CHAPTER 10: THE DISTRACTION.
942 Words
Devon leaned back in his chair, rubbing the bridge of his nose for what felt like the fiftieth time that morning. Paperwork was scattered across his desk—reports, statements, unfinished forms—yet none of them felt as heavy as the silence in his office. His assistant, Cooper, sat at the smaller desk near the window, typing like he had three deadlines chasing him at once.
Just another weekday at the station.
Devon was halfway through signing a file when the door swung open without a knock.
“Dev, my man,” a familiar voice boomed.
Officer Mark—loud, dramatic, and allergic to closing doors quietly—stepped inside grinning.
“No,” Devon said immediately, not even looking up.
“You don’t even know what I want,” Mark complained and dramatically flopped into the chair opposite him.
“Yes, I do. And the answer is no,” Devon repeated, still writing.
A second later, the door pushed open again.
This time it was Jenna and Lucas. Jenna walked in dramatically sighing ; Lucas looked like he hadn’t slept in five days.
“Oh great,” Devon muttered. “Backup.”
“You’re coming for coffee with us,” Jenna announced.
“No,” he said.
“Yes,” Mark corrected.
Devon finally looked up. “Guys, I’m busy.”
“You’ve been busy for three days straight,” Lucas said. “You need air. And sugar. Preferably both.”
Jenna folded her arms. “Also, your face is starting to look like a filing cabinet.”
Mark nodded. “Which is… honestly terrifying.”
Devon stared at them. They stared back like three stubborn goats.
He sighed. “Fine.”
Their victory cheer probably shook the hallway.
---
The coffee shop was a small place called Bean Corner, tucked between a pharmacy and an old bookstore. The bell above the door jingled when they stepped in, and the smell of roasted coffee beans wrapped around Devon like a warm blanket he didn’t ask for but low-key needed.
They ordered coffees and croissants, and Mark insisted on paying even though Devon tried to argue. The four of them found a booth near the window. For the first ten minutes, it was normal—station drama, cases they hated, supervisors they hated slightly less, Lucas ranting about printers that don’t work unless you insult them.
Then Mark ruined it.
“So… saw Stella at the office again today,” he said, biting into his croissant like it wasn’t a bomb he just dropped on the table.
Jenna groaned. “Ugh, Stella. That girl moves like she owns the place.”
Lucas snorted. “She doesn’t even work there. She just floats in and out like one confused butterfly.”
Jenna leaned forward. “Devon, seriously. Just cut things off with her officially.”
“I already have,” Devon said, stabbing his coffee spoon into the foam. “She just… doesn’t get it.”
“She’s still hoping you’ll change your mind,” Jenna said, shaking her head. “It’s kind of sad.”
Mark smirked. “Bro, she literally spent thirty minutes yesterday trying to ‘accidentally’ bump into you.”
Devon only chuckled under his breath, but he didn’t find it funny. Stella wasn't a bad person—just clingy, persistent, and unable to accept a simple no.
They finished lunch at an easy pace, conversations drifting from work to Mark’s failed attempt at cooking pasta last night (“I didn’t know the water could catch fire,” he said. “Water!”). For a moment, Devon felt… normal. Not buried in reports or grief cases or heavy thoughts.
Then they headed back to the station.
---
Cooper looked up excitedly when Devon returned. “Sir! You’re back.”
“Yeah,” Devon said, handing him a cup and a bag. “Got you something.”
Cooper’s face lit up like someone turned on Christmas. “For me? Seriously?”
“It’s just coffee and a croissant,” Devon said, but his lips twitched.
“No, sir, this is love. This is appreciation. This is—”
“Cooper,” Devon warned.
The assistant immediately toned it down. “Thank you, sir.”
Devon sat back down, letting the familiar weight of responsibility settle on his shoulders again. He opened a file, picked up his pen… but his eyes drifted to his phone.
Again.
He checked the screen.
Nothing.
No missed calls. No messages.
Chloe still hadn’t reached out.
He had given her his number before she left the station, told her she could call if she needed anything—literally anything—but she hadn’t used it. Maybe she didn’t want to bother him. Maybe she felt awkward. Maybe she was somewhere crying and he should’ve…
No. He shut the thought down.
He’d seen grieving spouses before. He’d helped plenty. But Chloe?
Something about her kept echoing in his mind.
Maybe it was the way she tried to stand strong when she was obviously breaking.
Maybe it was her voice—soft, polite, like she was scared of taking up space.
Maybe it was her eyes, that quiet kind of sadness that made him feel—
Nope.
He shook his head sharply.
He shouldn’t be thinking about her like that. She had just lost her husband. And he was a professional. It would be inappropriate. And stupid. And probably crossing fifty rules.
Devon forced himself to focus on the paperwork in front of him.
He wrote one sentence.
Then glanced at his phone again.
He exhaled deeply.
This was going to be a long day.
- Writer
