Tomorrow Is Never Promised

Chapter 6 Part 2

Ethan

I left the precinct that night feeling a little sullen. I had never told anyone the circumstances surrounding my mom's death, with the exception of Dylan, and my old partner Ronnie back in Boston.

I felt the weight of the Saint Michael pendant against my chest, the present my mom picked up for me that night. My sinuses began to burn as I thought about that night. I would love to say that was the first time my dad started beating me, but that would be a lie. If anything it just made him worse, and that was because he always blamed me for the accident.

"If it wasn't for your mother going to get you that damn necklace, she would have never been on the Turnpike in the first place!"

I heard my fathers angry voice echo from the past.

"Don't blame yourself Ethan. You didn't kill Mom. Some drunk asshole did."

My sister's voice broke through.

It didn't matter though. No matter how many times people said it; friends, family, therapists. I still blamed myself. It was a present for me. She went and picked it up that night so I could open it the next day on Christmas.

I got to my car in the parking garage and climbed inside. I started the engine and just sat there for a moment, letting the purr of the engine carry my thoughts away. But the only place my thoughts seemed to land was on Oliver, and the information about his family he just divulged to me.

I still hadn't quite gotten over the shock of that. It was one thing to tell me that he was wealthy, but another altogether to tell me that his Grandparents were the Landry’s. I didn't know much about them, only that they had a very successful publishing empire with locations here in the US and overseas. I had half a mind to google them, find out more information, but doing that felt wrong somehow, like I was invading Oliver's privacy.

Not to mention the fact that his parents were murdered. I can't imagine how awful that must have been for him. To be seventeen and to lose everything at the hands of some murderous psychopath. It made his career as a Criminal Psychologist even more evident. Maybe he chose this path because of what happened to his parents? Maybe he thought he could help bring the killer to justice?

I pulled out of my parking space and made my way out of the garage. It was eight in the evening on a Friday night, so traffic wasn't too bad yet. Here in about a couple of hours the streets would be crawling with people looking to tie one on after a long week of work. But not me, no I was going to my loft and relaxing to a nice true crime docuseries I had recently found.

I was passing by the front of the Justice Center when I saw a familiar figure walking down the sidewalk. It was Oliver.

What the hell was he doing? The parking garage was in the opposite direction.

I pulled over and rolled my passenger side window down.

"Oliver!" I yelled out to him.

He turned to look at me, face scrunched up in confusion. Once he recognized who I was, his eyebrows shot up and he took a step toward my car.

"Detective?"

I rolled my eyes at his formal use of my title, but chose to ignore it. "What are you doing?"

"My car won't start, so I was going to take the bus."

I shook my head adamantly. "No, you're not taking the bus." I reached over and pulled the handle, pushing the passenger door open. "Get in, I'll give you a ride."

He hesitated. "It's okay, the bus is fine."

Why was he fighting me on this?

"Just get in the car, I'll get you home faster than the bus will."

He chewed on his bottom lip, seeming to weigh the pros and cons. Finally he climbed into my car and closed the door, tossing his bag between his legs on the floor.

I pulled away from the curb and continued down Third Avenue. I unlocked my phone and pulled up my GPS, handing it over to Oliver.

"Put your address in."

He took the phone and began typing away on the screen. He handed it back to me and placed it in the holder sitting on my dash.

We rode in silence for a while, until we hit the four-oh-five and then Oliver finally spoke up.

"Thank you for the ride." His tone was quiet, almost like he was embarrassed for some reason.

"Of course." I responded as if it were no big deal, which it wasn't. But I was now mere inches away from him, and the smell of his woodsy cologne was hitting my nostrils and doing things to my insides that would probably make the blessed Virgin Mary cry. I re-situated myself in my seat as my growing erection became uncomfortable. I needed to focus on something else, anything.

"So what's wrong with your car?"

He sighed. "I don't know. It won't start."

A car not starting could be a number of things. I was a fairly decent mechanic, so I could probably figure out what was wrong with it.

"I can take a look at it." I offered.

He shook his head. "I couldn't ask you to do that."

"You're not asking, I'm offering." I objected.

"Do you even know anything about cars?" He arched an eyebrow at me.

"Enough." I shrugged.

He snorted and shook his head. "If I had a dollar…"

"Do you have some issue with people trying to help you or something?"

"Do you always feel the need to push your help on others?" He countered.

"I'm a cop Oliver, it's practically ingrained in me."

"Is that the only reason?" He questioned.

I didn't know what he was referring to, but the idea that he might be catching on to my attraction towards him sent fear through me. When I first met Oliver I thought that the whole reason he didn't want to be partnered with me was because he might be a homophobe. Which sounds ridiculous now considering that I've noticed the subtle hints of him checking me out. Or maybe that was just wishful thinking.

I didn't know how to respond, so I decided the safest bet would be to play it coy.

"What do you mean?"

"This isn't some weird, you feel sorry for me for being an orphan thing, is it?"

I couldn't contain the laughter that burst from my lips after he said that. I was relieved that he hadn't caught onto the fact that I was into him. I looked over at him and he was giving me a stern look that immediately took the laugh out of me.

"No, of course not! Why would you think that?"

"Because most people do."

"Well I'm not most people." I argued.

He paused for a second, studying me with intense eyes. "I'm beginning to notice that."

"What? Like in a bad way?" I tried to hide the insecurity out of my voice as I spoke.

"No," he chuckled. "Most definitely not in a bad way."

I felt my cheeks and the tips of my ears heat up at his statement. It was the first time in a while that someone had complimented me and was genuine about it. It felt… nice.

"This is me." He pointed to a house on the right.

I pulled into the driveway of a squat two story craftsman. It wasn't a large house by any means, it actually looked small and cozy. It looked like it belonged more in the town of Mayfield next to the Cleavers' house-and the fact that I just made that reference made me feel extremely lame, even if it was just in my head.

"Thanks for the ride." Oliver smiled at me and that smile just made me want to do more things for him, just to see it again.

"No problem." I replied with a smile of my own.

There was a short pause while we stared at each other, then he opened the car door and stepped out. I watched as he walked up the driveway, then onto the covered patio. When he unlocked his front door and pushed it open, he looked back at me and a shy smile crept across his features before he walked through the door and disappeared behind it.

I lightly pounded my forehead against the steering wheel. I had it bad. This would be so much easier if he wasn't my partner.

I had messed around with my old partner Ronnie back in Boston, and it didn't go over well. In fact that was the whole reason I had to come to Portland in the first place. Either that or risk getting demoted back to a beat cop, and all my hard work would have been for nothing.

Maybe this time would be different? Maybe it could be different? I shook my head. There was no way, that was just wishful thinking. Something that I seemed to be doing a lot of lately.