Stabbing pain radiated in her chest. She winced.
“Did you arrest the murderer?” Her voice was cold and dead like her heart.
This was where the line would be drawn. Maybe she’d been naive enough to think this day would never come, that she and Bently could exist in a world together.
“There will be an internal investigation. He’s been suspended until further notice.” Bently cringed.
“An investigation? A fucking suspension! Why is he not in handcuffs? You know he murdered TJ. Why isn’t he being treated like the cold-blooded killer he is?” she shouted.
“I’m too close to this case. It’s been taken out of my hands. I’m also suspended until further notice because I . . . attacked him.”
Her eyes fell to his torn fists for the first time. He’d chosen. He’d already chosen what was right rather than to help the man hide behind the badge. She should have felt relief, but beyond the numbness, there was only agony. And if she let herself feel anything, the pain would destroy her.
“He just started classes. He was going to celebrate with us at dinner. He—”
“I know, Angel. It isn’t fair.”
Fair. Equal. Freedom. Words thrown around this country like a pretty dress worn to hide the ugly reality. America the beautiful. America the brave. America the murderer. TJ had been killed for the perceived threat, not because of fact but bias. He’d been assumed to be dangerous because of the color of his skin.
No. It isn’t fair.
But when had life ever been fair for a Black man?
Chapter 45
Bently
Grief was like being drowned above water. Like having your heart stop while your body continued to live on. Grief was all-consuming. A million emotions all compounding inside you at once, and just when you thought you’d reached your limit, they doubled down again. Bently’s body hummed with rage, with shame, with guilt, and terror.
Belle was a shell of the woman he’d asked to marry him only twelve hours ago. The joy in her eyes had been replaced with emptiness. And TJ’s life had been stolen by a man he’d once respected.
This was why he should have stayed away from Belle. Everything he touched turned to ruin. He destroyed everything good in his life. Happiness was never supposed to be his. If he’d stayed out of her life, if he’d never asked her to move in, her brother would still be alive. TJ should be laughing with Cam, falling in love for the first time. He should be worrying about his first exams, not lying in a cold morgue, alone, with five bullets in his back.
Guilt ate at his insides until his guts burned with acid. I could have prevented this.
Maybe if he’d heeded Andre’s warning. Maybe if he’d stood up to Parsons more. Maybe if he’d looked past his own blind spot and recognized that his whole team needed some sort of de-escalation and sensitivity training, TJ would be walking through the front door any minute.
How could Parsons do this? He’d taken the same oaths to serve and protect as Bently had.
Belle picked at the dried blood on her wrist as she stared at the steps.
“You need a shower,” Bently said, helping Belle inside her house. They were supposed to be at his tonight, but that was a crime scene now. She’d never be able to return there without the reminder of what happened. He wouldn’t either.
Belle didn’t respond. She hadn’t said a word since before they left the hospital. She was like the walking dead.
His heart lurched. He picked her up, needing to have her in his arms. He wanted to take on all her pain for her. He’d carry her until she could find her footing again. And then, when she was ready, he’d walk away so she’d never have to be hurt by him again.
Taking one step at a time, he climbed her staircase. After switching the shower on with one hand, he set her down. He stripped off her clothes, leaving his own blood-stained uniform in a pile on the floor. Bently helped her into the shower. The hot water rained down on them. He pulled her against his chest, not knowing what else he could do except hold her while she broke apart.
The water washed away the blood from his skin, but it could never take the regret. Belle trembled, staring off vacantly as he washed her body with the one bottle of soap they’d left next to the basin to use as they went back and forth. Thankfully Mia had been kind enough to rush to his house and pack Belle some things in a suitcase that was now sitting in her bedroom. A bottle of soap rested against the tile. He squirted some into his hands and lathered it over her body, taking care to wash her gently.
“I’ve got you.” Bently tried to soothe her.
His own eyes burned. His stomach was hard and his chest felt as though he’d had open-heart surgery without pain medication. It tore him up to see Belle this way, nothing he could do could fix it. He obsessed over all he could have done to prevent it.
He’d raced home, praying to a god he didn’t believe in that TJ’s truck wouldn’t be there when he arrived. Fate was never that kind. He’d charged inside. Vargas had tried holding him back as he barked orders. Parsons had been standing next to the body. TJ’s arms had been handcuffed even though he no longer resided on this earth. Even in death, Parsons deemed him a threat. Bently’s stomach had roiled. The next thing he’d known, Parsons was underneath him and his fists were heavy, pounding into the man’s face until the satisfying crunch of bone rattled through his arm. Vargas and Owens had to pull him off and handcuff him until he’d calmed down enough to ride in the ambulance.
He’d probably lose his job, but what did that matter when TJ had lost his life while heating up a bowl of mac and cheese, listening to
