My Cop Boyfriend Killed My Father

My boyfriend, Ethan Davis, is an Interpol agent. Three years in, he had to leave for a mission. The day I saw him off, I stood in front of his car and said, "Come back alive and I'll marry you." Alive. That was the whole ask. I didn't care about the medals or the commendations. I just wanted him to walk back through the door. I got my wish. He came back alive. My father didn't. Ethan was the one who shot him. ***** May 1st. My best friend sent me a photo. In it, my boyfriend of three years had his fingers laced through some other woman's, the two of them standing close. Her text: Clara — isn't this your boyfriend? I looked at it a long time. It had been three months since I'd last seen Ethan. When he left, he'd said, "I'm heading out on a job. Wait for me." Three months, gone in a blink — and the first thing to show up wasn't him. It was this. While I was still staring, my phone buzzed again. Her, again: And this is the guy who loves you? Clara Smith, wake up. The thing is, I was thinking perfectly clearly. I'd never told a soul that Ethan was Interpol. Not even the friend I'd had for ten years. Whenever they brought him up, I'd give them the same line, over and over. "Ethan loves me. Every time he's off work he comes home to be with me. He's never once tried to run my life. He's good to me — it's just the job. He can't always be around." My friends thought I was pathetic. Kidding myself. I didn't care. I was happy. But looking at that photo, it still landed like a fist. Nobody's noble when they're in love. Everybody's selfish. Me included. ***** Three more days. No Ethan. Not one call. On the fourth day, my friend wanted to get together. She brought the photo up again. "Did you ever ask him about it? What was that?" I nodded. "It was nothing. That's his cousin." After all these years, lying to cover for Ethan came out of me smooth as anything. She just gave me a look, all sarcasm. "His cousin. And that one — she his cousin too? Big family." I froze. Then I followed her eyes. A few tables over, up at the counter, Ethan was holding hands with a soft-looking girl, long dark hair, and he bent down and kissed her forehead. I just stared. Something dropped in my chest, hard enough to make the room tilt. I knew her. Grace Miller — Ethan's junior on the team, the youngest woman they had. I also knew Grace had a thing for him. But Ethan had left for that mission alone. Grace hadn't gone with him. I was sure of it. So how were they here together? Was the job over? And if it was, why hadn't he called me? Why hadn't he come home? My head was full of it, all of it at once, and I don't even remember crossing the room to them. The second my eyes hit Ethan's, I heard my friend go off on him. "You piece of garbage. You're cheating on her?" Ethan's brow creased, annoyed. He looked at me. "Do I know you?" My friend's mouth fell open. I felt something closer to relief. Ethan doesn't do games. If something were actually going on, he'd have said so to my face, not stood there pretending he'd never met me. Which meant they were probably still under. Still working. Soon as it clicked, I grabbed my friend's arm. "I'm so sorry. We've got the wrong guy." I pulled her out of there fast, scared to death I'd blow his cover. She finally yanked her hand loose, and that was the only reason I stopped. She stared at me like she couldn't believe it. "What is wrong with you? Do you have to walk in on him in bed with someone before it gets through to you?" I wanted to explain. She'd already stormed off. So I swallowed it and turned back to where Ethan had been. Too many people. I couldn't see a thing. Finally I got my phone out and messaged him. Clara: Sorry — I hope I didn't mess anything up for you? A second later, I went still. It wouldn't send. The message just sat there, gray, and under it: You can't message this account. Ethan had blocked me.