be returned. He’s walked around with it in his pocket like nothing, while I’ve had to move on, going through the motions, living with a big hole in my heart.

Seeing him again was like ripping off the Band-Aid I’d placed on top of it.

It hurt like hell and made it impossible to breathe.

Impossible to think.

He’d looked just like I imagined; just like I’d spied on social media.

Golden hair. Boundless blue eyes. A smile that melts you on the inside. That makes you swoon like some stupid romance novel cliché.

But it was more than Blake’s looks—it’s always been more than his handsome, perfect face—it’s the way he feels more familiar than anyone I’ve ever known.

Even after a decade apart, it’s still there. The bond we’d shared.

“This is some damn good chick—” Gillard interrupts himself with a deep cough. His skin quickly reddens as he beats a hard fist to his chest and his eyes tear up.

I blink out of my reverie in time to hurry and grab him a glass of water. Ken and Vargas have half-risen out of their chairs to check on him.

I return a split second later, clutching the cool glass and handing it over. He chugs it whole, making a grateful refreshed noise when he’s done.

“Phew!” he says hoarsely. “That’s better. That was some spicy chicken.”

“Apparently, too spicy for your White ass,” Vargas says.

Gillard takes the joke in stride, barking out a laugh. After half an awkward second, Ken joins him, his laugh unnatural and hollow.