pull my head out of my ass and straighten myself out. I still have nightmares. Not frequently, but every once in a while I wake up in a cold sweat and it takes hours to shake the memory. It’s so real I can taste the grit in my mouth. I can smell the rubber burning. I can hear Trey groaning. I remember every single second. Every detail, and I can play them back in slow motion and in hindsight see the exact moment I fucked up.”
“You know,” she whispered.
“I know, babe.”
“I had one and you saw.”
It would do no good telling her I’d seen two and the severity of the first.
“I did.”
Shiloh turned her head away from me, brought her knees to her chest, and wrapped her arms around her shins. I didn’t like what the protective ball conveyed. I didn’t like she felt the need to hide from me. But I seriously fucking hated the look in her eyes before she’d diverted her gaze.
“Shiloh—”
“I think you should leave.”
There it was. The brush-off I knew was coming. And even knowing she was going to do it I wasn’t prepared for the piercing pain in my chest. This was the shit I wanted to avoid. This was why I’d kept to myself. There were many things I excelled at; feelings and drama were not on that list.
“Why?”
“Because I asked you to.”
“I heard you, babe, but I wanna know why,” I pushed.
Shiloh pivoted her head to look at me but didn’t lift her chin off her knees, didn’t come out of her protective ball, but at least her eyes no longer looked devastated. Those blue eyes were flashing anger.
“I’d like you to leave.”
“Didn’t take you as the type,” I said as I stood, unsure why I felt I needed to make a point.
But I couldn’t bring myself to leave quietly.
“Takes guts to face your shit head-on. To let people in who can help you sort your head. You think you’re strong, sitting there suffering in silence, not opening up, not being truthful. That by doing it you’re proving you’re strong. Proving you’re tough and got your shit wired tight. But you’re wrong, Shiloh. It’s weak. It’s you being too afraid to open up—to share the pain.
“Thought you were a different kind of woman. Thought you had guts. Thought you were who you showed me at the range and at the bar. Then when I had you in my arms, shaking so goddamn bad I had to go to my ass on the side of the road so I didn’t drop you, I thought there was something there. Something that could be deep and rich and lead to a friendship—”
“Is that what you want, Luke?” she cut me off and stood. “You wanna be friends? You wanna poke around in my head and help me? Poor Sunny, right? Can’t handle her job. Too much of a pussy, she has nightmares.”
I studied the woman in front of me. Night and day. Sunshine and beauty. Darkness and pain. Then something nasty hit me.
“Those men give you shit?”
“What?”
“You made a point to emphasize her and she. Called yourself a pussy for having nightmares. So, I’ll repeat, any of the men you work with give you shit about being a woman? Your brothers give you grief about being a cop?”
Shiloh’s torso jerked then her spine snapped straight.
“No.”
“None of them? Your captain? Any members of your team give you pause, make comments, treat you differently? Your brothers ever make you feel like you can’t do your job because you’re a woman?”
“My brothers?”
“Answer me, Shiloh. Any of those fuckers you work with ever make a goddamn nasty comment to you because you’re a woman on a SWAT team?”
“No!” she shouted.
Some of the tension ebbed. I’d spent enough years in the military to witness punk-ass bitches make snide comments to females. There was good-natured ribbing we all did to our teammates then there was flat-out wrong. Bullshit remarks that in my opinion earned a man a punch to the face, and since it was my opinion, I’d delivered a fair few beatdowns in my time. There was never a time or a place for that shit but when you rely on your battle buddy to have your back that shit is wrong on a whole new level.
Shiloh’s answer saved me a trip to the station. One she would likely balk at. However, I was still of the opinion that if a man had an issue with a woman’s job performance