find Hayes parked out front. “Hop in, Blondie-locks. I’ll take you to your car.”
I hand him the coffees through the open window and let myself in. He’s dressed in slacks and a button down. A bit dressy for the unemployed. “Where are you off to looking all dapper?”
“Work,” he says, casually as if we didn’t have a conversation about him being on a self-imposed work hiatus. Taking a sip from his cup, he puts the car in drive and takes off down the street.
“I thought you were out of work?”
“I am, but I do some contract work for a small PI firm an old buddy runs.” He takes another sip, causing an awkward pause. “It’s temporary. Just until I figure out what I want to do.”
We’re stuck in the truck for at least five more stoplights, which gives me time for questions. “Why did you quit being a detective?”
“Sorry in advance, but you probably have a hefty parking ticket,” he laughs. He swallows hard and lifts his coffee from the cup holder.
I press my hand over his wrist. “Tell me.” He places his cup back down. “No more changing the subject. I’m not going to judge you. I burnt down my house, for God’s sake. You don’t seem to be judging me, so I can at least do the same for you.”
“Fires happen. You don’t know you started it. Stop blaming yourself.” He sounds upset, maybe even a little heated. “A kid lost their life because of me.”
The simplicity of his statement is like a sucker punch. His knuckles are white from the death grip he has on the wheel, and his jaw is tight, grinding back and forth. I regret forcing this out of him now. “I’m sorry for bringing it up.” I look out the window giving him as much space as I can given our confinement.
“I was on a case. A three-year-old kid had been abducted. The kidnapper was armed and traveling with an array of drugs. That’s all we still really know.” He inhales sharply and looks out the window like he’s taking a break. I don’t want to say anything. Or maybe I just don’t know what to say. I’m not even sure if he’s done explaining or just collecting himself. All I know is that I’m staring at the back of his head, not knowing where else to look.
With a startling honk from behind us, I mention the obvious. “The light is green.”
He turns his head forward and continues driving. “It took us a week to find the kid,” he begins again. “The asshole was playing with us, trying to throw us off. It worked. I followed the wrong trail. It was all a big game to this guy.” He looks over at me as we pull up to another stoplight. “I was literally five minutes too late. The kid was ditched on the side of the street, still alive when I got there, but the poor thing had been shot in the chest. Died in my arms a few minutes later. They still haven’t found the guy who did it.” He’s looking into my eyes as he tells me this. There’s nothing I can say. I place my hand over his knee, which I feel trembling beneath my grip. “I couldn’t face another case after that. So I cashed out my retirement, enough for a year of salary, and now I’m deciding if I’m cut out to be a detective, or if I want to try something else.”
How do you respond to that? “Do you like what you do—um, did?” I stumble.
“Loved it. Worked my ass off for seven years to get that job.” With a deep inhale he looks over at me briefly, and then back to the road. “Anyway, this is life, right? Just trying to survive one day at a time.”
We pull up to my car and there’s a spot in front where he’s able to pull in. There’s a big fat parking ticket on my windshield. I hop out of his truck, and he joins me in front of my car, reaching out in front of me to snatch it up before I do. “Well, this sucks.”
I try to take the ticket from his hands, but he holds it tightly. “I got this.” He slips it into his pocket and leans back on the hood of my car, pulling me toward him. “It’s the least I can do. Coming here was my idea.” His hands wrap around my back