“There were more than two hundred other students?” I ask. For some reason I thought there would be twenty or thirty, at the most. Two hundred? That makes his accomplishment much more significant.
“Yeah,” Miles says. “It’s a large academy. They run once a year, but they have three different sessions. Morning classes, afternoon classes, and night classes. All the students are counted together in the same class.”
“You never told me that.”
“I didn’t think you wanted to hear about it.”
I don’t reply. I never asked him because I didn’t much care for the institution. But there are tons of people here, and everyone knows his name. Even if I didn’t think it was a worthwhile achievement, obviously they did.
“I want to find Rhett,” Miles says, glancing around. “I want to tell him about the Worldwide Decurion stuff.” He leans in closer to me and lowers his voice, his hot breath on my neck. “Do you think any of those crooked police officers are here?”
“I’m sure they are,” I drawl.
“Who are they? Do you remember?”
“No. I only glanced through the files to see if Rhett was one of them.” There were other names, and maybe I could remember them if I tried, but I don’t have enough giving a damn to care.
“We should know those names by heart. If you let me see the files, I can make a list.”
“Sure. Whatever.”
Miles narrows his eyes and places a hand on my knee. “Hey.”
I lock my gaze to his.
“Remember how I said I wanted to know more about you?” he asks, his voice still a whisper. “I want you to talk to me. What’s wrong? You’ve been weird for a while now. Getting angry, getting depressed. But it’s worse tonight. Why?”
“I’m out of my element here.”
It’s not a lie. It seems to placate Miles. He leans away, his face marred by concern. He turns to Barry.
“Hey, do you know where Rhett is?”
Barry glances over his shoulder. “Oh, uh, he’s not going to be here tonight. He’s got some sort of special assignment he’s working on. There was a homicide and everything.”
“Really? I didn’t know that.”
“Yeah. It’s a shame. He wanted to be here to cheer us on.”
“I had things to discuss with him, but I guess it’ll have to wait.”
At least one thing has gone my way tonight.
Miles keeps his hand on my leg as he and Barry engage in further conversation that I’m deaf to. The glitz and glamour of our surroundings don’t mirror my thoughts. Everything is bright from here to the stage, to the front door, to the second floor of balcony seating—but my mind stews in a dark place.
It took me six months to find a job, and two months—maybe three, who’s keeping track?—to lose it. Miles, on the other hand, jumped into an academy after not being in school for a couple years and pushed himself to become top of his class. He’s got a career lined up, and I’m spinning my tires in the mud. I’m not who I used to be.
And the real truth is… my association with him is a hazard. What if, in ten years, when he’s a hotshot captain, someone finds out about my past? What will Miles do then? He’ll throw away everything he’s worked for in order to help me. That’s what he does. He has a genuine altruistic streak that isn’t healthy.
The fact of the matter is, when we first met, he needed me. He needed help and advice and guidance, and I was there to give it to him.
Now he doesn’t need me at all. I didn’t help him become top of his class. I’m not going to be a benefit when he advances in his career. If anything, I need him. He’s the only thing I have and the only reason I even keep trying.
I don’t have a purpose.
The realization hits me harder than I ever thought it would.
Even my investigation under Shelby isn’t something I can pursue. I don’t want it to harm Miles, which means fucking with major criminal organizations is out of the question.
What am I even doing here? A real man would pick himself up and make a decision. They wouldn’t wallow in whatever I’m sinking into. Am I here for Miles? For myself? What am I going to do moving forward?
Or… maybe I should call it quits. Move on. I’ve had a good run.
And maybe it would be better for Miles, which, if I’m honest, really is the only reason I do anything anymore.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
I DOWN my seventh glass of champagne and enjoy the buzz that courses through my system.
The warmth of the hotel dries my clothing, but I know I look like nine miles of bad road. Wrinkled clothes. Disheveled hair. Vague, disinterested posture. I’m well fucking aware.
Miles keeps his hand on my leg whenever possible, however, even during our three-course meal. I don’t know what he’s thinking. I imagined he would be upset—this probably isn’t the impression he wanted me to give his peers—but he never mentions it.
The others at the table make their displeasure known. They regard me with brief glances and offhanded remarks, never actually speaking to me. That’s fine. I don’t give a shit about them either. I’d rather be anywhere else than here.
People tink glasses, and some toasts are made. I’m sure it’s the height of civility, but I don’t listen. All these speeches praising the police force are nothing more than a glorified circle-jerk. Might as well skip the words and go straight to suckin’ each other’s cocks—at least that would be more entertaining.
Miles listens.
Of course he does. He’s polite and attentive, and someday he’ll need to give his own speech.
A woman walks by our table and places a hand on Miles’s shoulder. He turns to her, and she motions toward the stage before walking off to tap someone else on the shoulder. Miles leans in closer to me and squeezes my knee.
“I need to go up
