The second the door swings shut behind Kylie Everhart and her dramatic-as-hell exit, I sit down—hard.

She didn't leave like a normal person. No, she sauntered. Tossed her hair like she was walking away from an explosion in slow motion. Blew a kiss with those still-smudged fingers and strutted out like she owned the whole damn precinct.

And me?

I just stood there like a complete jackass and let her, like some background extra in her one-woman show. Watching her go felt like watching a fuse spark to life—you know something's about to blow, but you're too hypnotized to move.

I should've said something. Should've warned her. Threatened her. Hell, tackled her before she got two steps toward freedom with that smug smile on her face. But my brain short-circuited the second she leaned into that doorway and said she wouldn't dream of being late. That smile? That fake, pageant-ass grin? It fried something in me. Made my jaw clench. Made my palms itch. Made me feel like I'd been dunked in gasoline and handed a lighter.

I scrub a hand down my face, jaw already tight. Not because I'm flustered. Because I'm furious. At her. At Ramirez. At myself most of all.

What the hell did I just sign up for?

I should've let the judge assign her to sewer mapping or stuck her in a government basement sorting paperclips with a rusty staple remover. Parks and Rec. Animal Control. Literally anywhere else but here.

But no. I had to open my mouth. Had to volunteer.

Because somewhere in the back of my over-functioning, under-slept brain, I thought: it's better to deal with the devil I know than risk letting her torment someone less equipped, like unleashing a hurricane in a nursery.

Only this devil wears lip gloss, smells like citrus and war crimes, and signs paperwork like she's autographing a middle finger.

Which is bullshit. I don't know her anymore. I knew her then—when she was younger, louder, but not yet hardened. Before she left town like a firecracker that forgot to go off. Before she came back with a bigger rap sheet and a grudge, I still don't understand.

Now?

Now she's a demolition derby in lipstick and crop tops—wreckage waiting to happen, with just enough charm to make you forget you're standing in the blast zone. Every move she makes dares someone to tell her no. And every time they do, she finds a new way to burn the rulebook.

Back then, she was unpredictable in a harmless way—doodling graffiti on private property, sneaking out past curfew, breaking into salons, and treating herself to a spa day on their dime.

Now? She's weaponized it. Every smile is a dare. Every look is a challenge. She's gasoline with a match tucked behind her ear.

And somehow, every mess she makes still lands in my lap.

There's a knock on the doorframe, and I don't even lift my head.

I'm too busy questioning every life decision that led to this exact moment—this desk, this day, this particular brand of glitter-scented hell.

If I make eye contact with another human right now, I might just start screaming. Or assigning unpaid overtime.

So no. Head stays down. Sanity barely intact.

"Moody," Cooper drawls. "Was that Everhart I just saw blowing kisses in the lobby like she's on a red carpet?"

I let out a sigh that feels like it's been building since the moment I woke up. "Unfortunately."

"You arrest her again?"

"What do you think?" I mutter, pinching the bridge of my nose like that'll somehow stop the headache forming behind my eyes. "Now she's mine for the next thirty days."

The words taste like a threat and a cry for help rolled into one. My tone is flat, but there's a quiet horror underneath it, like I just realized I adopted a gremlin on purpose.

Cooper steps fully into the office, eyebrows practically in orbit. "Ramirez finally activated that community diversion thing?"

I drop my hand and stare at the ceiling like it might open up and offer me divine intervention. "Yeah. Fast-tracked it, apparently. Jail's full, judge is feeling generous, and I was stupid enough to open my mouth at the wrong time."

Cooper whistles low. "And you... volunteered?" he says, surprised. "Now you're babysitting a firecracker with impulse control issues and a vendetta against public restrooms."

I level him with a look, sharp enough to cut drywall. "She's not a firecracker. She's a goddamn pipe bomb in lip gloss. And I've got thirty days to keep her from committing another misdemeanor—or burning down this precinct."

He chuckles, but I don't. Not really. Because she's my problem now. "Right." His lips twitch. "That the only reason?"

She's now my responsibility. Every second she's in this precinct, it's my ass on the line. One wrong move, one stupid stunt, and I'm the one writing up the incident report... or worse, explaining to Ramirez how Kylie Everhart turned community service into a hostage negotiation.

And maybe that's the part that gets me most.

I volunteered.

I signed that form knowing exactly what I was getting into.

And I still did it.

So yeah—she's mine for the next thirty days.

God help us all.

I groan, shooting him another disturbed look. He lifts both hands, laughing. "No judgment. Personally, I think she's hilarious. You know, in a 'makes-you-want-to-walk-into-traffic' kind of way."

"She's not funny," I snap. "She's a disaster. Loud, disrespectful, unpredictable—"

"She's hot."

"Out."

He's still chuckling when he backs out of my office.

I glance at the form in front of me, and there it is in all its glory. Bold, all caps, messy, infuriating. KYLIE EVERHART.

It's not even legible. Her signature looks like she was twirling gum in her mouth and signing with the other hand. Like it's a performance. Even her goddamn handwriting has attitude.

The same signature she used when she carved her name into my squad car and drew devil horns over my face in the photo pinned to the bulletin board for cop of the year at our local hardwood store. Right before she lit a stink bomb in the men's bathroom and blamed one of the employees for "storing chemicals too close to her creativity."

Back then, she was impulsive. Defiant. Annoying in a way that got under your skin and stayed there.

But now? Now there's something colder about her. She's still loud, still reckless—but with teeth. Like the spark turned serrated.

And she's back.

Back in my jurisdiction. My office. My schedule. My problem.

Why her? Why now? Why the hell does it have to be Kylie Everhart—of all the damn people?

Because the universe doesn't give second chances. It gives me community service with the one girl who once handed me a perfume-scented cease and desist letter during roll call.

I scroll through the duty roster and drop her name into the last line of the oversight assignment list. KYLIE EVERHART – Civilian Supervised Hours.

Just seeing it typed in official font makes my eye twitch.

She's going to fight me at every turn. She'll show up late. Talk back. Make coffee that tastes like motor oil and insist it's "artisanal." She'll charm dispatch, insult my haircut, steal my pens, and probably try to jailbreak the office printer just because I told her not to touch it.

And somehow, I'm supposed to make sure she doesn't set this building on fire like she did that damn porta-potty.

The mental image hits before I can stop it—blue plastic walls belching flames, a plume of smoke curling into the sky like Satan's vape pen, and Kylie Everhart stumbling out of the wreckage, pants half-buttoned and grinning like she just invented a new Olympic sport. Her hair was singed. Her eyelashes were somehow still intact. And the smell—Jesus. Melted plastic, scorched sanitizer, shit, and bad decisions.

I actually shiver.

It smelled like a war crime in a urinal.

And now that same menace is clocking in tomorrow morning.

God help the precinct.

Hell, God help me.

Janice glides past the door like she's on roller skates, sipping her coffee and humming a tune older than both of us.

"She's got great posture," she says casually, without stopping.

I blink. "Excuse me?"

Janice pauses, leans back around the doorway, eyes twinkling like she knows exactly what she's doing. "Your new little community service princess. Swaggers like she's got a personal spotlight. You sure you're not punishing yourself?"

"She's chaos with eyebrows, Jan."

Janice sips her coffee. "Pretty chaos, that is. The most dangerous kind."

She winks and walks away like she didn't just drop a grenade in my office.

I stare after her, blinking like I've just been hit with a flying saucer.

What the hell is it with women in this town?

Time drags after that. I try to focus. I really do. I make it through exactly three and a half arrest reports before her name sneaks back into my head like a virus that refuses to go away.

Everhart. Everhart. Everhart.

It's on every form I touch. She's in every comment box. Every "describe incident" section feels like a prelude to the circus she'll bring tomorrow.

I open her file again, rereading the court order like it might suddenly say Just kidding. It doesn't.

Thirty days minimum. Daily check-in. Assigned officer oversight—ranking only. That's me.

Weekly evaluations required.

I flip to the first blank eval form and stare at the line labeled: Potential for rehabilitation:

I hesitate.

Then write: Only if exorcism counts.

I smirk. Then think better of it and scratch it out.

By the time I finally make it to the break room, the place is quiet. The coffee's burnt. The overhead light is flickering like a horror movie prop. And taped to the corkboard above the communal snack bin is a sign-up sheet for precinct support staff. There, written in a bright red marker, is a name that makes my pulse spike: KYLIE EVERHART – Civilian Assistant (Temporary Assignment)

Someone in this precinct thinks they're funny. Because next to it? Is a goddamn glittery unicorn sticker.

I blink. Twice.

She's already infected the admin board.

I rip the sheet off the wall and fold it in half like I'm handling a biohazard. Then I toss it in the trash with more force than necessary and head back to my office with a fresh cup of bitter coffee and a deep sense of regret.

This is going to be a long goddamn month.

And tomorrow?

Tomorrow, the real circus begins.

I hope you enjoyed the chapter!!🤞🤞