Forty minutes later, the three of us were settled around my low coffee table, cartons of Chinese food open, the tension slowly fading like fog in sunlight. Maria had helped me pick up the place just enough for us to have seats. I leaned back, chopsticks in hand, telling them about Shelly—who insisted on wearing mismatched socks because it “kept the criminals guessing.”
I told them about the time we got stuck in an elevator with a drunk guy who thought we were secret agents and begged us to “take him to space.” And, after telling him we were just cops for the millionth time, Shelly finally had enough and started telling him stories about the “great universe”, shit she made up for his entertainment and ours while we were stuck in that damn elevator for hours.
Maria laughed so hard she nearly choked on her lo mein. Even Holly, curled into the corner of the couch with her shoes off, started to look less like a lion ready to pounce and more like the Holly that I remembered. Snarky, yes—but a little softer now. I even decided to tell them about Braxton’s sleazy ass.
“The guy was obsessed,” I said, rolling my eyes. “I thought it was just him being overbearing, but then one day during a debriefing, he went all rabid-puppy-love on me.” I told them about the insults and dirty looks when I turned him down, and how glad I was to be rid of his ass.
Holly snorted. “Jesus. He sounds like a real treat.”
“You havenoidea.”
We laughed, and for the first time in what felt like forever, I didn’t feel like an outsider. Just a very tired woman with two friends who might, just maybe, forgive her one day. As the clock neared seven, Maria glanced ather phone and sighed. “I need to get home. The kids are probably eating cereal for dinner.”
“That’s my cue too,” Holly said, standing and stretching. “I drove.”
I walked them to the door. “Thanks for coming. Really. And thank you for listening.”
Maria gave me a soft smile. “This doesn’t mean everything’s okay. But… it’s a start.”
Holly paused in the doorway. “Still pissed at you,” she muttered. “But you’re funny. And those egg rolls were solid.”
I smiled. “I’ll take it.”
They left, and as the door clicked shut behind them, I leaned my head against the frame, exhaling. Not forgiven. But not alone either. The apartment was quiet again, the leftover takeout already cooling on the counter. I sat alone on the couch, legs pulled up to my chest, staring at nothing. My mind wandered—not to Mac or Dalton this time, but further back. To the first person who ever truly saw me, badge and all. Shelly.
I could still remember our first meeting eight years ago like it was yesterday.
I had barely been on the force six months when I got assigned a new partner. I was still a rookie, my training office having literally just signed off. I’d been hopeful—maybe even a little eager. That lasted exactly two minutes into meeting Officer Michelle “Shelly” Vaughn.
“I don’t do hand-holding,” Shelly said, tossing a duffel into the back of her cruiser. “Keep up or get reassigned.”
I raised a brow. “Wow. You always this warm and fuzzy?”
Shelly smirked. “Only on days that end in y.”
We clashed almost instantly. Shelly was all sarcasm and swagger, a fast-talking city girl with an attitude bigger than her crazy sock collection. Then there was me, still trying to prove myself but not about to roll over and play goody-goody. We bickered about everything— routes, paperwork, interrogation styles. It was oil and water, day after day.
Until that case.
A domestic call turned into a nightmare. A little girl, bruised and terrified, had hidden under the porch while her father tore through the house in a drug-fueled rage. I had found her first, coaxed her out with soft words and trembling hands. It was Shelly who grabbed me by the vest and dragged us both away just as the guy came blazing out with a double-barreled shotgun.
Afterward, we sat side by side on the curb, the adrenaline crash hitting like a freight train. I glanced at her and said, “I think I’ve decided.”
Shelly rolled her shoulders and undid her bulletproof vest. “Decided what?”
“Domestic calls are the fucking worst. Give me gang war gone bad any day over that shit.”
Shelly had turned to me, eyebrows raised. “You know, I’m not gonna even disagree with you on that.”
I think that was the first thing we had ever agreed on. We didn’t talk much more that night. Just got the paperwork done and went home. But the silence between us had changed. It wasn’t tense anymore. It was comfortable. Her walls started coming down, and instead of arguing 24/7 in our shop, we got to know each other. And realized we had a lot more in common than we had initially thought.
I smiled softly at the memory, my heart aching a little. After that night, Shelly and I had become inseparable—partners, best friends, sisters in everything but blood. I shot her a quick text: “I’ll message you tomorrow. Kinda feel like I’ve been run over. Gonna try and get some sleep.”
Shelly sent back a string of emojis which I didn’t even attempt to decipher, knowing from experience the message was one only Shelly would understand. If two stubborn women like us could find a way to understand each other, then maybe there was still hope for the rest of my wrecked life.
Maybe Mac and Dalton could, one day, see me—not the badge, not the lie. Just Katie.
And maybe that could be enough.
