It was not going to be over by the end of the week. And apparently, I was a fool for thinking it would be.

"Son, this is not an operation that we can set up and execute overnight."

I bit my tongue to keep from telling the cop off for calling me son.

I was no one's son.

I was just a wannabe orphan.

Dead to me. Luke Hadaway was dead to me.

"Then when?" I asked through gritted teeth.

We were sitting in the same booth as last time. The cafe was lively today; diners were chatting animatedly to the tune of the cook's bell as he kept bringing up order after order of burgers and fries for servers to disperse. Officer James munched on his own order of fries as he thought on my question.

His tone was deliberate when he finally said, "There are more than a few steps in something like this."

"Steps?" I repeated, barely withholding a groan.

Officer James sighed. "My captain is going to want to see an operational risk assessment before he approves it."

"I'm sorry." I slammed my tightly folded hands on the table between us. The salt and pepper shaker rattled, and Caroline grabbed them so they wouldn't spill before giving my arm a little pat that I knew meant chill. But I didn't know how to do that. "A risk assessment? My murderer of a father is stalking my girlfriend. That is the risk here."

Mr. Moustache dropped his fry and mimicked me, clapping his hands together and leaning his elbows on the table. His voice dropped. "Look, if we can't even monitor the person we are going after, it is hard to justify pulling resources away from other cases. I could put a call into the Marshals, but they're pretty limited with what they can do right now, too."

"This was your idea." I clenched my hands together so hard that I could barely feel my fingers, and Caroline's grip on my arm tightened.

He nodded, not denying it. "I know. And I still stand by it. But we have some work to do to make it happen."

There was a slight pause. I didn't know what to say.

"Help me, help you," Officer James went on to say, talking with his hands in a way that, for some reason, made me jumpy and irritable. "Do you have any insight for us to go off of? An alias that your dad could be going under? Some way you can contact him?"

I had to take a deep breath before I could reply. "I've told you all I know. It isn't like I've been withholding information." I sighed and forced myself to fall back into the seat cushions. "The only way I can think how to contact him is by leaving a note out. That's all I've got."

I managed a nonchalant shrug and peeked over at Caroline. Her mouth formed a grim line. It wasn't hard to tell that she had a lot that she wanted to say, but I appreciated that she let me handle it.

Not that I was doing a great job.

Stuck at a stalemate, we wrapped up our conversation with the cop. He planned to seek approval from his superiors, but he also impressed upon me that making some kind of contact with Luke was paramount for setting up an operation.

The problem was that I didn't know how to fucking do that.

Officer James finally left in a wave of cheap-smelling cologne, and I pushed my fries away, suddenly not hungry.

"Oh!"

I glanced over at Caroline, wondering why she made that weird little gasp. Her mouth had popped open in surprise, but other than that, she remained unmoving, staring over my shoulder.

"Car?"

At her name, she jumped before beginning to robotically smooth down her hair. She smiled and waved, her eyes following someone behind me.

I twisted around, but a giant fake plant blocked my view. And then I heard the door jingle as it opened and closed. I turned back to Caroline, my brow cocked.

"Who were you waving at?"

Caroline shrugged, relaxing again. But her smile lingered as she took a sip from her glass. "Just a friend."

I rolled my eyes, not in the mood for it today.

"Caroline, I know you're seeing someone. Was that them?" She froze, and I followed up with, "Why are you being so secretive?"

"I—what—"

"You're blushing like fucking crazy," I pointed out.

"I—fine," she huffed, visibly flustered. Pulling her purse out, she slapped a twenty on the table before saying, "I just didn't really think you needed anything else on your plate right now. It didn't seem like a good time to introduce anyone new."

"But you could have at least told me."

Caroline sighed. "It's honestly not a big deal, Bren."

I scoffed. "The giant grin on your face says something different."

"Well, I like him. But it is not a big deal."

"So it's a he?" I asked. I'd never known Caroline to date, so I had no idea what to expect. Mumbling, I added, "At least that narrows it down a bit."

"Yes," Caroline said with a smile and a shake of her head. "It's a he. As much as I'd like to swear off men completely, there are certain parts of them—"

"Nope, you're right," I said quickly, pushing up from the booth. "We don't need to talk about your dating life."

"Should we talk about yours instead?" Caroline teased.

"No, we shouldn't." I lowered my voice and waited for her to join me before we walked toward the door together. "Because that would make me think about Madie crying again, and then I'll lose my shit. Because I wanted everything to be over this week, Car. I want to be there for her."

"And you will be," she said softly, reassuring me. "Soon."

I hoped to fucking god Caroline was right. Changing the subject, I said, "I gotta get back to work."

Caroline gave me a brief hug, and then we went our separate ways. The diner wasn't that far from St. Paul's, so I decided to walk, kicking at the rocks as I made my way across town. Peeking at my phone, I pushed away a wave of disappointment when I didn't see a notification from Madie. She was probably in class.

When I got to the church, Collins immediately ambushed me.

"Bren! Thank god you're back."

My lunch date with Officer James had definitely taken longer than I'd planned; glancing at my watch, I realized two hours had passed since I'd left, and it was now nearing 3 o'clock. Collins didn't sound annoyed, though—just relieved as fuck.

"What's up?" I asked.

"We're doing a new after-school group, offering things like homework help, games, whatever. Just a place for kids to go for a few hours, ya know?"

I didn't like where this was going.

Sure enough, Collins went on to say, "But I have a meeting in like two minutes, and Rachel called in sick today. So I need you to hang out with the group. Reese needs help with his homework."

I'd never met Rachel, who one of the other group leaders besides Collins. But now she was on my shit list. I would bet any money that she was just hungover as fuck; she went on and on yesterday about how they were going out for her boyfriend's 21st last night.

"Hell no, Collins," I said, shaking my head. Reese sounded like a kid. I didn't do kids. That wasn't part of my job description.

But she ignored me, grabbing my sweatshirt and pulling us toward the basement steps that led to where all the meetings were held. "Come on, he just needs help with a math assignment."

"Fuck that," I hissed. "I have a fucking learning disability in math, Collins. I was still learning eighth-grade math when I graduated high school. That's over four goddamn years behind."

She flashed a teasing smile over her shoulder. "Four years, huh? Well, that was some quick mental math there, Bren. See? You'll be fine. Besides, he's a seventh-grader. So you should have it covered."

"Collins," I groaned, but she was relentless. We were halfway across the room now, charging toward a red-headed teen who I assumed was Reese. "I literally hate you," I whispered at the back of her head.

"No, you don't," she said, grinning broadly, unphased.

I opened my mouth to assure her that yes, I really did, but then we were standing in front of a bright-eyed middle schooler. So instead, I breathed, "Fuck, hey kid."

Collins elbowed me in the ribs. "Language, Bren."

"Ah shit, my bad."

Clearing her throat, Collins muttered, "Okay, maybe this wasn't a good idea." But she didn't actually seem to care that much; she hurriedly introduced us before speeding away, presumably to try to catch her meeting.

I raked my hand through my hair and looked down at Reese. The slight smirk on his face reminded me a bit of my own middle school attitude. But then I saw the look in his eyes, and it called to me even more. He was lost.

"Sorry about that," I said, sighing and chuckling nervously at the same time. "Just don't tell your parents, okay?"

His smirk fell. "I don't have any."

Somehow I kept from swearing. I dropped into the seat next to him and muttered, "Right. Right. I'm sorry, man. Well, I don't have any either. I suppose that's why my language is so bad."

He shrugged. "It's whatever." His voice hadn't dropped yet, but it was on the cusp of it. The raspiness gave it away. After a minute, he added, "They're just words."

I stared at him for a second. "Ya know, I've never agreed with someone more." He gave me a small smile before I added, "They don't actually mean anything unless you make them."

Reese cocked his head to the side. "What do you mean?"

Leaning onto the table between us, I explained, "It's all in the way you use them. The way you feel them."

"Yeah." Reese slowly nodded. His eyes were blue, nearly translucent. Like...spring. Not deep like Madie's, not like the ocean. But they flicked over my face, undoubtedly trying to decide what to make of me. "I guess that makes sense," he finally said.

"Alright, ready for some..." I waved my hand at his textbook, looking for the right word. Seventh-grade math. What the hell did they do in seventh-grade math?

"Geometry," Reese filled in for me.

Fuck.

"Geometry," I repeated. "Let's do this."

🤍

xoxo