Disorderly Conduct (The Academy #1)

End of story. Stop moping around like a fucking puppy.

The academy requires every ounce of my focus if I’m going to meet expectations. There’s no room for anything else. Not now. Not ever. Both men in my family are sans women. My mother left when I was in first grade, because she was treated as an afterthought in a house full of men with a sole ambition. She wasn’t treated right, so she left. There is no chance of me doing better when reaching the highest possible peak of law enforcement is my goal. I don’t remember a time in my life when accelerating to the top wasn’t drilled into my head as the most important thing life had to offer.

Jack straddles the bench beside me, tipping a water bottle to his lips. I can smell the vodka it contains. Everyone in our row can smell it. But no one says boo to Jack unless they want a busted lip. Unless you’re me and you’ve already taken the busted lip and given him one back. Like some asshole rite of passage that makes perfect sense unless you think about it too hard.

“What’s going on with you, Burns? You only beat everyone’s timed mile by a full minute today.” Another tip of the water bottle. “Everyone thinks I’m dragging you down with me.”

“Now, come on. That’s bullshit.” I finally drag my gym bag out of the locker. “I was at least a minute ten ahead of the next guy.”

That earns me a shove in the ribs. Fair enough.

“I guess the part about you dragging me down is also bullshit.” Since that was kind of a compliment, I peel the T-shirt over my head to avoid any bro-moment eye contact. “I would remind you that showing up without a hangover once in a while might shave a minute off your time, but that would be one less person making me look good.”

Jack snorts. Awkward moment averted. Well, mostly. Because he knows I’m not completely joking. Jack was raised in an illegal brothel in Hell’s Kitchen, where he learned quite a few handy tricks (just another reason I keep Ever away from my apartment). When his mother got too old to entertain, he got a job unloading cargo from ships on the West Side in order to support them. He understands hard work and could probably be a powerhouse if he put in some effort. I guess it’s going to take more than the promise of law-enforcement glory to motivate him. Time will tell.

“Come on, Burns,” Jack groans at the locker room ceiling. “Give up the goods. Your brother’s voice has taken away my will to live. I need something interesting to kick start my brain again.”

I pull on a fresh T-shirt with the academy logo on the pocket. Jack smirks when he notices, but I ignore him. “It’s probably nothing.”

“You ever heard the expression don’t bullshit a bullshitter?” Jack salutes me with his bottle. “Words to live by.”

“Yeah? Here’s two more words to live by. Fuck you,” I mutter. But now I kind of want to talk about what happened this afternoon. Why? There’s nothing to talk about. Is there? “I saw Ever today.”

“The girl with the golden—”

“You don’t want to finish that sentence.”

“I was going to say, ‘golden heart’,” my pirate asshole friend finishes.

“Sure, you were.” A locker slams extra-loudly behind us, and we both give the offender our best what the hell expression before going back to the conversation at hand. “She wasn’t . . . Ever today. Something was different.”

“I knew it.” Jack’s voice echoes off the lockers. “You have to hand it to the girl. She put on a good show, but they all break out their tap shoes eventually.”

“What does that even mean?”

“It means she’s doing the relationship dance.”

My eyes narrow. “There was dancing . . .” Ah God, now I’m thinking about her climbing off my lap again. Don’t even think about calling her twice in one day. “But you’re wrong. She’s the one who made the rules. Nothing serious. Her exact words.”

“Right.” Jack throws both legs onto one side of the bench and stands, leaning against the locker beside mine. “I’ve heard tell of this strategy. She was lulling you into a false sense of security. Playing the long game.” He shivers. “She sounds ruthless, man. Glad I’m not in your shoes.”

All right. This is why I should limit my discussions with Jack to fantasy sports. “You’re way off. I’m telling you, she’s a fucking unicorn.” I shrug. “She probably just had a bad day or something.” My neck starts to itch at the idea of Ever being upset, but I scratch it and move on. I have to. There are boundaries between her and I. Crossing them would mean the end of this perfect thing we’ve got going.

A relationship isn’t an option for me. I’ve seen my father and brother, watching me train from the wings when they think I’m not aware of their presence. Their speculation on my progress. I’ve got some intimidating shoes to fill, and nothing is going to hold me back or turn me into a disappointment. When my mother left, being the best became a must. Otherwise she left for nothing.

A badge is something you earn and keep. It doesn’t disappear when things get rough—no, it shines brighter. It’s a sure thing. A lasting thing. The goal is to make sergeant within the first three years of graduation from the academy, then take the lieutenant exam. Pass it with flying colors, as I’ve been groomed to do. After that, there won’t be time for anything but keeping the streets safe. Living up to my legacy. Making my small, but powerful family proud.

Have faith. Tomorrow everything will be back to the way it was. Ever will be waiting for me with a smile. I’ll have my head back in the fucking game, training to fulfill my legacy with a clear mind, free of women and relationship worries. Everything will be exactly as it should be.

But when I get home later that night, I don’t even remember the walk.





Ever


We have a job tonight. Not a huge one. But not a small one, either. Nothing is small to our business—Hot Damn Caterers—right now. My roommate, Nina, and I were clueless when we started building the company. The first thing we did was design business cards. Red ones with white script and saucy clip art. When they showed up in the mail, we set them on our kitchen table, realized we were twats for wasting precious money and split a bottle of rum.

When the hangover passed, we got our asses in gear.