Love Undecided Read online

  I nod again.

  “So, tell me, why don’t you think you deserve to love and be loved?”

  “Can we talk about something else?” I ask. This whole line of questioning is making me uncomfortable, if I wanted to be more in touch with my feelings, I would be.

  “We can. But that doesn’t mean we won’t talk about this again,” she pauses, then says, “What about the other men?”

  “I’ve been slowing my roll. This last week I only brought one guy home. I didn’t even have sex with him. Just blew him in the hot tub and kicked him out.”

  “Are you using protection?”

  “I can’t get pregnant.”

  “You know that’s not the only reason to use protection,” she says.

  Tap. Tap.

  “I didn’t have him wear a condom when I blew him, but I also didn’t swallow. I’ve used one every time I’ve had sex.”

  “Do you feel good about the decisions you’re making?” she asks.

  “Not when you say it like that,” I say. “But it’s almost like I can’t help myself.”

  I take a deep breath and let it all out.

  “There’s this new detective at the precinct and I’m helping on the case. I want to fuck him. But I know that I don’t want to make the same mistake I did last time. So, I’m holding back. And I think I feel guilty about Brad. Plus, I have to think that with all the guys out there who I know are totally willing to have sex, why this guy? Especially when I know it’s going to be so messy.”

  “You tell me. Why this guy?”

  “Because he’s hot,” I say.

  “Bullshit,” she says.

  Tap. Tap.

  “Because I like to get laid.”

  “Bullshit.”

  Tap. Tap.

  “Because I want to see how far I can push things before they fall apart.”

  “Bingo,” she says. “Now tell me what you mean by that.”

  “I don’t know … it’s like the worst of the worst has happened, right? I’ve got terminal cancer, and it just keeps sucking away at all the good that is in my life. It’s cost me my health, which I was pretty partial to. A career that I not only enjoyed but excelled at. The man I loved more than anything. My hair, pieces of my boobs, time.

  “God, it’s sucked up so much fucking time in my life. So, really, it can’t get any worse. Which means I have nothing to lose by pushing the limits to see what I can get away with fucking up.”

  “What makes you think that having sex with this man is fucking things up?”

  “Is that a rhetorical question?” I ask.

  She says nothing.

  I wait.

  Tap. Tap.

  “Well, I mean, he’s kind of a co-worker, at the very least I’m working with him. Sleeping with him would jeopardize our working relationship, which could potentially mess up the case.”

  “Is that really how you feel, or are you telling me what you think I want to hear?”

  I pause for a minute to pick imaginary lint off my shirt while she taps her pencil some more.

  “Both. I mean, I’ll be honest, I really don’t give a fuck about anyone else’s problems. I don’t care about the crimes being committed, I don’t care who it’s affecting, and I don’t care if the bad guy wasting water gets caught. All I care about is me.”

  “I think, under the circumstances, that is a perfectly normal emotion to have.”

  “But if I weren’t dying, it would make me a horrible bitch, right?”

  “Not necessarily,” she says.

  She goes on to explain what she means and essentially validates my feelings while still criticizing my behavior.

  Realizing my appointment is near over, I feel the need to say one last thing before I leave.

  “It’s remarkable how you are able to make me feel like such shit about myself in such a supportive manner.”

  She nods back at me, a thoughtful look on her face, but says nothing.

  Tap. Tap.

  Regardless, I make sure I have another appointment scheduled before I leave, then text Bauer to let him know I’m on my way.

  Chapter 8

  Brad

  This morning’s all-company work-out is a five-mile run. Which is going to suck considering what I did at the boxing gym yesterday. Every few times that we do an all-company run, we use a route that takes us along the beach in front of Kat’s house. The point of the runs are to be doing an exercise together, as a team.

  So, we encourage one another if one guy starts to fall back, we move as one unit and there is no competition to see who can finish first. Its like when we are fighting a fire, we are moving as one cohesive whole, and not individual pieces. It’s hard to explain if you haven’t experienced it before. But it is why the chief called me into his office when we got back to the station.

  Today, I left the group to check Kat’s house. I saw someone on her balcony as we were passing by. A man. Though by the time I got up the steps to the cliff top, he was gone. I’m positive he was on a ladder, or else he was abnormally tall, like almost seven feet tall. But I know he saw me coming. So my guess is I scared him off. The exterior of the house was undisturbed and I didn’t see anyone inside or an extra car in the drive or garage.

  I checked the mobile app for her alarm as soon as we got back to the station, it showed no alarm activity. Which means no one tripped the alarm, or activated it for that matter. So, I tried calling Kat, but she didn’t answer. I sent her a text asking her to call me as soon as she can. And then I waited for what I knew was coming, right about now.

  “Matthews, get your fucking ass in here now!” the Chief yells, his voice bellowing through the halls.

  No one wants to get called into the Battalion Chief’s office, especially not when he’s yelling your name loud enough for it to echo off the walls. But when you have me leaving a group activity, combined with reckless behavior at a site early this week, and then the fresh cuts and bruises on my face of late from the boxing gym, you get a guy who’s about to get his ass reamed.

  I head down the hall, passing through the bunk area. Ethan is there gathering sheets for laundry.

  “Dude - I warned you. Get it together, man. I know you’re wrecked, but you can’t handle it like this. We’ve got to find another way.”

  I give him a fist bump as I pass. “Thanks, man.”

  I appreciate what he’s saying, plus the fact that he said, ‘we’ve got to find another way’ instead of ‘you have to find another way.’ I know he has my back. But this is something I need to handle on my own. He keeps talking as I walk past, “I got you, bro, you just gotta let me.”

  I nod to Ethan in response and continue on to the Chief’s office. I stand in the doorway and wait for him to look up and acknowledge my presence. It doesn’t take long.

  “Sit your ass down, Matthews. You want to tell me what the fuck is going on with you and why you have such a death wish lately?”

  I decide to play stupid just to see how long I can drag it out before he really lays into me. Probably not my smartest move.

  “I’m not sure what you mean, Chief.”

  “Don’t fuck with me, Matthews. You know exactly what I mean. What was that the other day - running into the house with no fucking helmet? Not even a fucking Nomex hood? And without waiting until I gave it the all clear? And then today with leaving the group run? And while I’m at it, what the fuck is going on with your face? You look like hell.” He pauses as though waiting for me to say something, but then continues anyway.

  “It’s not just you. When you do something stupid, you are putting every single member of the team in danger. I will not tolerate that. If you want to put yourself in danger on your own time, fine, go jump off a cliff or a bridge, or out of a plane for all I care. But when you bring that shit into my house, on my time, we’ve got problems.”

  He runs his hand through his hair. “You are a great firefighter, man, a fucking lieutenant, you’re smarter than this and we both know it. You could h
ave been a captain by now without all these fuck ups and the shit with your girl. Don’t forget you set an example for the others, you have responsibilities to the family and the community. Don’t fuck this up.”

  I nod at him in agreement.

  “What’s the sign say, Matthews?” he asks, pointing to a large sign on the wall.

  “Two go in, two go out,” I tell him in response.

  “That’s right. That’s not just literal either. It’s the motto for how we live our life. With everything we do. Now quit being such an asshole and start living by it instead of just reciting it back to me.”

  I hang my head in shame.

  “You’re right, Chief. I’m sorry. I fucked up, it won’t happen again.”

  “Make sure it doesn’t.”

  I turn to leave, but stop when he calls my name again, “Matthews?”

  I turn around. “Yeah?”

  His voice is softer when he speaks this time. “I know a lot of this has to do with Kat and I’m sorry for that. Whatever it is that’s going on with her, work it out. Talk to someone, go get shit-faced, run twenty miles, I don’t care, but work it out. And not by doing whatever bullshit it is that gives you all these bruises on your pretty boy face. I won’t give you another chance. You’ve already taken more than your fair share of chances, and you know it.”

  “Got it, Chief. Thank you.”

  He nods in response, my cue to leave. “Shut the door behind you,” he says.

  I pause outside the closed door. I had fucked up earlier this week. I didn’t wait for the Chief to size-up a fire or to give the all-clear. I didn’t wait for status on electric or gas utilities, I didn’t even wait to put most of my gear on. I just charged into the home after the neighbor told me there was a little girl and a babysitter trapped upstairs.

  I don’t know how, but he must have known a thing or two about both the house and about fires because he also told me the stairs were on the immediate left when you enter the home, and the young girl’s bedroom on the immediate left at the top of the stairs. If I’m honest with myself, that’s the only thing that saved me. There was zero visibility in the home due to poor ventilation and heavy smoke. And I never would have been able to make my way into the house and upstairs in a timely manner before succumbing to smoke inhalation without my equipment. Let alone saving the two people inside and getting them out safely.

  Chapter 9

  Kat

  I meet Bauer at the precinct after my therapist appointment and we work through the morning. Stopping only to grab a quick bite to eat before we set out to visit the houses of The Shower Stealer’s victims. We choose to hit the farthest first and then work our way back toward the precinct. A woman with short blonde hair in her early-thirties answers the door: medium height, yoga pants and tank top, infant in one hand and burp cloth in the other.

  She looks back and forth between the two of us, her gaze lingering on Bauer.

  “Can I help you?” she asks.

  “Are you Amber Jones?” Bauer asks.

  “Yes, what is this in regard to?”

  Bauer pulls out his badge and shows it to her.

  “I’m Detective Chance Bauer, and this is Investigative Consultant, Kat Walker. We’d like to ask you a few questions about the day your home was broken into and the shower was left on, if that’s okay.”

  “Is this because you haven’t caught him yet?” she asks. “Do you have any leads? I’m sure any clues you might have found are long gone. Plus, I’ve cleaned the bathroom since then. What do you hope to find?” She lets us in and leads us to the living room.

  Bauer counters her questions with a few of his own and soon she is telling us her entire life story. Bauer seems to have that effect on people.

  Well, on women.

  She grew up in Virginia, married her high school sweetheart, military widow as of four years ago, and on her second marriage. Two kids from the first husband, a girl twelve, Makayla, and a boy ten, Michael. One child from her current husband, five-month-old infant, Marcus. A stay-at-home Mom who needs to leave in an hour to get the older kids from school.

  While Bauer talks to her, I go to the bathroom to see if I can get a feeling for anything. A high-pitched female laugh breaks my concentration and I come up blank.

  “You are too much!” I hear Amber Jones nearly scream. Judging from the giggles in the living room, Bauer is clearly scoring.

  I walk back into the living room in time to see her squeezing Bauer’s bicep, asking him how often he works out.

  WTF?

  I feel my eyes narrow as I look at her, somewhat surprised that I’m jealous. He looks up at me and I give him a slight shake of my head. He excuses us after a few minutes and we make our exit.

  “I take it your shake of the head means you didn’t get anything?” he asks.

  “Yes,” I say. I pause for a moment, then continue talking, “You know she’s married, right?”

  “Who?”

  “Mrs. Jones.”

  “Of course. Why, what do you think was happening back there?” he asks.

  “Uh, you were hitting on her…. Duh…. Totally not professional, Bauer.”

  “I was not hitting on her. We were just discussing… you know what, it doesn’t matter. You ever been married?”

  “No,” I say, immediately feeling guilty. “You?”

  “I was close. Once.”

  “What happened?” I ask.

  He’s silent for a minute, then starts talking,

  “I’ve thought about that a lot over the years, and probably more then than now, but I think the simplest answer is that we grew apart. During that time when we should have been in a ‘honeymoon’ phase, where it was all supposed to be fun and easy, it just kept getting harder. I realize relationships are work, I’m not naïve, but I also know that it’s not supposed to be such a struggle all the time. Do you know what I mean?”

  I did, so I said so.

  “She took it hard, but I also think it had gotten to a point where she was more concerned about planning a wedding and how that looked to everyone else than she was about our relationship. Once I realized that, I had no choice but to call it off.”

  It seems as though it still bothers him. A lot.

  “How close to the wedding did you call it off?” I ask.

  “Two months,” he replies.

  “Two weeks,” I say.

  “No, two months,” he corrects.

  “No,” I laugh. “I mean I was two weeks out when I called mine off.”

  “Wow, you’re kind of a brutal bitch, aren’t you?”

  “It was because my cancer had returned, I didn’t want him to deal with it again,” I tell him.

  “Fuck. I’m sorry, Sherman told me about your cancer, I wasn’t thinking.” He reaches over to squeeze my knee. I feel a zing straight down my center at his touch.

  “It’s cool,” I mumble distractedly.

  And it is cool, I think.

  “You’re in remission or whatever it’s called now, right? Like, you’re okay?”

  “For the most part, totally good.”

  “Glad to hear it, Cookie.

  “Wait, why are you calling me Cookie?”

  “Well, you don’t like babe or Kit-Kat and calling you chocolate bar is ridiculous, so I settled on Cookie.”

  “Why would you call me chocolate bar? Or anything but my name for that matter?”

  He doesn’t respond.

  “Did it occur to you that I may not like nicknames? At all.”

  “Not really,” he says.

  The rest of our drive is quiet and subdued. Me thinking about how his hand felt on my knee and him thinking I don’t know what. But for my own good, I don’t try to figure it out.

  Unfortunately, we don’t get much from the other two houses, but that doesn’t surprise me. Returning to a scene long after a crime was committed to try and solve it is not an effective means of catching a criminal.

  Apparently, Bauer agrees.

  “
I knew this would be a waste of time, but I told the mayor that I would follow Sherman’s lead until that lead became ineffectual. I think we can both agree that with today, it just became ineffectual.”

  “Yup!”

  It’s late by the time he pulls into the precinct parking lot and stops behind my car, and I can’t wait to go home and go to bed. I’m exhausted.

  “So let’s reconvene sometime tomorrow to devise a new strategy,” he says.

  “Sounds good,” I say with a smile.

  I get out of his car but then turn back.

  “Quick question?”

  “Shoot,” he says.

  “Bang.” My inner thirteen-year-old girl strikes again.

  He smiles.

  I continue, “I already told you I don’t like nicknames. So, why not just call me Kat?”

  “Easy. I do like nicknames. And I like you. And when I like people, I give them nicknames. But more than that, I like that you don’t like it.” He winks at me and drives away.

  Chapter 10

  Kat

  I use the Bluetooth connection in my car to check new messages on my way home. I have a message from Brad.

  “Hey, it’s me. We did a run by your house earlier today and I saw someone on the balcony. I checked out the house but didn’t see anything. And the app shows no alarm activity. Can you call me as soon as you get this and let me know if you had someone at the house doing work or something? I’m going to send you a text also.”

  I hesitate to call him because suddenly the thought of talking to him makes me nervous.

  Shit. Fuck. Piss.

  I so can’t handle this right now. It’s either freak the fuck out over someone being on my balcony and not talk to Brad about it. Or call Brad and feel better. Because Brad has always made me feel better.

  Plus, if I don’t call him, he’ll worry. I hate to be the reason for his worry. And, if he left a group run, he probably got in trouble for it. I hate to be the reason he gets in trouble too.

  I dial, half hoping that he’s asleep or something and I get his voicemail. No such luck, he answers after the second ring.

  “Hey, hang on,” he says softly.

  “I’m so sorry,” I whisper. “I didn’t mean to wake you up, I just didn’t want you to worry if I didn’t call as soon as I got your message.”