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JAMIE

B odies bump against me on all sides, hands thrown in the air, phones dangling from sweaty fingers in an attempt to catch the chorus as the singer leans down to scream into the mic. A smile slides across my face as I press my hand to my chest, feeling the tumultuous bass vibrating my bones. My eyes flutter closed of their own volition as I sway to the music, reveling in the feeling of being alive.

I’m not thinking about the cases piled on my desk, all the missing kids I can’t fucking help, the fact I’ll go home to an empty apartment after this.

No. Right now, there’s just this. Music with my best fucking friend.

When the song comes to a close and the crowd cheers, I blink through the glaring, neon lights of the stage, catching sight of Rhett with his arms wrapped around his fiancé. His face is stony, per usual, but Dominik’s is alight with joy. Everett lowers his head against Dom’s shoulder to speak directly into his ear, and the smirk that tugs on the corners of Dominik’s mouth has me glancing away quickly, feeling like an intruder.

After a minute, I bump my elbow into Rhett’s side. He glances over, so I lean in. “I’m gonna go get another drink. Do you want anything?” He shakes his head before I’ve finished, eyes darting toward Dominik, who rolls his eyes.

“You know you can drink around me. I’m not that fucking fragile.”

Rhett grins, but it’s sinister. “Don’t I fuckin’ know it, beauty.” He does something with his other hand that I can’t see, but Dominik yelps, and I’m pretty sure he’s blushing. I grimace and turn away, muttering under my breath as I maneuver between bodies to the line for the bar. My arms cross over my chest as I look around, almost subconsciously scanning the crowd. It’s not intentional but more of a habit than anything now.

And this place is fucking packed. I’m sure the owners, Jaxon and Leo, are happy with the turnout for the opening of their venue.

Sweat and alcohol permeate the air, and I subtly breathe through my mouth as the line creeps forward, grimacing at the vast array of scents. I mean, honestly, do people not wear fucking deodorant?

Knuckles rap on the wooden bar top, pulling me out of my reverie. “What can I get you?”

“Shit, my bad.” I step forward, shoving my hands in my front pockets. “Can I get a vodka cranberry?” I catch a flash of a bright, white tank top as the bartender reaches for a bottle and flips it to pour into a plastic cup. My eyes travel up the length of her tattooed arm, cast in different colors from the stage lights.

My brows furrow at their familiarity. And then, I look up.

Fiona is staring back at me, equally dumbfounded, the bottle of vodka hanging loosely from her fingers. My jaw falls slack as my heart kick-starts in my chest. “Fiona?” I ask dumbly when it’s so fucking obviously her.

The woman I’ve wanted for fucking years. The one I sought out at least three times a week, if only to see her smile from where I sat across the bar, too fucking chicken-shit to say anything.

Fiona was the only person who made me think it might be worth it, who made me feel like I might finally be able to say “fuck that” to the ideals my family shoved down my throat my entire life.

But then, Rhett moved, and shit fell apart when I realized I was so fucking alone. And not long after he left, I got the job offer here in Portland, so I took it for what it was—a new start. I thought— hoped— that in a new place, further away from where it was all so complicated, I could let go. That it would be easier.

Turns out that was a fucking joke because now, I’m staring my past in the face. My failures, my regrets.

Fiona. The embodiment of who and what I’ve wanted.

“Jamie,” Fiona returns, eyes wide with shock as they dart around the room behind me. I follow their path, eyebrows furrowed in concentration, but when I come up empty, I step forward, pressing against the edge of the counter.

“Are you all right?” I ask genuinely. Fiona’s chest is rising and falling rapidly, and her dark brown eyes are naturally large, but they’re far too wide in this moment to be normal. She shakes her head slightly, hands trembling in front of her.

Frowning, I lean over the bar, waving my hand to get the attention of one of her colleagues. When some guy walks over, I tell him, “Fiona’s not doing well. Can she take a break?” He looks like he’s about to protest, but when he sees the state she’s in, he nods.

“You know this girl, Fiona?”

Fiona nods, and his lips curl. “All right.” He concedes. “Ten minutes, okay?”

“T-thanks, Tom.” And without looking back, she rushes out behind him. I frown and follow to where I saw her disappear, slipping through the smallest gaps between bodies. When I get to the back, I notice a door leading to an outdoor patio, so I push through, releasing a breath when I see Fiona leaning against the wall, a cigarette between her lips as she cups her hands to light the end.

My sweaty face stings as I step out into the cool, night air. Fiona doesn’t even look up at the sound of my boots on the concrete, but I notice the way they scan her periphery. I swallow through the lump in my throat, managing to choke out a pathetic, “Don’t wanna see me that bad?”

When I’m met with silence, I follow it with a weak chuckle, my face burning with embarrassment. My sweaty hands find my front pockets as I lean against the brick wall, a solid three feet away. I glance over, following the curve of her lips and down the slope of her tattooed throat, which glistens with sweat in the lamppost lights. Forcing my gaze to the brick wall in front of us, I catch the smoke curling in my peripheral, the scent burning its way through my nostrils.

“It’s not that,” Fiona says after a few minutes of intense silence. I want to ask her what she means, but I can’t. My instincts are telling me something’s wrong. Or… maybe not wrong, but it isn’t right. Different.

But I can’t ask, can I? We don’t really know each other anymore—or at all.

I feel her eyes on me. Following the line of my jaw, the small tilt of her head as she looks down my body, at my clothes. My hands fist in my jeans as I look too, sorely disappointed in myself for not trying harder to look better.

My blue jeans and old band tee seemed fitting earlier, but standing next to Fiona with her tight, ripped pants and fitted tank top, her flawless face and perfectly curled hair, I feel inadequate. Like I don’t look anywhere near good enough to be standing next to her.

And I just know if someone were to look out at us in this moment, they’d see my inadequacy, too.

“I just didn’t expect to see anyone I knew here.” My eyes flutter closed of their own volition as her raspy voice finds its way into my brain. I drop my head back against the brick before turning to face her.

“It is a big city,” I concur. “How long have you been here?”

She pulls in a drag, holding the smoke in her lungs, like she’s debating how to answer—if at all. “About ten months,” she says as she releases her breath. “I’m assuming you’ve been here since you left?” Her question isn’t bitter, but it’s not entirely friendly, either.

I suppose I deserve that; I did just up and leave without a word.

Swallowing the unsurprising flash of shame, I mumble a weak, “Y-yeah.” I clear my throat. “I got a job offer—a promotion. And it—it just felt right to take it.”

Fiona stares at me, her dark eyes peering through me. Her full lips curl inward in contemplation before she tugs one between her teeth to chew on it. And then, the blatant awkwardness just… falls away. “That makes sense. You like your job, then?”

Her right cheek dents into a dimple when her mouth twists to the left, and it’s so ridiculously charming, I feel myself smiling for no real reason at all.

“I love it, even if it does break my heart,” I answer honestly, utterly rapt at the way her lips curl around the filter of her cigarette, lipstick staining the paper. “How about you?”

She blinks slowly, and her long, dark lashes flutter against her shapely cheekbones. “Hmm?”

“Do you like your job?”

Her smile falters slightly, but she covers it by taking the last drag from her smoke, turning her back on me to put it out. “It’s a job. I’m good at it.” She drops the filter in the garbage before turning to face me. And she’s so fucking gorgeous, it breaks my heart a bit.

“Are you okay, Fiona?” I ask softly, sensing she needs gentleness, but I can’t deny the way my skin is pulled taut with the desire to know, my instincts pulling me in.

I don’t miss the subtle twitch of her eyes or the way her nostrils flare slightly. She curls her lips in again, and I just know she’s trying to come up with a plausible lie.

“You don’t have to answer if it makes you uncomfortable. I know we don’t, erm —we don’t really know each other anymore, if we ever did. I don’t know. But, mmm… shit.” I reach behind me to tug on the end of my ponytail, pulling it over my shoulder to play with the ends.

“It’s cute, how you still stumble to just talk to me,” Fiona quips, flipping the conversation one-hundred and eighty degrees. My eyes flash to hers in confusion at the abrupt switch. A grin dances across her face, all signs of her earlier distress gone in a flash. “You’re still so… shy.”

That makes me frown, and my arms cross on instinct. Shy? “What does that mean?”

She laughs loudly, and it’s as light as air. “Exactly.” Her eyes twinkle in the yellow light, and fuck me if I don’t fall right into the pool of her deep, brown eyes. The air smells of sweat and cigarettes, and the cool breeze flits into the gap between both sides of the building.

The thump of the bass is muted out here, but its vibration has its own distinct twinge in the air. My eyes narrow slightly as Fiona readjusts her tank top, pulling it down to expose more of her tattooed cleavage, eyes still scanning the small, enclosed area.

“Well, I?—”

“You’re trying to distract me.”

We both speak over each other, but my sentence wins out.

I don’t miss the way her eyes bounce between mine. And don’t think I’ve missed the way you haven’t stopped looking around , is what I want to say, but really, what fucking right do I have?

After an intense minute, Fiona blows out a breath before pulling her thick hair back into a messy ponytail. The purple streaks catch in the light as she runs her inked fingers through them, twisting and pulling until it’s piled high on her head and secured with a scrunchy.

“I almost fucking forgot you’re a cop,” she mumbles, almost to herself, as she shakes her head, looking down at the ground.

I lift a brow at her, and once I have her attention, I flip my hand in a vague gesture over my body. “I would come into the bar in my uniform, nearly every single time.” It was unintentional, but her eyes follow the movement of my hand regardless, and my face heats in her slow perusal.

Shifting on my feet, I clear my throat. “Anyway…” I grip my nape. “I’m a detective now.”

Fiona’s eyes widen slightly with surprise, and I don’t know if I should be offended or amused. Before I can ask, she answers for me.

“That’s—really amazing. What—” She clears her throat.

“Cold cases,” I answer softly, and she winces, nose crinkling slightly. “That’s why I said it breaks my heart, but the one’s I’ve been able to solve since I got here make it worth it.”

Her smile is sad. Mine is, too.

“That’s good,” she says softly, and it’s not until she’s walking past me, arms crossed over her stomach in a protective gesture, that it hits me. I reach out, fingers wrapping around her forearm and pulling her to a stop.

She looks up, and I feel the urge to ask her so many things. Why she looks flighty and why she’s deflecting. Why she is here and if she can stay.

“Yes?” she prompts after a minute. She doesn’t pull away from my touch, even as my fingers splay wide over her tattoos.

“Rhett’s inside,” I say absentmindedly, not sure why I’m even bringing him up when she probably doesn’t know who I’m talking about.

“Shit, really?” She sounds genuinely surprised. “I thought he moved across the country.”

I smile at her, fingers still tracing the colorful art on her arms. “You remember him? And he did,” I answer after a moment.

Her brow arches comically high. “He’s pretty hard to forget. Besides, he was your friend. He is the one that got my number for you, if you recall.” I flush at the memory of being utterly fucking mortified when Rhett tossed the paper at me and told me Fiona said I was cute.

“You said I was cute.” I try not to sound pitiful, but Fiona laughs softly, her own fingers brushing over mine with a slight tremble.

“You say it like it’s a bad thing.”

“I’m thirty-two years old. Being cute isn’t quite the compliment you think it is.”

The heated stare she doubles down with makes my stomach flip. She grabs my hand and turns so my arm winds around her waist, twisted with hers. She pulls us flush together, her breasts pressed against my own, and I can’t fucking breathe.

We’re nearly the same height as we look into each other’s eyes, seeing shadows and darkness and trepidation amongst the pooling tendrils of something like untapped desire.

My lungs are stilted as Fiona leans forward, gaining another inch in height as she skims our noses together. I go a bit cross- eyed, but I can’t bring myself to look away, to even blink. Her mouth quirks at the corner, and the rare, unfamiliar flutter in my chest takes flight for the first time in years.

Fiona’s fingers tighten atop mine, nearly entwining. Her lips pucker, and I taste her breath as she whispers, “I promise you, Jamie, being cute is exactly what you want.”

My chest is rising and falling faster than ever, but I can’t feel it. My eyelids flutter closed when the tell-tale burning of my eyes becomes too much and my breath stutters.

Fiona must sense how overwhelmed I am because she steps back—but not before placing a soft kiss to my cheek. A whisper of touch before she’s gone, and the night air feels so much fucking colder.

Now painfully alone, I feel the rush of emotions swell, and I blink up at the night sky, fighting to keep the tears from falling. My nose twitches as it burns, so I focus on the clouds blocking the stars I wish I could see.

The self-loathing for who I am has diminished over the years, the thoughts my family beat into me no more than mere background noise in the tumultuous thoughts constantly swarming. And I wish I could blame that—blame them—but the truth is, I’m ashamed.

I’m fucking humiliated that I’m thirty-two fucking years old and have no idea how to even be who I am.

I just know I’ll do something wrong and embarrass myself, which will definitely humiliate Fiona because who the fuck even wants someone who’s fucking “shy”, as she so eloquently stated. She’ll be uncomfortable and won’t want to be around me, and then, it’ll all be fucked between us after that.

A hand wraps around my bicep and yanks me forward. I stumble past some people who huff and grumble but move aside. I glance back with an apologetic grimace as Rhett rights me beside him.

“Where the fuck did you fuck off to?” he asks.

I huff and shove away from him. “You didn’t have to fucking manhandle me. ”

“You were going in the wrong direction,” he deadpans. Dominik’s lips twitch with amusement.

“Whatever,” I grumble as I turn to face the stage. The final band is getting ready, so the chatter is even louder. And then, some country song plays through the speakers and everyone—including Dominik—starts belting out the lyrics, making me snort.

Rhett just stares at him, and if I didn’t know him like I do, I’d think he was thinking about eating Dominik piece by piece. My nose scrunches with a grimace. Actually, scratch that…

“I saw Fiona,” I tell him, needing to avert that train of thought right there. And I don’t exactly want to talk about Fiona and my… feelings or whatever, but it’s better than thinking about my best friend fucking his fiancé.

I shiver as I watch the people on the stage move instruments and unwind cords.

“No shit,” he huffs. I nod, lips curled inward over my teeth.

“Well, did you talk to her? Or were you too chicken shit?”

My head whips around. “Of course, I did, you fucking asshole. ”

“Well, there you fuckin’ go.” But then, he smiles like he’s… proud of me, and my anger deflates in an instant.

I roll my eyes to fight off whatever this squirmy feeling is. “Probably fucked it up, though. She was acting weird, and part of me was itching to figure out what was wrong, but the other half was just so fucking nervous, I couldn’t even hold the conversation. And then, she left.”

After a few seconds of nothing, I glance up to find both Rhett and Dom staring at me. My eyes flick between them before dropping to the sea of legs below.

“What the fuck are you staring at me for?”

“You couldn’t even get her number, Jame?” Rhett asks, sounds incredulous. Disappointed.

“Oh, please,” I scoff, defensive. “You shouldn’t even be surprised by that.” But even as I say it, the humiliation makes itself known, feeling painfully hot again.

“Where did you see her?” Dominik asks.

I jerk my head. “The bar. She’s working here.” Dom’s face lights up at that, barring more confusion from me. He leans forward, lips to Everett’s ear. Rhett’s brows furrow as he listens to Dominik, and when he’s finished, he pulls back and brushes past me, disappearing into the crowd.

Rhett’s eyes never leave the general direction Dominik faded into as he says, “He’s going to get her number for you.”

“For fuck’s sake, Rhett. I can get a girl’s fucking number myself, thank you, ” I sound pathetic, and I know it. And he just laughs. Right in my fucking face.

“Sure.”

“Fuck off.”

His elbow digs into my side as he nudges me. There’s feedback on a mic that also makes me wince. “You know you love me, Jame.”

I recoil, face twisted into a grimace. “ Eugh. Don’t ever say that to me again.”

His short huff makes my lips twitch, but I maintain my glare. “Yeah, I figured I’d try it out, but you’re right. That was fuckin’ weird.”

Our eyes meet for a moment before we straighten and look forward at the stage, now ready for the final band. It’s quiet between us until Dominik shows up, seemingly out of breath—which of course, garners all of Everett’s attention.

“Sorry,” Dominik huffs, hands on his waist. “Didn’t wanna miss the beginning.”

Everett just lifts a silent brow as Dominik pulls off his hat, shakes out his damp curls, and places it back on backward. My foot is tapping restlessly, waiting for him to fucking spill it. Which seems to amuse the both of them to no end.

“Beauty, quit being a brat.”

His returning smirk is devious. “Fine. She left.”

“Excuse me?” I blurt.

He shrugs. “I looked for her, but this other guy working?—”

“Tom?” I interrupt.

Dom nods. “Yeah, him. He said she went home. Sick or something.”

My head drops. “Fuck.” Did seeing me again really fuck her up that bad?

“ But… ” Dominik drawls.

My head jerks up. “Not all of us like being fucking edged, Dominik, ” I sneer, which makes Everett cackle. Dominik has the decency to flush, even in the low lights.

He pouts. “You’re not any fun. Whatever. I ran into Jax, and he happened to mention that she actually works full time at Leo’s Pub and was only filling in here for a few nights until they got someone with more experience.”

My brows furrow. “Am I supposed to know what that means?”

Dominik’s lips part, but then a loud guitar strum cuts through the tumultuous chatter, and voices whoop and holler as the band saunters across the stage, random notes bleeding into the intro of their first song.

He leans in and shouts in my ear, “We’ll show you after.” And his smile should make me feel better, but all I feel is sick to my stomach.

Because Fiona looked frightened. And then, she left after she talked to me.

Because something is off, and once more—just like with my fucking job—I don’t have all the information I need to figure it out.