Chapter 02

ODETTE

I was careful. Always careful. Always meticulous. Always following the rules. I grew up in a family with generations of law enforcement. My mom and dad were both cops. Only, my dad had a better fate whereas mom ended up murdered. There was a whole backstory to it, one I had learned as I matured and conducted my own investigation. Dad never liked bringing it up and I couldn't blame him. I once asked the old-timer why he never moved on from mom, why he never remarried and maybe found a sliver of peace. He responded that Eleanor Gibson was his only love. She was his true love and he would wait until death could reunite them because he could never let her go.

Half of me thought it sweet. The other half found him foolish, especially as time went on and I became a teenager, then a young adult. And now, a female cop—following parents' footsteps.

Point was, I thought it was foolish because I never experienced that type of love. I never felt that type of connection with another being. Maybe I was broken. But I tried. I tried so hard to feel that and, maybe I was looking too hard or looking in the wrong places. Considering the pulsing pain dancing over my temple and the complete immobility of my body I figured it was time I gave up on the search of finding the one. Especially when it nearly cost me my life.

The numbness in my brain gave way to the all-encompassing, excruciating pain that attacked my system with vengeance. The pain was everywhere, on regions I barely knew existed. I could barely peel my eyes open because my eyelids weighed a ton. When they finally cracked open I was greeted by the blinding white walls which had a hiss leaving my lips.

Over the steady beat of the heart monitor, shuffling reached my ears. My hiss must have notified whoever was in the room that I was finally awake. I vaguely recalled the last time I had woken. My first thought was Parker. Even now, I needed to know where he was and I needed someone to keep him away from me.

"Hey..." A familiar voice called and my heart skipped, the heart monitor making it known.

I focused what limited vision I had onto the person leaning over me until a face formed, "Hey," I rasped, the word clawing its way up my throat like a serrated blade sawing through flesh.

"Here," Jericho eased me up as much as I could go and fluffed the pillow behind me before offering me a drink of water.

The cold liquid slid down my throat, sending a chill through my veins. It made me wonder if the morphine they had been giving me was wearing off—and they were giving me morphine to help me deal with my injuries, there was no doubt in me about that.

Jericho pulled the straw from my mouth when I tried removing it myself and failed, "Your father just left," he said, eyes unable to meet mine.  Those sparkling green orbs settled on the pitcher of water on the counter and never wavered.

"Do I look that bad?" I wheezed a laugh but it hurt my lungs and ribs so I fell silent again.

"You have no idea," Jericho whispered, finally bringing his gaze to mine. The whites were bloodshot and the rims of his eyes welled with unshed tears, "You've been out for about two weeks, you know that?"

"What?"

Two weeks. I was too scared to look down and take in my extensive injuries. But, considering the look of horror masking my best friend's face, I forced myself to drink myself in. It was difficult to move my neck because of the brace, a sharp pain instantly shooting down my spine. I first noticed the cast on my right leg so I tried to wiggle my toes. There was minimal movement but an inferno of fire followed it. I was just relieved that I could use the limb.

Lacerations marred my pale skin paired with splotches of purple, black, and blue. The bruises were pretty bad but it was beginning to fade. I could feel a bandage wrapped around my body—probably because of my broken and fractured ribs. I didn't want to know how many.

And then I saw it.

My hands.

Both were bandaged in the form of mittens. When I tried moving even a single finger and they didn't cooperate, I panicked. A thick ball of emotion crawled up my throat until my eyes burned with it and my breathing stalled. This couldn't be happening. My hands. I had no job without my hands! What would I do if I couldn't be an officer? If I couldn't draw my gun when I needed it, I'd be dead.

"They had stainless steel pins put in the bones of both hands. Your nerves were—" he cut himself off abruptly but when I urged him to continue with a single look, he said, "they were damaged severely, Odette. Beyond repair. It's why they had to use the pins. When you're ready they will start you on physical therapy for your hands and your leg but, you won't be able to go back to work. Ever."

"No!" I hadn't realized I was crying until I choked back an ugly sob, "No, this can't be happening."

The muscle in Jericho's beard-coated jaw ticked double time and a deep frown weighed the corners of his lips, "I wish I had better news for you, but I don't."

"There has to be a way," I croaked in denial, wanting—no, needing—this to be some sick joke or a cruel nightmare. I would wake up any minute from now and breathe a sigh of relief. Only, a second turned into a minute and a minute turned into two, then five, and then so long that I felt my hope slowly crushing the way my hands were clearly crushed.

"This isn't some Doctor Strange type shit, Odette," Jericho finally said, plowing his thick fingers into his thicker head of shoulder-length chocolate locks, "there's no way. You'll regain some mobility in your hands but they'll never be like they were. I'm sorry."

I swallowed the lump in my throat so I could push the next words out. If these were my injuries, what happened to the man I was with, "Parker?"

That was all Jericho needed to hear to understand my question, "He broke his left leg, has a few contusions, banged-up ribs, and a concussion but he's otherwise fine."

"Oh," the word left my lips as if I were relieved to hear those words when in all honestly I was angry. Furious. Fucking fuming with a simmering rage that had my blood boiling like molten lava in my veins. He got off more or less Scott-free.

What was new there?

I kept that to myself because I knew Jericho. He, or one of his insane brothers, would go after Parker and take care of the useless excuse of a man the best way they knew how. I didn't want that.

"You want to tell me what happened?" Jericho quizzed, leaning his weight at the edge of the bed while glancing at me over his shoulder. He honestly couldn't bear looking at me like this and, at the same time, he didn't want to leave me. I knew that truth with every broken fiber of my being and I adored him for it.

"Sweety," I cooed the way I always did. It usually had the tips of his ears flaring red but that didn't happen this time around, "it was just an accident."

"I saw the footage," the veins on his arms began to throb, becoming visible because of how tense his muscles were.

"You hacked into the city's feed," I said incredulously.

"Black hat, remember," he drawled, "I do what I need to to get the answers I want."

Black hat, a hacker that generally hacked into mainframes and networks for their out benefit—generally monetary.

The opposite to the term would be a white hat. White hats generally hacked into mainframes and networks to find flaws that needed to be fixed. They were generally paid to do so.

Jericho fitted in both categories. I always urged him to head into a field of law because his talents would benefit so many but he—and the rest of his family—trusted cops as far as they could throw them. If not, less.

"Why weren't you wearing a seatbelt?" Jericho asked, folding himself into the chair beside my bed. His large frame almost didn't fit and he had to awkwardly shift so he could brace his left ankle on his right knee while stacking his hands on his stomach, "matter of fact, what the hell happened in that car for you to swerve so suddenly? I don't understand. I know you. I know how you meticulous you are. So, help me understand what the fuck happened."

"Is this a conversation we should really be having right now?" I groaned, trying to shift but stopping short when blinding pain echoed through my body.

"No," came his immediate response paired with an exasperated sigh. It was then I noticed the dark circles around his eyes and the way his beard seemed thicker than usual, "I guess it's not but I'd like to know what happened."

"It was an accident," I fibbed while looking him in the eyes and guilt had my heart in a python's grip, "I lost control of the car. That's all there is to it."

I could tell he didn't believe me. The cogs in his brain were turning, probably trying to solve this like a master detective. I'd tell him the truth in time. Just not now. He had become my shoulder to cry on for so many years and, just this once, I didn't want to cry. I chose shitty men which spoke to why I didn't believe the love my father and mother had was meant for me. But me choosing shitty men wasn't Jericho's problem to deal with so I wouldn't put that on him.

The thing about Parker was that I did actually like him. If I didn't have feelings or feel a connection to the guy I would have never begun dating him and I would have never stuck around.

"If you say so," Jericho breathed, finally letting the topic go, "I'm going to be with you every step of the way. I'll help you recover as best as I can."

"I know," I focused on my hands, knowing that my life was as good as over with the nerve damage being permanent, "what am I going to do?"

There was a long pause where all I could hear were the heart monitor's beeps and the sound of my ragged breaths. Eventually, Jericho leaned forward, spreading his legs apart and resting his elbows on his knees.

"You're going to work on getting better. One step at a time, swan. I promise you'll be flying in no time."