Stray Fears - Gregory Ashe Page 0,42
serious,” I said, sprawling in the chair he’d pulled out for me. “Nothing happened. He didn’t like me. He never liked me. One day he tried to shoot me.” I worked to clear my throat. “Thank you, again, by the way. I guess I can’t say that enough.” Then I said, “Why do you hate being a cop?”
“I don’t hate it.”
I studied him until he dropped his gaze to the floor.
“I just . . . don’t think it’s a good fit.” For a moment, it looked like he might not say anything else. Then he burst out, “It’s just not what I thought it’d be. You know what most of my callouts are? Domestics. I hate domestics. You get there, and these people are hurting each other the worst ways they know how. And they used to love each other. I don’t know. Or it’s kids smoking weed. Or it’s vandalism. Or . . . or it’s a wellness check.”
“What’d you think it would be like?”
Dag smiled and rubbed his head as he looked up. “Well, I’m famously not good about thinking ahead, so I don’t really have an answer for that. I just thought I’d be helping people.”
“It sounds like you are.”
He shrugged. “It doesn’t feel like it.”
“You’re good at your job. You handled me pretty well at Ray’s. And you handled that thing last night like a pro.”
Dag shrugged again, and now he laid back on the bed, stretching out with one arm behind his head. “You know the first time I had a domestic, it was actually not that bad. I mean, we got there. The wife had barricaded herself in the bedroom. The husband was drunk and breaking things. They were screaming awful things at each other through the door. I was eighteen. Brand new deputy. I bet my eyes were the size of dinner plates. I’d never seen anybody fight like that. We took the husband in, mostly so he could sober up and cool down. Once we got him in the drunk tank, I went in the men’s room and cried.” His eyes were half closed. “Tell me again I’m good at my job.”
“I think you’re being hard on yourself.”
He probed at his shoulder where he’d been injured.
“I think you’re upset because of what happened with Mason, and your whole world got thrown off-kilter last night, and you’re struggling right now.”
“Sure,” Dag said, still testing the wound. “I’m just dog paddling.”
“Does it hurt?”
“What? Oh. A little. I think I need to change the bandages.”
“Sit up.”
“No, it’s fine. My mom’ll help me.”
“Dag, sit up, please. Or I’ll start moaning and pounding on the door and I’ll give your parents a show.”
“Oh my God, they’d be thrilled.”
“I’m very believable,” I said.
“I’m fine.”
“Uhh,” I groaned. “Oh, Dag, your hands.”
He sat up, his face bright red. “Ok, ok.”
When I grinned, I was surprised that he grinned back.
“Where’s the stuff?” I said.
“Bathroom down the hall.”
I found the bag of supplies, scrubbed my hands, and pulled on a pair of disposable gloves. When I got back to the room, Dag had removed the pajama top, and I decided he was most definitely not a six. He had a chiseled body and abs like you wouldn’t believe, but he wasn’t waifish, like a lot of guys. He was just muscle packed on top of muscle packed on top of muscle.
“Were you a body builder in a past life?” I asked as I sat next to him.
He just blushed and said, “I’ll take off the old bandages.”
And he did. He did it the way he seemed to do everything: at his own pace, fully focused, as though he’d totally forgotten I was there.
When he’d finished removing the bandages, I said, “Jesus.”
“They just look worse today. They’re fine.”
I applied the bandages and taped them in place. My fingers lingered. His skin was warm, his chest smooth where they had shaved him at the urgent care and covered by a thick layer of curly dark hair everywhere else. I watched as his skin pebbled under my touch. His breathing was slow and deep, and for some reason, I felt like he’d been taking care of me, instead of the other way around.
“Richard is a psychiatrist,” I said, running the tip of my gloved index finger along the edge of the tape, riding it to his clavicle. “He helps people. He helps me. He came into my life when things were really bad, and I honestly don’t know what I would have done without him.”
“I