Page 5 of Carter

“I wish I could stay here forever, girl. It’s so easy here. Nothing hurts.”

My chest gets tight, and I know it’s time to get up before Hazel finds me crying in here like she did a few weeks ago. It happens sometimes. Deep, raw sadness just hits out of nowhere every now and then. More so when I start to feel things. Good things. Happy things.

Serena, my ex-therapist, said it’s because I still haven’t dealt with my grief, but I’m dealing with it the best way I know how. And even if I do deal with it, will I ever not be sad thinking about the person I lost?

Maybe I should find a different therapist instead of giving up entirely. I have strangers in bars handing me cards. That’s how obvious it is that I’m not okay. I mean, Iamokay, just… not as well as I could be.

“I have to go, Teddy. I know you don’t like to hear it, but there are other animals here who need taking care of too.”

I run my hand over her head carefully, feeling her soft fur. She’s a beautiful tan color with a few white spots on her chest and back. I really wish I could take her home. If only I had enough money to not work and care for her full time.

I slide over carefully, because getting up freaks her out. She gets up and scurries back to her corner to lay down.

It breaks my fucking heart to see her all alone in there, but I’m not in a place to help her. I can hardly help myself.

Chapter three

Nash

I give my share of good morning greetings as I walk into the precinct and head up to my office. It’s the oldest police precinct in New York City, but it’s in pristine condition, which is more than I can say for a lot of the buildings I’ve been in around here. Coming from Chicago, I didn’t know what to expect, but I keep getting surprises along the way. Can’t say if they’re good or bad—they’re just surprises.

My office is on the fifth floor. There’s one other above that, and I couldn’t tell you what happens up there. I’ve only been here a month, and what I know is that my office is on the fifth floor which is a pain in the damn ass because all the files andsomeof the evidence boxes are in the basement—the rest are kept in a warehouse just outside of the city, which is an even bigger painin the ass to get to in the middle of the day because fighting New York traffic is worse than a kidney stone. But this is my job and I do what I can. Which so far, isn’t a lot.

Over the month I’ve been here, I’ve had to pass on five files. I dug through everything that was there, re-interviewed people, went over evidence and reports. I didn’t see a single thing that would lead in a direction to close the case. So I set them aside for another day, or maybe another person once they get the funding to add a second person into this position, which they’re supposed to do—apparently once I prove that I need it. I fight guilt each and every time I push a file aside and tell myself someone will get to them one day. It’s just not the right time.

The one thing that’s helped me get over—no, that’s not the right phrase—deal withmy parents’ murder/suicide is the fact that he’s dead. Had my father killed my mother and took off? I wouldn’t be able to sleep at night. Knowing he was out there, having taken someone I love from this world, and was just… living. It hurts my chest just thinking about it.

Which is why I don’t. It’s also why I do this job.

There’s one person waiting for the elevator when I reach it. A woman I’ve seen around a few times. She looks like a lawyer. Skirt suit, not a blonde hair out of place, red lipstick.

“Good morning,” she says with a bright smile.

“Morning,” I grunt.

The doors open, and I gesture for her to get on before me.

“Thank you.”

She presses the button for the second floor, while I press mine for the fifth.

“How was your weekend?” she asks casually.

“Good.” Except for the fact I can’t stop thinking about the guy at the bar who was too sad to be left alone, yet I left him alone anyway. “Yours?”

I don’t ask because I care. I ask because it’s the polite thing to do and I don’t want to be the asshole in the building. That’s who I was in Chicago. I came here for a fresh start. Not exactly to be someone else, because all I can be is me, but maybe out here, someone will get me.

“Busy catching up on cases,” she answers with a sigh. “I was hoping to go out and focus on something other than work, but of course, that didn’t happen. Guess it’s best saved for warm weather anyway.” The doors open for her floor. “Have a good day.”

The doors close again and the elevator doesn’t stop until it reaches my floor. I get off, walk down the hall to my office and pull out my keys to unlock it. A locked door will never keep out a determined person, but it makes me feel just a little better that all my stuff is locked behind a door.

None of the offices in the building are big, and mine is no different. If you want space, you can work in the conference rooms on the third floor. I have enough room to do what I need, and being out there opens me up for conversation that I don’t want to have. I’m here for work. That’s what I need to focus on. Besides, I’ve got everything organized in my office the way it needs to be for me to focus properly.

If only I can get my mind off that guy from the bar, I might get work done today.

I don’t even know his name, and I shouldn’t care that I don’t. It doesn’t matter.

I hang my coat on the rack in the corner and go to the break room to make a cup of coffee—my second for the day. The first is enough to get me here through the traffic. This one will give me energy to focus on my work, at least until lunch, when I’ll have my third, which should be enough for the rest of the day. After five, it’s time to switch to alcohol.