Page 18 of Game Master
Callan leaned forward and grasped her hand across the table. “Never doubt your strength, Roseline.”
His words resonated deeply, easing old wounds she had borne for so long. Sharing this glimpse into her early wounds brought an unexpected lightness into their relationship.
Callan listened with a genuine interest, and his compassion kindled a fragile warmth inside her. “I’m truly sorry you went through that hardship, Roseline,” he said, voice resonant with empathy. “But it’s clear you took that pain and forged something good from it—the strong, caring woman I see before me.”
With Callan, this partnership felt like so much more—not just a collaboration of skills but of spirits, and it wasn’t at all what she had expected at the outset.
Roseline traced a groove etched into the tabletop, hesitating. Her career struggles were a subject she despised discussing, wary of appearing weak. But something about Callan’s compassionate gaze gave her the courage to continue.
“I’ve faced a lot of adversity more recently, too,” she admitted. “Being a woman in this department… Well, it hasn’t been easy.” She lifted her eyes to meet Callan’s. “The old guard, they still see me as an oddity. An invader in a ‘man’s world.’” Her voice hardened. “There’s been harassment, discrimination. Times I wanted to walk away for good.”
Callan’s jaw tightened, anger flashing in his eyes. But he stayed silent, nodding for her to continue.
“Just last month, I overheard some officers making lewd jokes about me in the breakroom,” she confessed. “Saying I only got promoted by…” She broke off, shame rising hotly, burning her cheeks.
Callan leaned forward, his gaze intense. “That’s unacceptable. You deserve so much better. All the women in the station do.”
“It’s been getting worse,” she admitted. “Ever since Beckner took over as Chief and started pushing for reform, some have resisted. I’m an easy outlet for their resentment.” She shook her head. “They want things to stay the good ole’ boys club.”
Callan nodded. “Beckner mentioned the challenges of reforming the old guard when he recruited me and Brandon. It’s his life’s mission to transform the NOPD.” He reached across the table and squeezed Roseline’s hand before releasing it. “I promise you, I’m nothing like those guys. You have my absolute respect. Always.”
His fierce support kindled a longing deep inside. For once, instead of feeling alone against the bullies, she had found an ally.
“With good cops like you and Brandon joining us, real change can happen,” Roseline said, managing a tentative smile. “It helps not being the only outsider anymore.”
“You’re not alone in this fight,” Callan vowed. “It’ll take time changing mindsets, but we’ll get there together. Beckner, you, me, Brandon—we’ll drag this department into the twenty-first century, no matter how hard they resist.”
His resolute words eased her long-held pain and frustration, and she laughed. “Well, they’re already kicking and screaming.”
They lingered over two more beers, talking long after the glasses were drained, the outside world fading away. All her life, Roseline had been wary of trusting others with her inner self. But something about Callan made her feel truly seen. Now, when they were at the station, she sensed his eyes following her when he thought she wasn’t looking, but she didn’t mind the attention.
Finally realizing the lateness of the hour, they moved to leave. Roseline gathered the case files, acutely aware of Callan’s nearness as he helped her into her jacket. His fingers grazed her shoulder, sending a spark through her body, and she trembled, hoping he hadn’t noticed her reaction to his touch.
Stepping out into the night, the chill air was bracing. Roseline shivered, wishing she had worn something more than just a light cardigan over her blouse.
Noticing her discomfort, Callan shrugged off his jacket and placed it around her shoulders. Then he took the files from her. “Here, take mine. Can’t have you catching a cold before we crack this case tomorrow.”
Roseline started to protest, but the solid warmth of the jacket felt too good. And something about wearing this tangible piece of Callan enveloped her in a heady rush she didn’t want to deny. “Thank you,” she said. “What a gentleman you are, Callan.”
He gave that lopsided grin that made her pulse race. “My mother raised me right. Walk you to your car?”
“Sure,” she answered, feeling more girlish than she ought. It wasn’t a date night, no matter what feelings it stirred inside her.
Silently, they fell in step together, nearer than necessary.
As they reached her vehicle, Roseline turned to face Callan. “I appreciate you convincing me to take a break tonight,” she said. “It was… really nice, just talking together.”
“I enjoyed it, too, Roseline.” The streetlight caught the sincerity in his eyes. “You’re an extraordinary woman. I hope you see that. Beckner was right to partner us up.”
Heat rose in her cheeks at the intimacy of the moment. She knew she should just say goodnight, but some irresistible force kept her rooted there.
“Well… I suppose I should head home,” she managed finally, hating to break the spell.
Disappointment flickered across Callan’s face, but he squeezed her shoulder and stepped back. “Of course. Get some rest. I’ll see you in the morning to start again fresh.”
The faint scent of his cologne mingled with the night air, making her pulse race. She studied the sharp lines of his face, so beautiful in the dim light. Without thinking, she reached out and traced her fingers along his lightly stubbled jaw.
Callan inhaled sharply at her touch, but he didn’t pull away. His eyes smoldered as they searched her face questioningly.