“How long have you been a cop?” I ask, body going on autopilot.
“A while,” he tells me, turning away from the stove just long enough to look at me. “I was in the Army before then, and served two tours in Afghanistan before joining the police force.”
“My brother is in the Army,” I blurt, breaking one of my cardinal rules of don’t get personal. “He’s overseas right now. I haven’t seen him in a few months.”
Wes’s brows push together and his gaze drills into mine. “Next time you talk to him, tell him I thank him for his service.”
Suddenly flustered, I bring my hand to my chest, tugging at the T-shirt. Why is it a million degrees in here? “I will.”
“How long has he been in?”
“He joined a year and a half ago and has been somewhere in the Middle East for the last five months. I’m not exactly sure where he is.”
“He probably can’t tell you,” Wes goes on, turning back around. His whole demeanor has changed, and I know his mind is taking him back to the days when he was overseas too. I’ve been soured by corrupt cops before, but I have the utmost respect for our military, especially soldiers since Jason is one.
God fucking dammit. Now’s not the time to get a conscious, Scar.
“Jackson seems like a great kid,” I say.
“He is.” Wes grabs a wooden spoon from a drawer and stirs the spaghetti. My heart is beating with fury inside my chest, so loud I think it’s going to give me away. I can’t think, I can’t feel. I just need to focus on the job at hand.
And that job is hustling every penny out of Mr. Weston Dawson that I can.* * *
I sit on the edge of the bed, running a comb through my damp hair. The window is cracked behind me, letting in a cool breeze. Everything is silent. Freakily silent. No one is yelling or drunkenly arguing with a street lamp outside my window. The walls aren’t shaking from the Chicago L going by, and I haven’t heard a single gunshot all night.
It’s eerie as fuck.
Weston put Jackson to bed a few hours ago, and I basically just watched, getting familiar with their routine. It was pretty standard, I suppose but wasn’t something I’ve seen before.
My own parents didn’t give me the time of day, and I suppose they couldn’t even if they wanted to. Mom was drunk, high, or in jail throughout my youth, and Dad didn’t enter the picture until I’d already dropped out of high school in order to take care of Heather and Jason. He stuck around long enough that time for me to go back and graduate the next year.
The family I nannied for in the past didn’t have children out of love, and that love didn’t foster and develop slowly over time as the children aged. I can’t recall a single time either parent went out of their way to do anything for those kids, which only furthered my belief that loving and caring families only exist in movies.
But what happened tonight is shaking everything I’ve built my life on.
After dinner, Weston went over letters and numbers with Jackson and then gave him a bath. He read him a few books before tucking him in and stayed in the room with him until Jackson fell asleep.
Wes might seem a little cold and callous, but there is no denying he loves his son.
Pulling my hair into a braid, I wonder what happened to Jackson’s mother. She’s probably dead, because I can’t see how anyone could leave that sweet little boy…or that beast of a man.
He’s unlike anyone I usually work with—well, if you can call what I do work. It enables me to bring home money to pay bills, which is what work is, right? But Weston…he’s closed off, and if he even has any weaknesses at all, he’s not going to let me in on them.
I set my brush down and lay back in bed, grabbing a yellow stuffed unicorn. I’ve had the thing for years, and I’m well aware how weird some people think it is that I’m a grown-ass woman sleeping with a stuffed animal. But the thing brings me comfort, which is something I desperately need most nights. The mattress is comfy, and the quilt is thick and warm. I should be able to pass out, sleeping soundly, but I can’t. I’m unnerved, but I’m not afraid. Wes won’t hurt me, and unless the neighbors actually turn out to be Stepford wives, I’m as safe as I’ve ever been.
After an hour of tossing and turning, I’m risking a run-in with my conscience. Normally, I’d toss down a shot of whatever’s cheapest at the corner liquor store, but I didn’t bring any booze and I can’t exactly go downstairs and start raiding Weston’s alcohol stash. Assuming he has one, that is.