Page 50 of Riding the Line (Steel Saints MC #1)

After talking to Shelly, I felt a bit more grounded.

Was I still losing what little was left of my sanity?

Absolutely. But I’d worry about that another time.

I wandered around Charleston a bit. Once upon a time, this had been my home, but now I felt like a visitor—and I wasn’t sure if I’d ever come back here.

I knew I was going to Atlanta, and hopefully staying, but the Feds had been paying for my house.

What were the chances I could get it back?

There wasn’t much I could do until morning, so I got a hotel and spent the rest of the night staring at the ceiling.

The next two days were going to be tough—not only did I have to face the people I loved and betrayed, but I had to face a man who had been like a father to me, and hope to goodness that he would understand.

The first floor was, as always, a chaotic mess.

Perps hollering their innocence, cops on their third or fourth cup of coffee, stray reporters floating around and seeing how long it would take before they got the boot.

It was like that in every precinct, a certain kind of elaborate dance.

One I knew every step to, one I had devoted a good part of my life to.

I had once taken such pride in being a cop, and had busted my ass to become a detective.

I was good at it, and, while it wasn’t always easy, I had found the work rewarding.

But I had to believe what Shelly said—that I could do good in this world even without a badge.

I exited the elevator onto the second floor, and headed for an office I knew like the back of my hand.

The morning sun cast long slats of light across the worn hardwood floor, the smell of ink and old coffee.

I watched through the doorway for a minute, before knocking.

Lieutenant Hartwell, sleeves rolled up and glasses perched low on his nose, was glaring at a stack of paperwork like it had personally offended him.

When I knocked, he looked up with a characteristic frown that changed into something softer when he saw me.

Not quite a smile. Oh, no—not from that old tough bastard.

But I liked to tell myself there was a bit of fondness in his eyes.

“Detective, come in. I could use a break from this bullshit.”

My heart was somehow heavy and light at the same time.

I took a seat in one of the armchairs in front of his desk and tried to find the words.

He raised an eyebrow at me, and I decided not to beat around the bush.

So, I took my weapon off my hip and my badge from around my neck, and laid it on his desk.

He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms and waiting for me to explain.

“I’m going back.”

“Hm. I assume you’ve thought about this? Really thought about it?’

“Only about a thousand times, sir, and I keep coming back to the same place. My heart’s not in the badge anymore.”

“Is this about them? The brothers?”

I took a deep breath. It wasn’t judgment in his tone, simply a curiosity. I figured I owed him the truth—at least as much of the truth that I understood.

“It’s about a lot of things. When I went undercover, I told myself I could keep the lines clean — duty, justice, all of it.

You recommending me for the position in the first place, despite my inexperience, that was huge to me.

So, I was determined to do right by you.

Do right by those kids. But it stopped being black and white a long time ago.

I’ve seen things—helped people—in ways I never could have from behind this desk.

I’ve met some really great people, not just the brothers.

But people who want to make this world better.

I’ve come to respect them and, yes, in the case of Mac and Dalton, love them. ”

“So, you’re choosing to… join a motorcycle club?”

I laughed softly, self-deprecatingly. “I’m choosing me.”

He nodded, and the silence stretched between us.

It wasn’t awkward, but I still felt the need to fill it, to justify my decision.

“I’m not turning my back on justice. I just…

I want to fight for it differently now. With them.

On the ground. No red tape. No politics.

Just saving lives. Making a difference.”

Hartwell finally leaned forward, grabbing the badge I left on his desk, and turning it over and over in his weathered hands.

He looked between it and me, and sighed.

“You know, when you first walked into this precinct, you were all sharp edges and chip-on-your-shoulder fire.

I could see you holding yourself back, never saying what you really wanted to say.

Playing the part. But you had more self-control than most people twice your age.

Sometimes, I wished you would just let loose and give people what they had coming.

But you never did. I never expected you to last six months.

“But you did more than last. You changed people. Hell, you changed me. You devoted yourself to this life and you made a hell of a cop. When you made detective, I had never been so proud of someone under my command. That’s why I recommended you for the job. And you did damn good, kid.

“I can’t say I understand leaving your badge behind. But I do know that, whatever you decide, you’ll be fine. If you want to change the world, you will. Whether you’ve got a badge or not.”

I couldn’t help but stare at him, jaw open like a fish out of water.

That was the most I had ever heard the man speak. I sniffled, snapping my mouth closed and staring at the ceiling. Willing myself not to cry again. Not in front of him. Not here. When I looked back at him, it was to find him watching me with a bemused glint in his eye.

“You’re not disappointed?” I couldn’t help but ask.

“Not even a little. I always figured you’d outgrow this place.

Maybe not like this, but old men like yours truly need those curveballs to keep us on our toes.

” He stood, and I did too. Walking around his desk, he held his hand out to me.

“Go. Be happy. Do good. And if you ever need backup, you know where to find it. Good luck.”

I reached to shake his outstretched hand, and was surprised when he pulled me into a hug. After a second, he stepped back and cleared his throat awkwardly. “You’ll be missed, kid.”

I smiled at him, realizing I would miss him more than I thought. His mentorship meant more to me than he realized. I turned to leave and, just before I stepped out into the hallway, I turned around and said, “Thank you. For everything.”

He nodded his head and went back to his paperwork, but then looked up at me one more time. “You tell them boys if they hurt you, they answer to me.”

I laughed. “Yes, sir.”

On the elevator, I wiped my eyes and fiddled with my clothes.

My neck felt naked, like a weight missing.

But my heart… it felt a bit freer. A chapter closed, so a new one could open.

I wasn’t really sure how things were going to play out—sh ould I head straight to the clubhouse after getting off the plane, or head to my house that wasn’t mine?

Speaking of… I grabbed my phone, and called Shelly.

“Are you in Georgia yet?”

“What? No… I’m not The Flash.”

“Slacker. Sounds like a bunch of excuses.”

“Uh-huh. Listen, I need your help.”

“What’s up?”

I explained to her about my house, the one I had mentioned briefly the other night.

“I was kinda fond of the place, to be honest. But it was paid for by the Feds, so I’m not even sure how much the rent is.

But between the undercover pay and my savings, I got about a hundred-twenty grand stashed away.

If I send you my bank stuff and if the house isn’t more than like two grand a month…

could you get that set up for me? Please. ”

“Ah, so I get the boring job while you get to go see if you can win your lovers back? You’re lucky I love you. But if I do this, I only ask one thing in return…”

I laughed. “What?”

“Tea—every nitty-gritty detail. Short of recording the conversation, I want to hear everything . And, once the dust is settled, you fly my poor ass out to see you.”

“Deal!”

“Cool beans. Send me the details and I’ll see what I can do.”

“You’re the bomb. Love you.”

“I know. Love you, too.”

I disconnected the call and sent her everything she would need to, hopefully, get the house worked out for me.

Then it was time to grab my bags from where I left them with the desk sergeant, and flag down another cab to head for the airport.

I bought the tickets on the drive, and began practicing my speech in my head.

What was I going to say? Would they hate me?

Forgive me? What if it was too far gone?

What about Maria and Holly? Shit, did someone get my Triumph? And my stuffed fox?

My thoughts were going ninety miles an hour, and we were at the airport before I knew it.

After getting through security and checking my Colt, I had about an hour before the plane took off.

I had planned on just sitting by the window and waiting but, on my way to the gate, I passed one of the little stores.

I stopped, eyeing the travel-sized meds.

I really hadn’t slept last night and, with my anxiety and adrenaline sky-high, I doubted sleep would come easy.

I knew I needed it. I bit my bottom lip, eyeing the Benadryl. “Fuck it,” I swore under my breath.

Benadryl in hand, I went to check out, and the attendant asked, “Is that all?”

I opened my mouth to say yes, but what I actually said was, “I’ll take two of those mini Jim Beams too.” Oops.

I waited until the plane pulled up to the gate, and all the previous passengers had gotten off before tossing back both shots and the Benadryl.

Don’t try this at home, kids. An older woman watched me and, when I looked over at her, she gave me a judgmental look and said, “Flying nerves, sweetheart?”