Free Damaged Goods (Don't Call Me Hero Book 2) by Eliza Lentzski Page A

there with his head in his hands, the more I felt obligated to say something to him.
    I shut the door to the storage area with a loud, metallic clang and still he didn’t move. I lingered longer, but he continued to ignore me while he cradled his head in his hands.
    “Hey,” I stated gruffly. “You okay?”
    He grunted noncommittally.
    I looked up at the halogen lights in the ceiling and grit my back teeth. “Jesus,” I muttered to myself. I sat beside him on the bench and stretched my legs out in front of me. “What gives?”
    He didn’t immediately answer me, and I considered leaving him to deal on his own. Finally, he raised his head from his hands and looked at me. “Why do they call me Boot?”
    “I have no idea,” I admitted. “It’s just what you call the new guy. And that’s you for now. It’s only temporary though. Soon enough someone else will come along, and they’ll be the new Boot.”
    I didn’t think mentioning how Rich continued to call me Rookie would be helpful in this situation.
    “I don’t think I can do this,” he lamented.
    “Sure you can. We all have rough patches and days we wish we could forget.”
    “It’s nothing like the academy.”
    “It never is, Rookie.”
     
     
    My phone rang on my walk from the precinct to where I’d parked my motorcycle outside. I wanted it to be Julia, but it was my old military buddy, Terrence Pensacola, instead. We hadn’t spoken since the Fourth of July. The combination of the holiday fireworks and his call had sparked one of my worst nightmares to date. After the day I’d had, I should have let the call go to voicemail, but I’d always been a glutton for punishment.
    “Hey, buddy, what’s up?” I tried to keep the anxiety from creeping into my tone.
    “I’m gonna be in your old stomping grounds next week.”
    “St. Cloud? What for?”
    “No, the Twin Cities. I’m participating in a clinical trial for a new prosthetic leg. Claire suggested I call you to get some restaurant recommendations. This pregnancy’s been giving her weird cravings for pizza and maple syrup. What you got for me?”  
    It occurred to me that Pense didn’t know I’d left Embarrass. When last we’d spoken, I’d still been up north.
    “I, uh, I’m actually back in Minneapolis,” I hesitatingly revealed.
    “I thought you were doing the cop thing someplace near Canada.”
    “I know.” I forced out a laugh. “It’s hard to keep up with me these days. How’s Claire doing?”
    “Getting bigger and more hormonal with each day.”
    “Geez, I hope she’s not in the room, Pense,” I censured.
    The sound of his laugh transported me back to a desert in the middle of the Helmand Province. “Give me a little more credit than that,” he breezed. “What about you? Things good?”
    “As good as can be expected,” I said, purposely vague. “I’m getting back into the swing of things with the Minneapolis police. Today was actually my second day back.”
    “What happened with that job up north?”
    “It’s a long story,” I dodged again, “for a different place and time.”
    “Hey, this is probably a crazy idea, and don’t feel obligated or anything, but do you want to meet up when we’re in town?” he asked. “You’re probably busy and stuff, but my pregnant wife would skin me if I didn’t at least ask.”
    When I closed my eyes I could smell the sulfur of gunpowder. I could feel the heat of an unrelenting sun beating down on my pink, crackled skin. I could see nothing on the horizon but miles and miles of sandy, scorched earth. I was still stuck in that desert. Only the vibrant crimson of a red painted mouth had been able to break through the monochromatic lens—a red painted mouth with a small, horizontal scar on her upper lip.
    Pensacola interpreted my prolonged silence as refusal. “It’s okay, I know you’ve got your own thing going on.”
    I opened my eyes and the color came back. “I’m never too busy for you, Pense.”
    “Stop it,