“That's dumb!” I laughed. Milo had always taken us to extravagant restaurants. Mom took me sometimes to mediocre ones when he wasn't around. But no matter where we went, it was always different with daddy around. The server’s face always beamed after Milos’s tips.
“Yeah, that's dumb of him. But we're cops, there’s supposed to be a higher morale level.”
Mom placed a hand on her hips and addressed me. “That's not dumb, Reese, it's the difference between being a good cop and a bad cop. Your father is the latter.”
My eyebrows arched. What sort of ‘ladder’ can dad be...? Since I cherished time with my dad, I chose not to ask that question. But I didn't get to ask him why he talked shit and laughed at McGregor because two Towne Cars pulled into the U- shaped driveway. Vido and the guys were here.
“Reese, you ready?” Dad asked.
“Milo, I don’t want her…”
“Shut the fuck up, Lolita,” he replied. “We already had a chat about how things are going down. You take that sexy ass into the kitchen. I want fried chicken for dinner. Reese, are you ready?”
“I stay ready,” I replied the phrase he’d boisterously said so many times, all smiles…
My entire body pulls into an erect position. Long masses of tangled ombre hair cloak my clammy skin. I push a few of the tresses from my face. The image of seeing a dead body at the age of eight is branded into my brain. Me and my big mouth, my father took me on a field trip of sorts. I got to experience what it meant for him to get a kickback. I blink back the darkness of the room. Tiny blue spots dot my vision and even more darkness inundates my pupils.
There is no going to my happy place, the man I need had to stay late at work…
“You had a bad dream.” Evan’s voice is a mixture of groggy, testosterone, sex, dead tired. It's also muffled somewhat by the feather pillow.
I hadn’t even noticed he came home tonight. Usually in my sleep, I burrow myself within the muscles along his side. After almost a year, my all-time favorite spot has always been the crook of his pectoral and bicep. No matter how groggy he’d be, I would always lift his arm and insert myself there.
Tonight he had to have drug himself to bed, because as my vision sluggishly begins to adjust to the darkness, I perceive his blazer on the floor in one spot and a pile of clothes scattered around.
“No. Go back to sleep, babe,” I mumble, though I’m fully awake. It’s rare for me to have a nightmare when Evan is around. And I hate that I need him to cure me of such an affliction, yet sex is always the remedy and prompts my best sleep. I pretend to croak the word, “G’night.”
He grunts, and his large muscular body is now working its way in a sitting position. Evan bathes us in light.
Inwardly, I groan, my lungs flood with more air, almost settling me since nightmares cause me to barely breathe. “C’mon, Evan. You just got to sleep. I'm fine.”
Those Mediterranean golden orbs barely open. “Not until I make you some chamomile tea.”
I whimper. “I am o-k, Evan. And you're so sleepy you don't know that we're at your place, not my old apartment. You don't have chamomile tea.”
“Gimme a few minutes, Reese.”
“I wanna snuggle,” I grumble.
Evan says something back. It's not his usual witty reply and quite frankly it isn't even English or his native-tongue, Italian, at least I’m not too confident it’s a language at all. In briefs that mold against a perfectly muscular ass, and a T-shirt, Evan pulls himself slowly out of bed.
Less than five minutes later, Evan is handing over a mug. Chamomile. My favorite brand. “Did you steal a couple of tea bags from my place?” I inquire, since the brand isn't something you pick up at your local grocery store.
“No, you boxed up the kitchen, remember? Drink up. Talk.”
I roll my eyes. The sentiment of him going out of his way to find the exclusive tea is erased by his ordering me around. “Thanks for the tea.”
“I prefer your appreciation to come in the form of you telling me what happened in your dream,” Evan counters.
“Nope, I don't feel like rehashing it right now. It's late.”
“Again, I will be there for you, Reese. Whether you like it or not.” His eyes lock onto mine as I glare over the rim of my tipped mug.
“I've endured extensive counseling, Evan. I can have a bad dream from time to time. It goes with the territory of being—”
“Nah, I'm not allowing you to do that.”
“To what?”
“To shame yourself and the fact that …”
“My father is the poster boy for IA. Yeah, Internal Affairs and every friggen police academy in the States talks of the infamous Milo Benincassa. Next year, at the department Christmas party how about reintroducing me as such?”
“Okay, I know what you're doing, Reese. You’re redirecting your anger, and I’m not gonna allow that.”
I notice a flicker of something in his eyes. All I can think about is the embarrassment Evan feels when introducing me for the first time. My name has always been Reese Dunham. Lolita never changed her name. I was ten when my father held me in his arms and was iced by the cops.
I wag a finger at Evan. “Well, I honestly haven't had bad dreams about my dad in ages! You wanna know when I started having bad dreams about Milo?”
He nods, not playing into my raised voice.
“The day I started fucking you, Evan. A cop,” I sneer the words.
The air is zipped out of the room instantly. It's so quiet in here that you could hear a feather float to the floor.
Evan bites his thumb nail. Our gaze is trained onto each other but no words come out.
“Should
