Page 48

BENCH CONVERSATIONS

Blake

The police station was not where Blake wanted to be, and it showed. He’d been staring down at the printer with a menacing expression for the last five minutes, hoping it might reveal why it was beeping and flashing incessantly .

It didn’t.

“You… uh… you okay there, Sarge?” Lily said, appearing at his shoulder.

Blake’s head jerked up, and he realised he’d crumpled the documents he’d planned to copy into little golf ball sized spheres.

“Yes,” he snapped.

Lily nodded slowly, taking a cautious step towards him. “Paper jam,” she said, quietly tapping the screen. “You just need to… uh… open?—”

“Thank you, DC Jones.” Now he really was snapping, but luckily it seemed Lily knew when to let a grumpy sergeant figure out his own mess. She nodded, melting back into the incident room without another word.

He found an empty office at the end of the corridor, containing little more than a desk, a chair and an obnoxiously aggressive laminated sign that read, “HAS YOUR SUSPECT BEEN ON BAIL FOR LONGER THAN 90 DAYS? CONTACT CUSTODY IMMEDIATELY.”

Blake snarled at the sign, which he thought was reasonable given that he’d made it in a fit of rage one morning after his twentieth bail escalation. Detectives were good at many things, but remembering to tell their suspects they were no longer under investigation was not one of them.

At some point, Lily must have slipped into the room and placed a mug of green tea on the desk, because he was holding one with no recollection of making it.

“Smithy!” Mark’s irritatingly chipper voice called from down the corridor.

Blake calculated that he had approximately three point two seconds to get around the desk and slam the door shut, however, he wasted a further two seconds tearing his eyes away from the poster.

“There you are,” Mark said, appearing in the doorway. “What the fuck are you doing in here? Our office is that way.” He pointed towards their shared office at the other end of the corridor.

Blake’s jaw tensed. “I know that, Mark. I’ve worked in the department for fourteen months.”

Fourteen fucking months of listening to the other alpha’s incalculable number of excuses for getting out of jobs.

Mark quirked an eyebrow. “Don’t I fucking know it. Anyway, I need you to go through the briefing pack with me. Explain things so I don’t make a tit of myself in front of the boss.”

Blake’s lip twitched. “I sent you the briefing pack by email yesterday. You haven’t read it yet?”

Mark scoffed and waved the comment away. “Of course I fucking haven’t. Did you think the Villa game was gonna watch itself?”

Blake snarled, rising from the uncomfortable swivel chair. “Well then, Mark. To quote you—tough fucking tits.”

Mark smacked the desk with his fist. “You wanna go, big boy?”

Then they were both posturing. The only things keeping them apart were the desk and Blake’s crinkled stack of paperwork. There was a sound from the hallway—an awkward cough followed by a concerned yelp.

“Uh-oh, Mum and Dad are fighting again,” one of the other detectives said, tugging at another’s sleeve as they both backed away.

Blake’s nostrils flared as he straightened his tie. “See you in thirty minutes,” he said between clenched teeth. “Whether or not you make an idiot of yourself is entirely on you.”

With that, he strode out of the office, down the corridor and out of the back door.

There was a little grassy patch with a bench that used to be the smoking area.

However, since the superintendent had decided that everyone should give up smoking and ‘employ a more healthy lifestyle,’ it’d been renamed the Garden of Reflection.

The wild lilies sprouting from the borders did nothing to make it sound less like a crematorium.

Blake sighed and placed his mug next to him on the bench.

Rubbing his eyes, he did his absolute best not to think of Pember all alone in his bedroom.

Likely feverish. Probably naked. Possibly touching himself.

The way he’d smelled earlier… It made Blake’s mouth water every time he caught a whiff of it on his own skin.

He closed his eyes and imagined a blank room.

A rough hand slapped his shoulder, making him almost jump out of his fucking skin.

“Alright?” A blonde-haired, blue-eyed sigma beamed down at him. “Long time no see.”

Blake rubbed his eyes and sighed. “Oliver, respectfully, please allow me to drink this cup of piss-water in peace.”

Oliver scoffed. “And make me have my morning brew with Mark ‘the moron’ Matthews? I don’t think so, pal. Budge up.”

Blake scowled as Oliver tapped his shoulder. “Oliver, just because you’re a sergeant now?—”

“Ahh, that’s better,” Oliver said, settling himself on the bench next to Blake. “Ready to be dazzled by my morning briefing?”

Sighing, Blake tipped his head back against the wall. “Yes, I’m sure it’s going to be riveting.”

“It is. I take my role as Family Liaison Officer very seriously.”

The corner of Blake’s mouth tipped up. “You didn’t even want the position. I believe you called us a bunch of useless twats when you were given the news.”

Oliver covered his chest, looking mildly offended. “That’s not true. Who told you that?”

“Your husband.”

Oliver’s mouth popped open. “Lucas would never grass on me.”

Blake’s small smile became a smirk. “If you say so, DS White.”

Oliver huffed, pulled out his phone and began texting furiously. After a minute or so he gritted his teeth and shook his head. “Bastard,” he muttered, and put the phone away. “Anyway, tell your team not to ask any stupid questions. It’s Alfie’s first parents’ evening tonight and I can’t be late.”

Blake nodded. “How is he?”

“Good. We’re having a bit of an issue with speech regression, but…” Oliver shrugged and cracked his fingers. “We’re working on it.”

“And Mina?”

Oliver grinned. “She’s crazy. The other day she tried to shift on her own.

Failed miserably, of course, so decided to roll all the way from the living room to the kitchen, took a bath in Sandy’s water bowl then tried to escape through the cat flap.

It’s a good job I was watching her, because I think she’d have done it too. ”

“An unruly risk-taker? I wonder who she takes after,” Blake replied, cocking an eyebrow.

Oliver slapped Blake’s knee. “I’ll take that as a compliment. But anyway, what about you? How’s everyone on Bell Lane?”

Blake nodded, taking another sip of his drink.

“Still living next to that crazy old alpha?”

“Val. Yeah, she’s still going.” His mouth pulled into a scowl. “And the fucking parrot.”

“And Pem? How’s he settled in?”

Blake stiffened, looking down at his lap. “Good,” he said, picking at a piece of lint on his trousers.

Oliver narrowed his eyes. “Just good? Where is he, anyway? I haven’t seen him today.”

“He’s… off, for the next few days.”

Oliver gave a knowing look. “I see. Is that why you’ve got a face like thunder?”

“I do not.”

“You do. I thought I was going to have to take out a restraining order on the photocopier’s behalf.”

Blake ran his tongue over his teeth. “There was a paper jam. I un-jammed it.”

“By ripping out the feed wheel?”

“Are you an expert on photocopiers?”

“No, but it doesn’t take a genius to see you’re strung tighter than the boss’s G-string.”

“The boss doesn’t wear G-strings.”

“Doesn’t he? Because his expression makes him look like he’s got a permanent wedgie.”

“That’s just his face, Oliver.”

Oliver waved the comment away. “Whatever. Has something happened between you two?”

Blake sniffed. “No.”

“Because I’m fairly certain it goes without saying that just because he’s in heat doesn’t give you the right to go all possessive alpha-hole on him.”

Blake gritted his teeth. “I can assure you, I’m not.”

Oliver nodded, but the way his nostrils flared implied he wasn’t done. “Good, because if you hurt him, I’ll break your fucking legs.”

Blake slammed his cup down on the bench. When he looked up and saw that Oliver was serious, his frown turned to a outright snarl. “Hurt him? Hurt him ? I would never fucking hurt him.”

Oliver’s top lip peeled back over his fangs, and he spoke through clenched teeth. “I’m just saying, he’s been through enough.”

Blake returned the hostile expression. “I know .”

Then they were both standing, and although Oliver was a good head shorter, he still managed to fill the space. “So what’s your fucking problem, Blake? Are you pissed that he didn’t want you to help with his heat? I never took you for an entitled prick, but?—”

“Fuck off, Ollie. Just fuck off. I’m pissed because…

no, I’m fucking livid that I’m here, and he’s there.

Alone, and vulnerable. Has he told you about his mum?

She sent someone to his house, fucked with his medication, she even reported him to Professional Standards.

He’s scared, and he tries to be strong but I?—”

Blake crumpled on the bench, gripping the front of his shirt.

“I don’t know what the fuck’s wrong with me, Ollie. This is… I’ve never… This feeling in my fucking chest, I… I feel like?—”

Then his chest was really hurting, his throat growing tight as his face tingled. The muscles in his jaw turned numb, and everything… everything was?—

“Blake?” Oliver said, suddenly turning pale. “Blake, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” he growled. “Nothing. I’ll be alright in a minute.”

“I-is it the heart thing, because I can get?—”

“Oliver, just shut up, would you? I’ll be fine.”

He tipped his head back against the wall, closing his eyes. Silence fell between them, and when he finally opened them again, Oliver was staring at him.

“See?” Blake said, running a hand through his hair. “I’m fine.”

Oliver collapsed onto the bench, groaning as he held his head in his hands. “Jesus, dude. Don’t do that to me.”

Blake frowned. “Don’t start pointless fights with me then.”

“Sorry, I… Fuck, I’m sorry. I’m just so tired, Alfie’s barely sleeping and—” He let out a heavy sigh. “Lucas and I are running on fumes.”

Blake let out a breath. “That bad?”