Pinned Between Past and Present
935 Words
She exhales, one long, ragged breath.
Get it together. You’re fine. You’re always fine.
When she walks back through the door, her spine is straight, and her face is blank.
Like nothing happened.
“Final scenario!” Jr called out to the class. “Suspect resisting while standing. The officer must gain control, execute safe cuffing, and perform a full contact search. Harley, you’re up.”
She stepped onto the mat, pulse still racing.
She kept her chin up. Back straight. Every nerve screaming not to flinch when Beau walked over and stood behind her.
He reached for her wrists gently, securing the cuffs behind her back with precise control.
But then he paused.
His nose brushed over her shoulder when he leaned down to secure the cuffs.
He didn’t move.
Didn’t speak.
But she felt it.
The shift.
The tension.
Beau leaned in, barely an inch, and inhaled once, sharp and quiet.
Then his voice dropped, low and dangerous.
“Who the f**k touched you?”
Her blood ran cold.
She didn’t answer.
He stepped in, pressed his chest to her back, closer than he had to be for the demonstration.
His breath hit her ear, warm and steady.
“I know that scent,” he growled. “And it’s mine.”
She clenched her jaw, eyes forward.
“Not here,” she whispered. “Please.”
A pause.
Beau pulled back half an inch.
Just enough.
His hands never left her. His control never wavered.
But every cadet in that room could feel the shift in the air.
Lieutenant Winters wasn’t just demonstrating anymore.
He was claiming.
Beau didn’t say another word.
Not to her.
Not to the cadets.
He turned smoothly, still gripping her cuffed wrists, and began narrating the search like nothing had changed.
“Maintain shoulder-width stance. Control the cuffs with your dominant hand,” he said, voice steady, commanding. “Suspect should remain off balance, unable to pivot.”
His hands moved precisely, one planted at the cuffs, the other sweeping over her body in clean, confident strokes. Down the inside of her legs. Up her ribs. Across her waistband.
Professional.
Unflinching.
But his fingers pressed harder than they had in the last scenario. Not enough to bruise. Just enough to remind her he wasn’t blind.
And he wasn’t letting this go.
Harley stood still, eyes fixed forward.
Laramie stood near the edge of the yard, arms crossed, chewing on a toothpick like he was waiting to see what Beau would do.
Jr called, “End scenario!”
Beau stepped back.
Released her wrists.
Didn’t say a word.
And walked off.
Harley made it to the Tahoe first.
She didn’t wait.
She yanked the door handle and started to climb in.
SLAM.
Beau’s palm hit the top edge of the door, forcing it shut again with a solid, teeth-rattling thud.
She flinched back hard, heart jack hammering, pulse loud in her ears.
His body was right there, caging her in, heat radiating off him like a furnace.
“You reek of him,” he said, voice low and lethal.
She didn’t move.
Didn’t blink.
Just stared straight ahead.
Beau leaned in closer, one arm braced against the Tahoe frame beside her head, breath sharp against her cheek. “Did he touch you?”
She stayed silent.
That was all he needed.
His jaw clenched, muscles ticking beneath the surface.
“You come back shaken, flushed, won’t look me in the eye—”
“That’s rich,” she snapped, turning sharply toward him. “You don’t know me.”
He stilled.
She stepped into him, fire flashing in her chest.
“This is your first day, Lieutenant,” she hissed. “You don’t know my routine. You don’t know how I am. You don’t know how I deal with things.”
Beau didn’t speak.
Didn’t interrupt.
So she kept going, voice low and shaking with fury.
“You don’t know what happened. You don’t know who did what. You just think you’ve got some claim on me because we rolled around on a mat for five minutes and I didn’t slap you when your hand went up my shirt.”
His lips parted slightly, but she wasn’t done.
“You don’t know what I’ve already lived through,” she bit out, eyes glassy now. “You weren’t here for the aftermath. The gossip. The report I filed went nowhere. You don’t get to storm in and play protector like you’ve earned it.”
Her breath hitched.
“But let me make one thing clear,” she added, stepping forward until they were chest-to-chest. “If I need someone to fight my battles, I’ll ask. Until then, don’t slam doors and growl like you own me.”
Beau’s eyes locked to hers, blue fire against hurricane.
He didn’t raise his voice.
Didn’t get defensive.
He just spoke, low and even.
“I don’t want to own you.”
“But I saw the way you froze when I asked if he touched you.”
Her stomach dropped.
His eyes softened—but only slightly.
“You don’t have to say it,” he said. “I just needed you to know that if anyone lays a hand on you again, they won’t walk away from it.”
She stood there breathing hard, chest rising and falling.
Then Beau stepped back.
Opened the Tahoe door for her, quiet this time.
Not a power play.
Not a challenge.
Just a gesture.
“You drive,” he said simply.
And this time, she didn’t fight him.
But she didn’t say thank you either.
- Writer
