Damaged Goods (Don't Call Me Hero Book 2) (15 page)

The day was warm and sunny, so I drove out to Webber Park. There were playgrounds closer to my apartment, but I liked the atmosphere of the neighborhood park. I sat at an empty picnic table under a shady grove of trees. I pulled my cell phone out of the back pocket of my jeans. I hadn’t looked at my phone all day. Unlike most people my age, I wasn’t addicted to the world of smart phones and social media probably because I’d been out of the country for nearly a decade. It was amazing how much one missed out on being in a different part of the world. I could remember the foreignness of America when I had first returned. And when people had talked about current events, especially popular culture, they might as well have been speaking an alien dialect.

I had a number of missed calls—all, surprisingly, from Julia. She hadn’t left any voicemails or text messages though.

Instead of calling her back, I dialed the only phone number I had memorized by heart.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Mom.”

“Cassidy! Goodness, this is a surprise. Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. I’m just having a rough day,” I said.

“Is there anything I can do to help?”

“No. I’ll survive,” I said. “I needed to hear a familiar voice, that’s all. What are you doing today?”

“Laundry. It never ends,” she sighed. “It’s only me and your father; I don’t know how we manage to get so many clothes dirty. Did you get your boxes okay?” she asked. “I didn’t hear from you, but I assumed you would have called if anything was missing.”

“Yeah, I got everything, thanks. I’m sorry I haven’t been better about calling to check in. I get busy with work and it slips my mind.”

“I don’t want to be a nag, and I know you’re safer now than when you were in Afghanistan, but I still worry.”

“No, I get it,” I appeased. “I should call more.”

“And visit?” Her voice lilted up hopefully.

I hesitated. “You know he and I don’t get along, Mom. I’ve tried, I really have, but anytime we spend time together, it turns into a fight. We’re just too different.”

“Or too much alike,” she noted.

When I got off the phone with my mom, I headed back to my apartment for the evening. Enough time had passed that I no longer worried about being alone with my thoughts. I’d make myself a frozen pizza, drink a few beers, and go to bed early to get mentally prepared for work in the morning.

But my plans for the night fell through. When I returned home, there was someone waiting outside of my apartment door: Julia.

I didn’t immediately acknowledge her presence. I walked past her to my front door and sifted through my key ring. Without having to look, I could feel her stare on me.

“I called you about a hundred times,” she exaggerated. She pushed herself off the wall she’d been leaning against. “Why weren’t you answering your phone?”

“I was at group therapy,” I said. “And then I went for a ride on my motorcycle.”

“Oh. I—” She wrung her hands in front of her. “I owe you an apology, Cassidy.”

I chewed on the inside of my cheek. I could be petty and stubborn and refuse her the chance. Or I could let her inside and see how things went. “Sure,” I grunted. “But inside. Not out here. My neighbors are nosy as shit.”

Once inside my apartment, I routinely began to pick up empty beer bottles, dirty clothes, and other signs of laziness.

“Want a drink?” I asked.

She shook her head, arms crossed in front of her as though hugging herself.

I opened the refrigerator door, but closed it nearly immediately. I wasn’t in the habit of stocking up on food, and any beer I bought usually didn’t last very long. After the few days I’d had, however, I needed something stronger than beer.

Julia waited silently while I dug around in a box labeled “Kitchen.” I still hadn’t unpacked the boxes my parents had shipped me, and this particular box hadn’t made it out of the living room. When I’d first moved to Minneapolis for the police academy, I’d bought a bottle of my dad’s favorite scotch. I generally stayed away from hard liquor, but I’d stocked up in anticipation of family visits. My dad had never come to see me though, and the bottle of scotch had only accumulated dust, first in my kitchen cabinet and now in the storage container.

I found a clean glass in one of my kitchen cabinets and poured myself two fingers of the amber liquid before taking an experimental sip. I let the drink flow over my tongue—velvety and rough at the same time.

Julia’s heels echoed against the hard floor as she came to join me in the kitchen. “I was scared to come over tonight,” she said, breaking through the uncomfortable silence. “And I’m not a woman who gets afraid.”

I took another drink and made a face as the fiery liquid raced down my throat. “What were you afraid of?”

“You not letting me in.”

“Well I did,” I remarked. I poured myself some more scotch even though my glass wasn’t empty yet. “Nothing to be scared of now.”

“I don’t mean into your apartment, dear,” she clarified. She licked her lips before continuing. “You’ve trusted me so much, Cassidy, and you’ve shared things from your past that I know you don’t talk about with anyone else. And the one time when I should have let you in— should have let myself be vulnerable—I shut you out.”

She’d perfectly identified what had hurt me, but I didn’t know how to vocalize that anger. “You lost your trial. We all process disappointment differently,” I shrugged.

“Stop being so flippant, and stop making excuses for me,” she bit out angrily. “I screwed up with you, and I know it. Let’s not sweep it under the rug.”

“Okay. Fine.” I purposefully set my glass down on the kitchen counter. “I understand why you thought you needed to be alone after your mom’s hearing, but you can’t do that again, Julia. You can’t shut me out; we’re a team, you and me.”

Julia frowned. “I know. And I’m sorry. I guess I’ve gotten used to doing things on my own.”

“Well stop it,” I declared. “You’re not alone anymore. You need to learn to trust me.”

Julia released a long breath. It was in her nature to argue or at least to poke holes in my argument—it was part of the reason she made such a good lawyer. But she didn’t resist this time, either not seeing the point of defending her actions or too tired to argue any more.

“Can you appeal the judge’s decision?” I was afraid of re-opening a recently closed wound, but I was curious how she might next proceed. Experience told me that Julia Desjardin didn’t give up easily.

“Not right away, no. There wouldn’t be a point. I need new evidence to sway the case in my favor.”

“What kind of evidence?”

“Basically I have to wait for my father to make a mistake at my mother’s expense.”

I nodded, understanding. It was a bleak prognosis. And without verbalizing it, I knew she was second-guessing her decision to have her mother declared incompetent. Her mother’s rights had been stripped, giving her father even more power than before.

“It might not do much, but I could ask David Addams to keep an eye on things?” I offered. In my short time on the Embarrass police force, Sergeant Addams and I had become good friends. With the exception of maybe my old neighbor, Grace Kelly Donovan, I trusted David more than anyone else I’d met in that place.

“I …” She hesitated and her dark eyes shifted in her skull. I knew she hated asking for help; I was the same way. “I would appreciate that.”

“I’ll call him in the morning,” I said. “I bet he’ll actually be happy for the assignment.” Besides breaking up bar fights or responding to domestic disturbances, Embarrass, Minnesota—population of less than one thousand—experienced little that required police action.

She nodded, satisfied. “Thank you, Cassidy.”

“Why do I get the feeling that you were the kind of student who hated group work and would take over the group project and do all the work yourself?” I teased.

“Why ever would I trust someone else when a grade was at stake?” she sniffed.

We didn’t do much the rest of the night. I was emotionally exhausted and I was sure she was feeling the same way. Neither of us brought up the fight or the custody trial again, both satisfied to move past it for now.

When it was time to sleep, I slid into bed beside her and my body instantly curled around hers. Hearing the quiet, satisfied sound come from her made me smile and I pressed against her a little more flush.

“God, you feel good,” I whispered into her hair and the back of her head. We’d only been apart for a few hours, but because we’d been fighting, it felt like I hadn’t seen her in days.

“How was your meeting tonight?” she asked.

“It was fine. I didn’t talk, but sometimes it’s nice to hear other people speak about their experiences. The—I don’t know—the commonalities, the parallels are comforting. Like it’s good to know that I’m not the only one dealing with these things.”

“I made some calls about your medical bills.”

I bit my lower lip. “From the sound of your voice, it’s not good news.”

She rolled over in bed to face me. Her eyes were dark and serious. “The police’s insurance company is refusing to pay your bills because they say they’re not responsible for your injury. They want the military to pay. But the military is claiming your PTSD is the result of your police work, not anything that happened when you were a Marine.”

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. “There’s still Afghani rocks and shrapnel in my back,” I hotly protested. “My best friend lost his legs, and I had to … I had to …” I choked on the words that threatened to come out. I couldn’t talk about that.

“I’ve managed to work out a reasonable payment plan with Dr. Landsen’s office. I explained your situation to his billing department, and as long as they’re getting regular payments there will be no debt collection or garnishing of wages. We can work on you getting reimbursed at a later date.”

Julia’s words bounced around my brain with no place to land so that I could make sense of them. “Shit. I have to stop going to therapy.”

Julia frowned deeper. “As much as I abhor that idea, you’re probably right. Until we can get either the police department or the government to admit liability, it’s probably best not to incur additional debt. You can still go to group therapy though, right?”

“Yeah,” I nodded. “That’s free. But it’s just a bunch of grouchy old vets complaining and listening to the sound of their own voices.”

Her fingers found mine beneath the blanket. “Still, it’s better than nothing,” she reasoned.

“Thank you for helping me. I don’t know what I’d do without you.” She closed her eyes as I leaned forward to kiss her forehead.

“The feeling is mutual, dear.”

“I’ll be right back,” I whispered.

I climbed out of bed and walked the few steps to the bathroom. I shut the door behind me and turned on the overhead light. My reflection stared back at me in the mirror over the sink.

The government had treated me for my physical injuries, and when I’d been released stateside, I’d considered myself pretty lucky. Unlike Pensacola and so many other vets, I had all of my body parts still intact. But then the nightmares had started a few months into my rookie year with the police. I couldn’t decide which fate would have been preferable. Would I give up my left arm to make my brain whole again? I could take off the uniform, but I couldn’t shake the soldier.

When I left the bathroom and slid back into bed, I discovered Julia’s leg on my side of the mattress.

“No room,” she mumbled. Her eyes were closed and a small smile was curled at the edges of her still-painted mouth.

“Then I’ll just have to sleep on top of you,” I reasoned.

“Do that and you won’t be getting any sleep.”

I flashed her a challenging grin. “Promise?”

CHAPTER NINE

“Embarrass Police Department. This is Lori.”

I had told Julia that I would get in contact with David Addams, but before I could do so, I needed to get his number. Somehow, after working together for a summer, I had managed not to get that information. Lori was the administrative assistant for the police department. She had always been warm and kind to me, almost maternally so, but I had no idea how anyone at my former place of work regarded me now—I’d left in a hurry, leaving the city police department shorthanded.

“Lori, hi. It’s Cassidy Miller.”

I paused, almost as though I expected to get hung up on.

“Well, well. So you’re alive after all.”

“Apparently. Is there anyway I could get David’s cell phone number from you?”

“Not so fast, missy. You’ve got to walk the gauntlet before you get any information from me.”