A little over a week after getting home, I find myself staring out my window at the newest cop sitting in his patrol vehicle across the street. The first guy read books all day. The second one kept a Gameboy in his hands, and if the angry scowl was any indication, he lost every game he played. About five officers rotate shifts, and currently, Gameboy guy is switching shifts with one of the newer guys.
On a normal weekday, I'd immerse myself in studies and work. When I called my boss, I learned Grumpy didn’t get me fired. My boss knew the bare minimum of what happened and suggested I take time from work to regroup and rest. He assured me it wasn't a big issue for me to take some time off, and my job will be there when I'm ready to come back. He agreed to give me an advance on my vacation time to avoid dipping into my meager savings.
My professors were equally understanding when I talked to them about the missed classes. They suggested I take the rest of the semester off and pick up where I left off next semester. It gives me a few months of free time I don't normally have, and I'm already bored out of my mind.
Evelyn can't come hang out because her mother finally announced the good news of being cancer free, and their whole family decided to take an extended vacation. They'll be gone for a few months, first on a cruise and then spending some time traveling around Europe.
Michelle ditched me also. She and Dylan decided to fly to Michigan to surprise his parents and tell them the news about the baby. Neither of the girls wanted to go after everything that happened with me, but I refused to put a damper on their fun. They had their plans before I caused an uproar, so they need to stick with them. With the promise I'd be fine, they felt better about leaving, and we all agreed to get together for our usual girls’ night when they both get back.
Grumpy finally started talking to me again. It took him about twenty-four hours to cave after our little tiff in the hospital. It wasn't a coincidence Michelle and Evelyn kept calling and texting to check up on me—Grumpy made them do it. I finally told them I wouldn’t answer them unless they promised not to report back to Grumpy, and they agreed. About an hour later, Grumpy called me to bitch and complain about it. Since then, he and I are fine. He refuses to speak to me about Dr. Lenny; although, he did slip up and call her Trish. My curiosity is piqued, but I don’t press him. He’s happy as a clam I'm not going to work or school for a bit. Though, the conversation didn't go his way, at all.
"Maybe ya oughta stay in yer house 'til them boys catch that bastard, Tayter-Tot." Grumpy's southern drawl thickens when he's upset. It's only because he's worried, but he should know me better by now.
Even though he can't see me, I shake my head. "It ain't gonna happen, Grumpy. I already agreed to have a babysitter sitting outside my house at all times. I'm not going to become a hermit, too."
"You could c’mon back home, just fer a while," he suggests casually. I'm smart enough not to fall for his tricks.
"Grumpy, if I move back home, you'll never let me leave. So again, it ain't happening. I like my freedom, and I plan to keep it. Besides, you might want your freedom soon, too."
He ignores my dig for information, and after a few more half-assed attempts at convincing me to come back home, Grumpy finally gave up and let me win for now. He's sure to try again next time we chat, but he won't convince me.
"Which one is it this time?" Evelyn’s voice is muffled as she talks through a bite of something. Her family had to fly to Alaska for the cruise, and they have a four-hour layover, which she used to call me and Michelle.
A quick glance out my living room window gives me an answer. The new guy still sits in his car. He isn’t my favorite. "It's the new guy who picks his nose, gross. I wonder if these people know they can be seen. It isn't like they have some Harry Potter invisibility cloak bullshit going on."
Every day, I sit in my living room and watch the officers in their cars, and every day, I find it more entertaining than any show on television. With tomorrow being Wednesday, I only need to get through a few more days before I can go back to work and keep myself busy. I've told Grumpy and the cops outside more than once that the protection and constant vigilance over my apartment wasn’t necessary. None of the assholes listen to me, which shouldn't shock me. They're men, after all.
The thought of men brings images of my four heroes to mind. No matter how hard I struggle to push them from my mind, they pop up like unwanted porno ads on an old DSL computer. Most of the time, the images I conjure up are similar to those of a porn ad, too, which is equally as disturbing and creepy. Even with a date with Tim scheduled for next week, I can't get excited about it. I'd rather be going someplace with Maverick, Marak, Syn, or Allistar.
"Have the sexy SWAT superheroes contacted you yet?" Evelyn's question brings me back to the present, and I plop down on my butt, facing away from the window.
"Alas, no." I sigh dramatically. "I wish, though. Would a simple text saying hi be so much to ask? I mean really?"
Michelle snickers. "You're impossible, Taylor. Did you not just text me and Eve to tell us you have a date with Tim next week?" Michelle arrived in Michigan two days ago. The three of us couldn’t manage a three-way call until now.
My cheeks darken. "I did."
"Then, why are you pining over the hot cops?" I can practically hear her perfect brow arching as she scolds me.
"I'm not talking to you anymore." My lip juts out in a petulant pout.
Michelle snorts. "Now, you sound like Grumpy. You really need to find something to do, or you're going to start talking with a southern drawl and using weird curse words and phrases."
"Shut up and go enjoy your stupid vacation without me." Michelle knows I'm only kidding. I could never be angry with her, but I can sure as hell pretend. My acting skills must be as shitty as I think they are because Michelle only laughs and promises to text and call while she's out of town. Evelyn hangs up a moment later, ending our too short call.
After quickly checking my phone for any messages from Grumpy—or any hot men I can't stop thinking about—I decide to get my butt moving. The house is clean, and the laundry washed, dried, and put away. With nothing else to occupy my short attention span inside, a trip to the grocery store seems more necessary than ever.
Grabbing my keys and purse, I lock the door behind me and skip to my driveway, only to skid to a halt in front of my beetle when I realize she probably isn't up and running since the last issue with her. Pursing my lips, I pull out my phone and tap my foot while debating whether I should make the call.
The need to get out of the house outweighs the lecture the call will bring me, so I hit Grumpy's name and wait for his lively greeting of, “What?"
Three hours later, my fridge and pantry are stocked full, and Grumpy finally left my apartment. He spent the first hour of our grocery store trip bitching about my car and my need for a new one. Then, he complained about the unhealthy selections of food in my cart. He soon moved on to grumbling over the amount of people in the store on a weekday.
To most, it would probably be an embarrassing or annoying way to spend an afternoon. For me, it brings back memories of my childhood, and a smile tickles my lips for the majority of the day. When Grammy was alive, she'd constantly tell Grumpy to hush and stop all his bitchin' and moanin'. He never did listen to her, though. She'd turn to me every time, roll her eyes, and say, "It’s like talkin' to a fence post, I swear."
After getting the last of the groceries put away, I decide to reward myself with a nice cold Diet Coke. While taking a long sip of the ice-cold beverage, I go about closing the curtains and blinds in the house. Every morning, I open them up to let the natural light in, and every evening when the sun starts to set, I close them again. When I reach the living room window, I glance outside to watch the cops change shift for the night. They’re laughing about something one of them said. I stand still and watch them for a few minutes, wondering what they might be talking about. The reader cop is back to let the nose-picker off.
When we were kids, Eve, Michelle, and I used to make up stories about strangers while we people-watched. If they were here, they’d help me come up with an elaborate story about how the first cop always dreamed of being a stand-up comedian and he tries out his bits on the other cops. The other cop can only think of the date he has tonight with the hot girl he pulled over for speeding. Little do they know the hot girl is the comedian’s wife and things are about to get really awkward around the station.
Crash!
The sound of something being broken outside my backdoor causes me to squeal and spin around, abandoning the open living room blinds and the cops with intermingling lives. The first thoughts to run through my head are of the men who kidnapped me and Jenna. They’re easy to dismiss as suspects of the crash because I was told none of them survived the raid. Though, the mystery man who wanted me still roams free.
The sound probably came from a squirrel or a possum, but my heart continues to race as I tiptoe over to my coat closet. If Grumpy made sure to teach me only one thing growing up, it was how to shoot. Of course, he’d never trust me with a real gun on my own, which I can’t blame him for, but he would take me to the range and let me use his while under supervision. When I moved out, Grammy gave me a crockpot as a housewarming gift. Grumpy gave me a pellet gun and a crap ton of the little metal pellets to go with it. The crockpot may get used more, but I want to kiss Grumpy for his gift right now. There’s a good chance I’m about to shoot an innocent possum, but the little bastard shouldn’t be breaking stuff on my back porch.
With slow, measured steps, I make my way to the back door and peek outside, pushing the closed curtains minutely to the side. No signs of animals or people show right away, but the flower pot sitting on the handrail now lays in pieces on the concrete floor. The flower pot wasn’t a small one, and it was full of dirt and a few sad, half-dead flowers. Grammy might have had a green thumb, but I kill any and all plants I come across. The only exception being the cactus Grammy bought me as a last-ditch effort to get me to keep something alive in my house. The sucker will not die, no matter how many times I knock it over, forget to give it water, overwater it, or simply stick it on a closet shelf.
Just before I let the blinds go, a shadow across the grassy area past my patio draws my attention. The silhouette of a person tells me a possum won’t be getting a pellet in the ass.
Logically, I know I should call the police, but as I pull my phone from my pocket and my fingers fly over the buttons, I somehow end up sending a message to Maverick since his name pops up first.
Taylor: Someone is sneaking around outside my house. What should I do?
Anger bubbles in my gut. Some asshat is snooping around my home, and it pisses me off. This is my safe place, and they can’t scare me off. Without thinking through my actions rationally, I flip the lock on the back door and slide it open with a little bit too much force. The door bumps against the frame hard, causing the rollers to come off the track. My phone drops from my hand, and the pellet gun comes up, aiming straight in front of me. Rushing through door with a loud war cry, I swing around the corner of my porch and open fire on whoever has the balls to snoop around.
A loud yelp comes from my victim, and a satisfied grin graces my lips.
“Ouch! Ouch! Fucking ouch! What the fuck?”
The familiar voice roaring at me wipes the grin away, and I drop the pellet gun in shock. It hits the grass with a loud thud and fires once more, hitting Syn in the thigh. He jumps at the bite of pain and covers his newest wound with his hands.
“Holy crap. Syn?”