The gurgling sound of blood in Arnold’s throat gave Gonzo nightmares in the rare instances when he actually slept. In a career filled with things he’d much rather forget than remember, it was the single worst sound Gonzo had ever heard, the sound of life leaving his partner, one desperate gasp at a time.
He shuddered, thinking of it now and reached for the bottle that was never far from his grasp. The whiskey burned on the way down, his empty stomach protesting its arrival. Powering through the gut pain, he took another gulp, looking for the sweet oblivion he only found at the bottom of a bottle.
It was almost five now, and he had to work at seven. He’d missed his shift yesterday. That was a first. Under normal circumstances, he’d be freaking out about screwing up at work. Under these circumstances, he couldn’t find the wherewithal to give a shit about his fucking nightmare of a job. He could no longer remember what he’d ever loved about it.
In what other career could you be gunned down on a sidewalk simply because you carry a badge? In what other career did you risk your life every day for people who didn’t give a shit about you?
These days, cops were viewed as the enemy because of a few bad ones who couldn’t control themselves. Did anyone other than his family and friends and colleagues in blue even care that a young man named Arnold John “AJ” Arnold had been gunned down on a sidewalk simply because he’d approached a suspect on a cold, dark night?
Life had gone on for everyone else. Six weeks later, it was like it never happened for the rest of the world. Despite his best efforts to carry on, to be brave and strong for the people who were counting on him at home and at work, Gonzo could still hear the echo of the gunshots, smell the blood, taste the fear and panic of knowing there was nothing he could do. He could still hear that god-awful gurgling noise.
Gonzo had about twenty—or maybe it was thirty—unanswered calls from the department shrink, reminding him he needed to make his next appointment. Like the last time Gonzo had seen him, Trulo would make him talk about it when that was the last freaking thing he wanted to do. How in the hell would that help anything? Let’s tear the scab off the wound and poke a sharp stick in it because that’ll surely make everything better. So he was avoiding Trulo and all the other do-gooders who wanted to “help.” As if there was anything anyone could do.
“Tommy.” Christina’s soft voice jarred him. He hadn’t seen her coming. His reflexes weren’t what they used to be if she could sneak up on him in the dark.
“What?”
“Are you coming to bed?”
“No.” It wasn’t her fault. None of this was her fault. He told himself that a thousand times a day as she hovered over him, her care and concern wearing on his already-frazzled nerves. It was hard to believe that only a few short weeks ago, they’d been talking about making time to get married. And now he wanted to tell her to leave him alone. He wished everyone would just leave him the hell alone. But they didn’t. In addition to Christina, he had his family and colleagues around his neck too.
If Cruz called him one more time to “check in” he was going to tell him to fuck off. What did they want from him anyway?
“Will you please come to bed? You need to sleep.”
“No, I don’t need to sleep.” Sleep brought nightmares, and the last fucking thing he wanted was to relive it—again. “I need to be alone.” On the outer edges of his mind, in the place where the man he used to be lived, he knew he was making an extraordinary mess of the most precious relationship in his life. But he couldn’t bring himself to care.
Christina knelt on the floor in front of him, her hands flat against his thighs. There’d been a time, not that long ago, when that would’ve been enough to fire him up. Now he felt nothing for her or his son or his family or his friends. He felt absolutely nothing but pain.
“You’re scaring me, Tommy. You can’t go on this way. You need help. You have to let us help you.”
“I don’t have to do anything. You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I can’t possibly know what you went through that night, but the Tommy I know and love—”
“Is dead. That guy died on a sidewalk right along with his partner. So if you don’t like the new and improved Tommy, maybe you should cut your losses and get out.”
Her face went slack with shock, tears flooding her eyes. “You don’t mean that.”
“Maybe I do.”
“Tommy...”
“Don’t make this harder than it has to be. We had a good thing, but it’s over now.”
“You... Alex...”
“Take him. Take him and just go. Leave me alone.”
“I’m not leaving you, Tommy,” she said as sobs shook her petite body.
Once upon a time, her tears would’ve moved him. “Then I’ll go.”
“No. You’re not going, and neither am I. We’re a family, and if you won’t fight for our family then I will.”
“Knock yourself out.” He reached for the bottle.
She grabbed it from his hand, and it went flying, smashing into the glass coffee table and shattering it.
The sight of her surrounded by shards of glass cleared the fog in his brain, making way for a moment of clarity. “Don’t move.”
As tears continued to rain down her face, she whimpered.
Standing, he reached for her and lifted her up and off the floor.
Christina wrapped her arms around his neck and curled her legs around his hips. She trembled violently, her tears wetting his face.
“You’re okay. I’ve got you.” His heart beat fast and hard as fear sliced through the numbness.
“Please don’t let me go, Tommy.” Her chest heaved from the strength of her sobs. “I’d never survive it.”
He tightened his hold on her, blinking rapidly to stop tears that suddenly couldn’t be contained. His chest ached as the dam broke, flooding him with a barrage of emotions he was unequipped to handle. Fear and grief and love and despair... All of it poured forth as Christina clung to him. He’d never cried like this before. Not when his grandparents died or when he found out he had a son he didn’t know about or when Arnold was killed right in front of him.
Something about the sight of Christina surrounded by broken glass had done what nothing else could. It had broken him. Leaning against a wall, he slid down, taking her with him, until they were on the floor. She never let go, holding him through the storm the way she had from the beginning.
He had no idea how long they were there before he found his voice. “I... I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said those things. I didn’t mean—”
Cradling his face in her hands, she kissed him and wiped away his tears. “We need help, Tommy. We can’t do this alone. Please. Before we lose us...”
He hesitated but only for a second. “Okay.”
* * *
SAM SHOT OUT of bed, going from asleep to running in the blink of an eye when she heard Scotty cry out. Fearing another vomit-astrophe, she steeled herself as she turned the corner in his room and found him sitting up in bed, weeping.
“Buddy, what’s wrong? Are you feeling sick again?”
She’d never seen him cry like this, as if his heart were breaking. Sam sat on the bed and wrapped her arms around him. The heat from his body radiated through the thin T-shirt he wore, but he didn’t feel quite as hot as he had during the night.
“I still feel awful,” he said between sobs. “I can’t go to the party.”
“I’m so