Cocky Cop: Wyatt Cocker (Cocker Brothers Book 23) Page 7

  Washington asks, “Does she need an X-ray?”

  “For?”

  With three pairs of eyes watching, Washington doesn’t want to explain his question. But now he has to. “For…internal bleeding.”

  The doctor’s eyebrows rise. “Uh…no. The only internal bleeding is just beneath the surface of her outer dermis causing the discoloration and pain.”

  “Discoloration meaning just a bruise,” Diana smiles.

  “A deep but normal bruise. She can go home.”

  Washington nods, shoulders squaring with his proud jaw. “Wanted to be sure.”

  “Of course.”

  “Since it’s my responsibility.”

  “I understand. Excuse me.” The doctor exits, expression saying he won’t miss us.

  Diana puts dry hands on damp hips. She lifts them off, staring at her fingers. “I need to get out of these clothes.”

  Before I can say what I want to, Washington grabs my shoulder. “Let’s get her back home.” He pushes me so that I’m walking alone. “Now Diana, where do you live?”

  I cough, “Coffee shop.” He ignores me. I know he heard.

  “We’re going to drive you home since, you know, I hit you.”

  “You’re not going to make me call a car?”

  He eyes her. “So that’s still how it’s gonna be.”

  My phone vibrates, and I think it’s Nate texting something he forgot to tell me. But the preview is a text from Chief.

  It’s a screenshot photo of me carrying Diana through the hospital.

  My ribs tighten. “Uh oh.”

  Washington glances over his huge shoulder. “What’s up?”

  I tuck my phone away, face blank as I shrug, “Nothing that can’t wait.”

  Chapter 14

  Diana

  Riding in the back of a police car feels weird. Add this to our undeniable flirtation at the hospital, and I can barely be still.

  Get undressed.

  You dressed, Diana?

  I thought you told me to undress.

  I’d been so agitated by his ego, our misunderstanding about them cutting line, and refusal to let me get the hell out of that depressing place, that it took me by surprise when we were in the room together and all I wanted to do was jump on him.

  I wanted him to kiss me.

  Almost undressed in front of him.

  Just to see what he would do.

  Deputy Washington asks, “You want us to talk to your job. Tell ‘em why you—?”

  “—This is it. The duplex. 134.” I unbuckle my seatbelt, reminded of May. And Eddie. “Today is my day off. I’m all good, thanks.”

  I don’t work on Thursdays because Friday is a long day for me — movie night at Silver Linings. They vote for the film and we’ve seen Fried Green Tomatoes and The Godfather about eight times each. That’s the day I plan future events, make reports on how the past week’s went, then I enjoy the film with everyone. And I usually sit next to May and Alice, because I enjoy their company.

  Runs in the family, apparently.

  Should I tell you that I know your great-grandmother? Would it be weird to bring that up now? How do I explain not having said it already…

  Yes, I’ll tell you now.

  From the backseat I watch him step out to come and set me free. Criminals aren’t allowed to open their own doors. They’d love to be able to, wouldn’t they? So this lock is a teensie bit stronger than childproof.

  I watch him taking his time, lost in his thoughts, masculine walk dampening me.

  It’s hard to pretend I hadn’t made the connection when I’ve known May Cocker for a year and their surname is so recognizable in our city. Could I play dumb and claim I didn’t know they were related? She doesn’t exactly look like a quarterback. Or a rockstar. She’s just a sweet old lady with bright blue eyes and charisma to spare.

  If I don’t see Wyatt again, I guess it doesn’t matter how I work this into the conversation.

  A feeling rises up in my chest at the thought of never seeing him. I’m suddenly uncomfortable, hot around the collar, lips turned down.

  Wyatt stops on a rectangular patch of bright green grass just outside the backdoor. Raking his hair, he checks out the sky, dwindling clouds leaving little evidence of what we all went through. The storm stopped, only drizzle in the air now. Anybody working inside today might not even know how bad it truly got.

  He offers his hand. Warm, calloused, strong fingers guiding me to stand with him. I take a step so he can shut the door, but we are still holding hands even though it isn’t necessary anymore.

  Wyatt.

  I know May.

  Have you come to visit her?

  I’ve never seen you there.

  I would remember.

  I have a date because of her.

  Tonight.

  What would she think about me dating you?

  My mouth feels dry so I lick my lips. “Thank you for making sure I was okay.”

  Our fingers release and I feel the absence of his touch more than I should.

  A cocky smile appears, making him even more irresistible. “We need your phone number.”

  “We do?!”

  Wyatt raises his voice, too, to be heard through the glass. “You hit her with the car, Wash! Might be a good idea to check on her later? Also, probably should’ve crossed your mind that Chief will want her information in the report.”

  Deputy Washington’s enormous body blocks the returning sunlight as he climbs out and offers his hand to me with a smile so sheepish it doesn’t belong on him. “Forgive my manners. I was being impatient with him, not with you. My partner here is popular with the ladies.”

  Wyatt chuckles, “Alright, she forgives you,” offering his own phone. “Type in your number.” Throwing a look to his left he warns, “Put that away! My phone is fine! This is purely professional.”

  I tap my digits in. “Thank you for the warning about his popularity. I have a date tonight so don’t worry about me, I’m safe. Here ya go.”

  Wyatt stares at me with an interested look that drops to the screen before he tucks it away. “We’ll be in touch. Unfortunate circumstance how we met, but at least we saved some ducks today.”

  Washington nods, “Gotta call that vet.”

  The three of us stand in silence. I’m thinking about that phone and how many numbers must be in it

  Here I go walking up steps I’ve climbed a hundred times, when all I want to do is tell him to call me. “I’ll look forward to you checking up on me.” Was that too much? “Don’t do it too soon! Just some time later would be good. I know you don’t trust me already. But, oh never mind. You get it.”

  I am really winning at this whole conversation thing today. Really proud of everything I’m saying. These are my best moments. Yep yep yep.

  He strolls around to the passenger’s side, same slow pace he used to help me out. Didn’t he say they had important business to attend to? Cop business? Is he procrastinating because he doesn’t want to say goodbye to me, either?

  Deputy Washington dips down with more grace than a man of that size should. Before he shuts the door I hear him say, “Give me that phone number, Wy!!”

  “You’re beginning to insult me,” comes a hot smirk before Wyatt locks eyes with me over the hood, his hand on the blue metal doorframe. “Have a good time on your date, Diana,” he casually says, a slam the last thing I hear.

  I lift the white tulip planter for our spare key, mind thoroughly distracted. I haven’t thrown cash at pocketed workout-pants, my jogging commitment still wishy-washy. I vowed to buy real gear after a month of daily jogging proved I meant this.

  Not there yet.

  Especially now.

  Damn leg.

  Dirty key.

  Stubborn lock.

  Irritated heart.

  How could he do that?

  Wish me a nice date?

  Or a fun one?

  Or whatever dumb thing he said.

  Why wasn’
t he jealous?

  Why am I even going out with Eddie again? Never made me feel this awake, that’s for sure. I wouldn’t have let him go. My leg is in pain yet I barely felt it.

  I feel it now that Wyatt is gone.

  These wood floors are disgusting. Dustballs under the Chesterfield couch, our velvet chairs, the glass coffee table that never tells a lie about what’s underneath. Why didn’t we buy something dark and thick? I hate that coffee table!

  Cleaning I can control.

  Wyatt I cannot.

  A crush…needs Clorox.

  Furniture gets dragged like it’s never been dragged before. At least not by me. I can’t believe I am changing the vacuum bag. Lita has switched this out every other time. There’s dust inside where the bag resides. Even though nobody can see it when you close the compartment, why not clean it, too?

  Burners come off the stove.

  Food vacates the fridge.

  Veggie drawers soon spotless.

  Seriously? Did I just get a gift from the heavens? Is this a button falling off the couch?

  I can fix that.

  I can fix that right now.

  Ever healed a Chesterfield before?

  Nope.

  A needle and some thread.

  That’s all I need.

  Where the hell did I put that?

  Found some!

  Okay. Hmm.

  Perhaps it’s not that simple.

  How expensive is this thing?

  It might be time to search for videos because somebody somewhere has sewn a button onto their antique couch and recorded it for complete strangers who were in a moment of crisis like this one I am in right now.

  Deep breath.

  Where is my phone?

  Need a tutorial.

  Where did I leave it?

  Which bag?

  Which jacket?

  Which jeans?

  “Diana?”

  I scream with everything I’ve got, and grab my chest, shouting from inside my walk-in closet to Lita, “You scared me!”

  “What have you done with the furniture? Why is it in all the wrong places?”

  “Did you see where I left my phone?”

  “It was on the charger in the bathroom when I left.”

  I mutter to myself a surprised, “Have I not gone to the bathroom since I got home?” and head for our shared loo.

  “I see a vacuum. I don’t believe it, but I see it. Why are you limping? Did you hurt yourself by vacuuming for the first time in a year?”

  A sarcastic, “Ha,” flies out as I grab my phone, yank the charger out. “It hasn’t been a whole year since…OH MY GOD!”

  “What?! What!?”

  Walking out, I am staring at my phone with the biggest grin I’ve ever had. “He texted me!”

  “Eddie? So what? Did you think he was canceling? Wait, is he canceling? Don’t tell me he’s engaged and didn’t tell you he was seeing someone.”

  I give her a what-the-fuck look. “Not Eddie. And he’s not engaged.”

  Ohhhhhhhh.

  Lita’s projecting.

  She still hasn’t gotten over what happened to her with Nicholas.

  It was before she and I met, but I’ve heard the story. She was really hung up on Nicholas Cocker before he fell for someone named Madison, who Lita calls Plain Jane Girl.

  Nicholas was a huge player. The biggest or so the lore goes. Lita met him at some party thrown by one of his friends. A guy named Billy. Can’t remember the last name. From what I recall, that was a regular thing for Nicholas, though. The party and hooking up with someone he just met.

  But Lita hoped it would be more. He got her number. They went out on a date, if you can call it that. They saw each other one other time. Making it three, total. Just enough for a girl to get attached.

  When the phone stayed dark for a couple weeks, she was patient. But then one Saturday night, she drunk-dialed him and it went to voicemail. More time was allowed to pass. Then she ran into him at another party, at some warehouse, and he confessed that he hadn’t called because he’d met someone who was on his mind — he didn’t want to fuck it up.

  Lita saw them together later, and was shocked that such a sexy bastard had chosen someone you’d easily overlook if she weren’t on his arm — her words.

  Dang.

  I can’t talk about Wyatt.

  Not yet.

  Not to her.

  But there it is…

  A text.

  Three words:

  How’s the leg?

  And it’s two hours old!

  There was zero need to check in that soon.

  Struggling for a subject change I close the screen. “Oh no, what time is it? Eddie! I have to get ready.”

  “What is going on with you? Drugs?”

  “Can I cancel a date this late?”

  “When is he picking you up?”

  “It’s 5:40 now, so…less than two hours.”

  Lita blinks around the chaos, wishing another answer could feel right. “I don’t like him very much, but cancelling with that little notice when you’re the one who called him, that’s not really cool, D.” She waves around and then points at my phone. “Now what the hell is going on?!”

  Chapter 15

  Wyatt

  The remainder of our day was filled with fairly routine police work, nothing too interesting.

  Washington and I head back to the station.

  “Okay Doc, I’ll tell him,” his deep baritone rumbles into the phone before he sets it on his knee and looks at my tapping fingers. “You have been beating that steering wheel for the last 3 miles.”

  My mind is on Chief. She didn’t say come back to the station. Just sent it without a word. That’s worse than yelling at me. Haven’t told my partner about the photo. “How’s the duck?”

  “Didn’t make it.”

  Frowning, I confess, “That’s not what I thought you were going to say.”

  He sighs, rubs both of his knees to give disappointment an outlet. The phone rattles to the floor and he retrieves it, muttering, “Me neither. The ducklings…”

  “They going to Wildlife?”

  “Wildlife said they can probably go free. It’s too busy over there. Today brought in a lot.”

  I focus on the road. “Right.”

  We are in silence until the driveway, dark blue patrol cars lined up outside the precinct to the right, visitor cars on the left. The door to the austere structure smack center and I stare at it wishing I knew my fate.

  We jump out, slam our doors. Washington rubs his bald head, exhaling loudly. “I really wanted that duck to make it.”

  “Me too. Listen, I’ve been meaning to tell you. Probably going to face a shit storm inside here. She texted a photo of me carrying Diana at the hospital.”

  Washington stops just outside the entrance. “When did this happen?”

  “Earlier.”

  He stares at the cars, not speaking at first. “How did I not see somebody taking your picture?”

  “That’s what you’re worried about? That you didn’t catch it?”

  “I should’ve been on the lookout.”

  I smirk, “Washington, you are a trip.”

  Furious at himself, he stomps one boot. “When you are doing something that fucking stupid, I should’ve been on the lookout for somebody taking your damn picture.”

  I throw up my hand. “Hey now.”

  “Because you are always going to be doing something that stupid when it comes to women. And as your partner, during this 15 minutes of fame, I have to watch your back! I have to do a better job!”

  I cross my arms. “I see what you’re doing. Reverse psychology. You act like it’s all your fault and then I’m supposed to correct you and take the blame.” He stares at me like I figured it out. “Alright, fine! But I am not going to apologize for being me. I texted her.”

  His head swings back in disbelief. “Are you out of your damn mind? You have lost your damn mind! No, don�
�t tell me you were checking to see if she was okay. We just dropped her off a few hours ago. There is no way anything has changed in her situation between then and now.”

  “Now she has our number in case something does happen.”

  That shuts him up for about a second. “Do you think I’m stupid? No, seriously, do you think I don’t know who you are?”

  Larter strolls out of the station with his head in his phone. Glancing up, he greets us, “Guys.”

  We watch him walk away, out of earshot.

  I mutter, “Why does Larter even want to be a cop?”

  “Do you want to be a cop?” Washington demands, stepping closer. “Because you had better—”

  “— I know. I know.” I throw up my hands and walk inside, adding a gruff, “Thanks Dad.”

  As he follows me in, swearing under his breath, the two of us do a quick scan but no Chief to be found. With the shift change new desk-cops are busy doing their thing. Several patrol officers check in people they picked up. Sergeant Parker strolls to the coffee machine and spots us. “Washington. Cocker. You know that guy you pulled in for the stolen jewelry?”

  We nod, “Yeah,” at the same time.

  “They caught his buddy today. The one who ran off first? His friend snitched him out.”

  I glance to my partner, see the irritation still darkening his eyes so I answer for the both of us, “That’s good news. We needed that today.”

  Parker lifts the cup to his lips. “Why today?”

  “Don’t worry about it.” Heading to Chief’s office, I keep my cool and slow my pace for a moment of contemplation.

  What’s my next move here?

  How do I handle this and come out unscathed? I could say Diana was a friend, that it was normal for us to horse around. Except for one glaring fact. Washington has to file a report that he hit a civilian. That makes it impossible to lie about who Diana is. Not that I am prone to lying anyway. Especially here. Even the impulse makes me uneasy.

  But people do strange things when they’re trying to save something that’s important to them. Besides family, nothing is as important to me as this job.

  Who has to look in the mirror?

  Me.

  Who always likes what they see?

  Me.

  Who wants to keep it that way…