Page 28 of Not Over You

“Oh boy.”

“Right? I mean, I know those tools can’t get away with what they’ve done. They can’t be allowed to roam free and potentially do it again to other girls, but I’m not looking forward to having to relive last night.” She reached for the coffee Rayma had brought her from their favorite coffee shop and took a long sip. “I’m sure you’re not, either,” she said a moment later.

“No, I’m not. But I also understand the importance of processing your trauma as well as speaking up so that others don’t befall the same or worse fate. If they end up hurting someone else, when we could have prevented it …”

“I know.” Peyton’s sigh was big and weary and one Rayma felt deep in her bones. Peyton opened her arm wide. “Come snuggle, bestie. Your heart hurts, my face hurts, we’re a broken pair, but at least we have each other.”

Rayma’s smile was sad and resigned as she crawled up under Peyton’s arm and the two of them got cozy on the couch beneath a shared blanket.

“I was about to start binge-watching Scandal from the beginning, you in?” Peyton asked.

Rayma closed her eyes and leaned her head on Peyton’s shoulder. “Definitely.”

***

February four years ago …

“Where are we going for this date?” Rayma asked, glancing at Jordan who was happily whistling while he drove, taking the scenic route along Mt. Doug Parkway, the mountain on one side, ocean on the other.

“It’s a surprise,” he said with a grin.

She lifted one brow. “Not a big fan of surprises, Lassie. Just saying.”

“It’s a good surprise, trust me.” His grin widened to the cheesy size before he started whistling again.

She rolled her eyes and glanced out the window, her mind was elsewhere. It was on school, actually. “You worked last night, right?”

He grunted and nodded.

She looked back over to him. “Did you get that domestic disturbance call?”

His green eyes shifted slightly over to hers. “How do you know about that?”

She heaved a sigh. “My professor is an adjunct prof and also works for the ministry, she told us about a really sad case she ended up consulting on last night. I was just wondering if you were one of the cops to get called to the scene.”

“You mean the one where a woman was bludgeoned to death with a flashlight by her husband? Leaving two small children behind, and traumatized because they saw it happen?” The long, sexy line of his throat moved as he swallowed. “Yes, I was on that call.”

Rayma closed her eyes, dropped her head, and shook it. A tear slid down the crease of her nose. “I cannot even imagine. Four and six years old. And all because of what?” Anger collided with the remorse inside of her for those innocent children, for that innocent woman killed in front of her own babies. Her heart ached the longer she thought about it, the more she put herself in the position of those children, then their mother, then the rest of their family.

Not only did those kids lose their mother last night, but they lost their father, too. He would go to prison for murder and they would be either sent to live with family or become children of the system.

A system that was overloaded as it was. Underfunded, understaffed, and underappreciated.

“He was drunk. An alcoholic and a known abuser. It wasn’t a surprise to get a call to the house, but it was no less devastating to walk in on what happened.” He cleared his throat. “Apparently, she was trying to leave him. The kids had coats and shoes on, bags were packed. He wasn’t supposed to be home yet and they were running away. He came home, lost it, and …”

“Lost everything.”

“Yeah.”

They were quiet for a while and she glanced back out the window, watching the seagulls dip and dive on each gust of the salty breeze. But Jordan turned left and away from the ocean, so she brought her focus back to the truck. Back to him. “I’m sorry you had to see that,” she whispered. “I’m sorry you were the one called out on it.”

He barely lifted one of his big, broad shoulders. “Part of the job. At least the kids weren’t harmed. A neighbor called 911.”

A moment later, he veered left into the parking lot of a rifle range and turned off the ignition.

“I think you need to learn some self-defense. Not that I expect you to carry a gun around with you everywhere, but we’ll start here. It should be fun. Then, if you’re up for it, I have a friend who teaches self-defense to women and has offered to give us some private lessons.”

She was about to say something, but the way he reached his hand across the center console and took hers, the electric zap of their skin touching, and the way it made the butterflies in her belly go berserk, had her shutting her trap and simply nodding. Hope but also fear blended into an inebriating cocktail in his eyes as he looked at her and squeezed her fingers.