Marital Bitch(80)

Did she just say she loves me?

I'm about to ask her to repeat what she said—just in case I might be hallucinating—when my radio goes off. Very faintly in the background, I can hear Vicky's voice directing me to a burglary in progress. This gives new meaning to the phrase "bad timing." I can't stand here and hash it out with Colleen, and I can't respond to the call before clearing a few things up. For a split second, I'm tempted to ignore the dispatch; but I can't. I would never be able to live with myself if someone got hurt because I was dealing with my own personal crap.

Colleen's talking and I can't hear half of what she's saying, but what I am hearing isn't very fucking good. I hear "I love you" and then I hear "friend" and then "I love you" again. I shake my head in frustration and ask Vicky to repeat the message as I plug my finger in my ear and hold the radio close to the other one. I think Colleen will get the hint, but she doesn't. Now she's rattling off about something or other. I can't tell if she's telling me she loves, if she's telling me she doesn't want me, or if she's accusing me of something because the last thing I hear is a very loud "you!" coming from her.

Like I said. Bad timing.

"Patrick," Vicky says, agitated. "I said there's a burglary at the corner of Dorchester and Broadway. I know you're not on shift yet, but you're around the corner."

I choose not to think about what Colleen's telling me because I have to respond to this call. At a time like this right now, I wish I were an accountant or something so a work emergency didn't constitute life and death. Unfortunately, that's not the world I live and work in.

I have to answer this call.

I shut Colleen out in an effort to regain my composure and I tell Vicky that James and I will take care of it.

"James! We got a 10-26 over on Dorchester," I shout and clip the radio to my belt. James races down the stairs—as evidenced by the sounds of a stampede that he's making; and we rush for the front door. He tells me not to worry about the car that we'll be faster on foot. Colleen moves to stand between me and the front door. James is behind me and being blocked from going outside and giving me a look that brokers no argument. We have to go.

"Wait!" Colleen yells. I stare at her like she's grown a second head. And hell, she might have. She's started to grow a second ass lately. Not that I'm complaining, she's always been too skinny. "I said I love you!"

What?

So many things happen at once. My heart speeds up as my ears finally register that she is telling me she loves me. She places her hands on her hips, looking put out and ticked off with the burglary around the corner. And James is standing beside me, huffing away. I hear a commotion outside and then screaming; it's faint, but still close by. Fuck. I say the first thing—and probably worst thing—I can think of.

"Yeah, I heard you, crazy. Now, I have to go!" I push past my pretty girl and run out the door and toward the screaming, James on my tail. As we race down the street, I can't help but smile. She said it.

"I'm going to kick your butt when you get home, Bradley Patrick!" Colleen screams from the doorway. I spare a moment to look back at her. She's shaking her fist wildly. She really grew some balls in the last few minutes and it's about fucking time. My pretty girl loves me.

We turn the corner and arrive on the scene in time to see a late model Cadillac pulling towards us. James and I draw our weapons and order the car to stop. The driver, a haggard old drunk I recognize from a few busts years ago, looks panicked and slams on the gas.

My head is only half in the game as the rest of me is still with Colleen. She loves me. The distraction proves costly and I rush forward just as the car jerks toward me. The driver swerves and knocks me to the ground with the force of the bumper.

Next thing I know James is calling the incident in as an "officer down." I'm lying flat on my back, panting, afraid to move. I can feel my legs and arms. Nothing is numb. My right foot is killing me. The throbbing is out of control. And then the dizziness sets in and everything goes black. In the background I can hear James shouting at the driver and his accomplice. James may be a lot of things, but he's a damn good cop. I know he'll keep them in the car until backup arrives.

The next thing I know I'm in an ambulance, James's at my side, and he's on the phone telling someone I've been hit by a car. He's making it sound much worse than it actually is. In my foggy state, I decide that James has the ability to be a bit of a drama queen. I don't think anything is broken. I'm fairly coherent, and the paramedics aren't freaking out trying to resuscitate me. I'm fine. I try to tell him this but my words are slurred.