Chapter Text
New Year had passed and everyone had drifted back into the routines that defined their days. The brief holiday glow had settled into something quieter, almost reflective. Morning light filtered into the room in a pale band, touching the scattered clothes on the floor and the faint shimmer of a half-finished cup of tea on the dresser.
Andy leaned back on the doorway of the closet, arms loosely folded, watching Sharon dress with an expression that mixed amusement, admiration, and a lingering sense of calm. She moved with an easy confidence, selecting a blouse, smoothing the fabric across her shoulder, then pausing to adjust the clasp of her necklace. The soft rustle of clothing and the distant hum of traffic were the only sounds in the room.
For a moment he simply observed her, feeling the quiet transition from one year to the next settle around them, the sense that life was returning to its usual pace while something between them remained subtly changed. Sharon glanced over her shoulder, catching his gaze, and the smallest smile appeared before she returned to the mirror, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear.
“It’s Sunday, where are you going?” Andy asked.
“Exactly. It’s Sunday. I’m long overdue for church,” she smiled through the mirror.
Andy raised an eyebrow. “Church, huh? That’s… sudden.”
Sharon shrugged, tugging the hem of her coat straight. “Not sudden. It’s been…over a year. I think it’s time I stepped back in.” Her voice had a quiet edge, like she was talking more to herself than to him.
Andy tilted his head, curiosity softening his usual guarded expression. “Yeah, you’ve mentioned that before.” He took a deep breath, “so, you gonna tell the priest everything?”
Sharon paused, her fingers lingering on the button of her coat. She glanced at him through the mirror, her expression unreadable for a moment. “I have to or else going back to church will be nonsense.”
Andy nodded in understanding. “Want me to come with you?”
“Do you want to?” Sharon stepped closer to him.
“I might burn there but I don’t have anything to do. I just thought I’d accompany you.” Andy smirked.
Sharon rolled her eyes. “Wow, never thought the ex-mafia boss would step foot in the church.”
Andy chuckled softly, running a hand through his hair. “Hey, I’m full of surprises. Besides… I can sit quietly. No confessions, no questions, just moral support.”
Sharon gave him a sideways glance, a hint of amusement flickering in her eyes. “Moral support, huh? You do realize that’s kind of ironic coming from you?”
He shrugged, leaning back casually against the doorframe. “Maybe. But someone’s got to make sure you don’t chicken out at the last minute.”
She smirked, adjusting her coat. “Fair enough. Just… don’t fidget in the pews or whisper commentary. I want this to be… peaceful.”
Andy raised his hands in mock surrender. “Peaceful. Got it. I’ll be the model of quiet patience.”
Sharon shook her head with a small laugh, then slung her bag over her shoulder. “Alright then. Let’s go. But don’t let the priest think you’re trying to convert him.”
Andy smirked, offering his arm. “No promises, but I’ll try.”
She looped her arm through his, and together they stepped out, the quiet click of the door behind them marking the beginning of a long-overdue return.
The church doors loomed ahead, tall and imposing, yet warm with the soft glow of morning light filtering through the stained glass. Sharon paused for a moment at the entrance, taking a steadying breath.
Andy noticed and gave her a gentle squeeze on the arm. “You good?” he asked quietly.
Sharon nodded, though her fingers tightened slightly around her bag strap. “Yeah… just… been a while.”
As they stepped inside, the scent of incense and polished wood wrapped around them. Sharon’s eyes instinctively scanned the familiar rows of pews, the quiet hush of other parishioners murmuring prayers filling the space. Her heartbeat picked up slightly as she spotted Father Stan near the altar, preparing for the morning mass.
When the mass was down and the parishioners started to thin out. Andy stayed back, giving her a small nod to encourage her, letting her take the lead.
Andy lingered near the pews, watching quietly, ready to step in if she needed but knowing this was a moment she had to face alone.
The church felt both familiar and new, a quiet sanctuary, waiting for her to finally unburden herself.
She crossed herself, swallowed hard, and made her way to the confessional. Inside, the small space was dim, the air faintly perfumed with incense. She knelt, hands clasped tight, eyes fixed on the carved wood of the screen.
“In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.” Father Stan paused. “Welcome back, Sharon.”
She managed a breath of dry laughter. “You remember me.”
“Cops don’t visit often. Hard to forget one who does.”
She smiled faintly. “It’s been a while, Father.”
“Yes, a long while. I’m glad to see you back. The world must’ve kept you busy.”
Her laugh was soft, self-conscious. “Something like that.”
“And how are you?”
She almost said fine, but the word wouldn’t come. “I’ve been better,” she said instead.
Father Stan’s tone softened, the way it always did when he sensed she was circling something heavy. “Would you like to make a confession?”
She drew a deep breath. “Yes, Father. It’s… overdue.”
“Then begin whenever you’re ready.”
Sharon hesitated. Her voice, when it came, was low and careful, the way she spoke when she wasn’t sure she could say something out loud. “I’ve spent my life believing in justice. It’s what I do. What I’m supposed to stand for. But almost two years ago, I started… protecting someone I shouldn’t have.”
Father Stan said nothing, only listening and the silence made it harder.
“He’s not the man he used to be now. He walked away from the life he was born into when we got back together, a violent life but the people around him haven’t. His family still runs what he left behind.”
She exhaled shakily. “I told myself I was helping him stay clean, stay safe. But the truth is, I’ve kept things quiet. Looked away. And I don’t know if I did it for him or for me.”
“And this man… you love him.”
The question came softly, not as an accusation, but as a knowing.
Sharon closed her eyes. “Yes.”
“And he’s the one who’s waiting outside?”
Her eyes opened, startled. “You saw him?”
“A man standing in a church when he doesn’t quite know how — it’s hard to miss. He’s trying to look invisible next to Saint Jude.”
Despite herself, she let out a soft laugh. “That sounds about right. He doesn’t belong here any more than I do.”
“Then maybe you both belong here more than you think.”
She said nothing for a long time. “I came here because I don’t know what to do anymore. I want to believe in forgiveness, but I’m not sure I deserve it.”
“Forgiveness isn’t earned, Sharon. It’s accepted. Even when we can’t yet forgive ourselves.”
Her hands trembled slightly. “I don’t know how to start.”
“Start by telling the truth, not about him, but about you. What are you afraid of most?”
Her answer came in a whisper. “That loving him means I’ve lost the part of me that knows right from wrong.”
Father Stan was quiet for a long moment. “Love can blur the edges. But it can also draw us back to the light, if we let it. Maybe your task isn’t to walk away from him, but to help him walk toward grace.”
She blinked, startled by how much that undid her. “He’d never come here.”
“He’s already here. That’s a start.”
Her throat tightened. “He wouldn’t know what to say.”
“Then tell him God listens better than people do. No judgment. No records. Just a chance to stop running.”
Sharon’s eyes filled, and she pressed a hand to her chest. “You really think there’s a way back for both of us?”
“If there wasn’t, I wouldn’t still be here.”
“There’s one more thing father, I’ve been cohabitating with this man for a few months now.”
Father Stan didn’t respond right away. Sharon could almost hear the pause, the quiet shift of him leaning back, absorbing her words the way he always did before deciding how to respond.
When he finally spoke, his voice was calm, steady. “You sound almost apologetic.”
Sharon let out a shaky breath. “Maybe I am. Or maybe I just know what the Church says about it.”
“And what do you say about it?”
She hesitated. “That it wasn’t planned. That it just… happened. One night I didn’t go home, and then another, and suddenly, we were just… there. Together. It felt natural. Safe.”
“Safe,” Father Stan repeated gently. “That’s an important word for you.”
Sharon’s lips curved in a faint, self-deprecating smile. “I guess it is. I’ve spent so much of my life keeping order, chasing truth and holding people accountable. And with him, for the first time, I don’t feel like I’m bracing for a fight.”
“That sounds less like sin and more like longing,” he said softly.
She laughed quietly under her breath. “You’re not going to give me a sermon about living in sin?”
He chuckled. “If I thought sermons still worked, I’d use them more often. But I think you already know the rules and you came here for something deeper than that.”
Her throat tightened again. “He’s not perfect. He’s made mistakes I can’t even say out loud in here. But when I’m with him… I see the man he’s trying to be, not the one he used to be. And I think that’s what scares me most.”
“Why?”
“Because if he falls back into that world, if any of it touches us again… I won’t be able to say I didn’t know. I’ll have to live with it.”
Father Stan was quiet for a moment before asking gently, “Do you really love him?”
Sharon’s answer came without hesitation. “Yes.”
“Then don’t confuse love with blindness,” he said. “You can see someone clearly — all their flaws, all their damage — and still choose to walk beside them. But don’t mistake saving him for loving him.”
She lowered her head, tears threatening again. “I don’t know how to separate the two anymore.”
“That’s alright,” he said softly. “You don’t have to have it all untangled yet. Just keep your eyes open, Sharon. Keep your heart honest. And if you believe there’s light in him, don’t stop showing him the way toward it.”
Sharon wiped at her cheek, her voice barely a whisper. “He’d never come to confession.”
“Then live in a way that makes him curious,” Father Stan said. “Sometimes grace finds us through the people who refuse to give up on us.”
For a long time, she stayed silent, listening to the echo of his words.
Finally, she whispered, “Thank you, Father. I have also committed a mortal sin three months ago.”
Father Stan didn’t flinch, though the shift in Sharon’s tone was unmistakable.
“Alright,” he said gently. “Tell me what’s weighing on you.”
Sharon clasped her hands tighter, her knuckles whitening. “Three months ago… something happened. Something I never thought I’d be capable of.” Her breath trembled on the exhale. “There was a man—someone from Andy’s old world. We were on a vacation in Cabo. They’ve abducted me. I reacted based on instincts and adrenaline.”
Father Stan remained quiet, his presence steady, waiting.
Sharon swallowed, her throat tight. “It happened so fast I can barely remember the order of it. One minute I was walking to the bathroom the next I was pulled into a van. I don’t even know the faces of all of them.” Her voice shook. “Just hands. Voices. The feeling of not knowing if I’d ever see daylight again.”
The penitent booth suddenly felt too small, the memory pressing in from all sides.
“I was trained for situations like that. But training doesn’t prepare you for when it’s real.” She forced herself to steady her breathing. “I fought back. I did what I had to do to get out.”
“Of course you did,” Father Stan said softly.
She shook her head, even though he couldn’t see it. “Andy got there in time but I shot two men to death. I watched Andrei’s men, Andy’s cousin, kill the person behind it. There was no police involvement, they’ve cleaned it up as if nothing had happened in that warehouse.”
Father Stan was silent for a long moment, allowing the weight of her words to settle, giving her space to breathe.
When he finally spoke, his voice was steady. “And you’ve been carrying this alone?”
Sharon’s breath hitched. “I didn’t know what else to do. Andy was… he was frantic and thinks those men deserve it. He thought he was too late. And Andrei—he didn’t even hesitate. He made the bodies disappear like it was just another day.” Her voice grew tight. “They didn’t ask if I wanted the police. They didn’t ask what I needed. They just… handled it.”
She wiped her palms on her knees, as though the memory had coated them in something she couldn’t wash off.
“I know I should’ve stayed. Reported it. Faced it.” Her voice cracked. “But the second we got out of that place, I just… shut down. I didn’t have the strength to be a cop. I only had the strength to survive.”
Father Stan listened with the patience of someone who’d heard confessions that bent the boundaries of ordinary experience.
“Sharon,” he began gently, “you were kidnapped. You were threatened. You fought to stay alive. That is not murder. That is not sin.”
“Then why does it feel like one?” she whispered.
“Because you didn’t get a chance to breathe before decisions were made around you. Because you didn’t get a moment to stand on your own feet and say, ‘This is what I choose.’ That choice was taken out of your hands.”
Sharon pressed her trembling fingers to her mouth.
“And afterwards,” Father Stan continued, “you didn’t just witness death—you witnessed a cover-up. That is what weighs on you. Not the act of defending yourself, but the silence that followed.”
She let out a shuddering breath. “I let them erase everything. I let them clean it up. I didn’t try to stop them.”
“And what would stopping them have cost you?” he asked quietly.
Sharon’s eyes stung. “Maybe my life. Maybe Andy’s. Maybe both.”
Father Stan exhaled softly. “Then you were still in danger. The moment didn’t end when the shooting stopped.”
Her voice wavered. “But I’m a cop. I took an oath.”
“You’re also human,” he said firmly. “An oath doesn’t erase fear. It doesn’t erase trauma. And it certainly doesn’t demand that you martyr yourself to satisfy some abstract idea of justice.”
Sharon blinked, startled by the firmness in his tone.
Father Stan went on, gentler now. “What happened was not clean. It was not orderly. It does not fit neatly into any moral box. But God does not require you to be perfect, only honest.”
She nodded weakly, her shoulders slowly loosening as if a weight she didn’t understand had begun to shift.
“And honesty,” Father Stan said, “starts with acknowledging that you were a victim. Not a perpetrator.”
Sharon’s breath trembled. “I just… I don’t know if I’m carrying guilt or fear,” she whispered.
“Both,” he answered. “And that is why you’re here. Not for punishment. For clarity.”
A long silence passed before he continued. “Tell me, Sharon… what do you fear most now? The sin? The secret? Or what it means for your life with Andy?”
Her heart clenched tightly. She lowered her head. “All of it. If I tell the truth… I could lose my badge. If I keep it hidden… I’m not the cop I thought I was. And if I push Andy to acknowledge what happened that night… he might dismiss it.”
Father Stan let those words sit in the stillness of the booth.
“Then let this be your first step,” he said softly. “You do not need to decide everything today. You only need to stop hiding—from God, from yourself, and eventually… from the man waiting for you outside.”
Sharon closed her eyes, tears spilling freely now.
“You’re not damned, Sharon,” Father Stan added. “You’re wounded. And wounds heal when they’re brought into the light.”
Her voice cracked on a whisper. “I don’t know how to tell him.”
“When the time is right,” Father Stan said, “you will. And he will listen—because he loves you, and because he saw what nearly happened to you. That fear binds both of you, but honesty will free you.”
Sharon pressed her palm to her heart, steadying herself.
“Your absolution is not erasing what happened,” Father Stan said gently. “It is the beginning of reclaiming yourself from it.”
She nodded slowly, breathing in the first sense of relief she’d felt in months.
“Thank you, Father,” she whispered again, this time with something like hope behind it.
He smiled behind the screen. “You’ll find your balance again. Just don’t mistake forgiveness for forgetting. Now — say your act of contrition, and go in peace. You’re not lost, Sharon. You’re just finding your way home again.”
When she finished her prayer, Father Stan offered absolution, his words calm and certain.
“Go in peace, Sharon. And remember — peace isn’t the same as certainty. Sometimes it just means you can breathe again.”
“Thank you, Father,” she whispered.
“You know where to find me,” he said softly. “And maybe… bring him next time.”
Her lips curved into a smile. “I’ll try.”
When she stepped out, the air felt cooler and lighter, though her chest still ached. Andy straightened when he saw her, the unspoken question clear in his eyes.
She offered a small, tired smile. “Better than I expected.”
“You didn’t bolt,” he said with a grin. “I’ll call that a win.”
“Close call,” she murmured, a soft laugh escaping her.
They sat together for a while, listening to the faint hum of the organ.
“He saw you,” she said at last.
Andy arched a brow. “Figures. Probably thought I was casing the place.”
“He thought you were hiding next to Saint Jude.”
Andy chuckled. “Patron saint of lost causes, right?”
“Something like that.”
He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “You think there’s one for people like me?”
“You mean stubborn men with too many ghosts?”
“Exactly.”
Her smile softened. “That’s what Saint Jude’s for.”
He glanced toward the altar. “So, what’d he say?”
“That forgiveness isn’t earned. It’s accepted.”
“You believe that?”
“I want to.”
She reached for his hand. “He also said you’re already here. That’s a start.”
Andy looked down at their joined hands. “That priest’s got a strange sense of humor.”
“Maybe,” she said. “But he’s right.”
“You want me to go in there?” He watched her for a moment as she nodded. “Maybe not today.”
“That’s okay.”
Andy cupped her face with both of his hands, wiping the remnants of tears. “The priest made you cry?” he asked.
Sharon swatted lightly at his wrist, though her smile betrayed her. “No. I did that all on my own. His name is Father Stan.”
Andy searched her face, the faint redness around her eyes, the exhaustion softened by something gentler. “You okay?” he asked, voice low.
She nodded, leaning briefly into his touch. “I will be.”
Andy exhaled through his nose like he’d been holding his breath for the entire hour she’d been gone. “Good. For a minute I thought he grilled you or something.”
“He didn’t,” she said. “He just… listened.”
Andy snorted softly. “Must be nice. People usually don’t listen when I talk. They either run, or they do something stupid trying to impress me.”
Sharon huffed a weak laugh. “I think he could handle you.”
“I don’t know about that,” Andy said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Guy looks like he could see through walls.”
“That’s kind of his job,” she teased.
“Yeah, well.” He shrugged. “I’m not exactly the kind of soul priests pray for.”
Sharon threaded her fingers through his again, squeezing gently. “You’d be surprised.”
Andy glanced at her, eyes narrowing playfully. “You gonna start recruiting me now? ‘Come to church, Andy, we have redemption and free wine’?”
She rolled her eyes. “I’m not recruiting you.”
“Good,” he said, but there was no sarcasm behind it. “Because I’m not ready for that. Not yet.”
“I know,” she murmured.
He brushed his thumb across the back of her hand. “But I am glad you went. Really.”
Sharon felt her chest tighten deeply. “I needed to.”
“I could tell.” Andy’s gaze drifted toward the confessional door. “Whatever you told him… you look lighter.”
“Not fixed,” she said.
“Didn’t say fixed.” Andy tilted her chin up gently. “Just lighter.”
For a moment, they simply breathed together in the quiet sanctuary, sunlight filtering through stained glass and painting soft colors across the floor.
Andy spoke again, his voice gentler than she was used to hearing it. “You ever… need me to sit in there with you, outside the door, or whatever… I will.”
She blinked, startled by the sincerity in his tone. “Andy—”
“I’m serious,” he said. “You walked through hell by being with me. If sitting in a church helps you… I’m not gonna make you do it alone.”
Her throat tightened, but no tears came this time. “You already did,” she whispered.
Andy swallowed, looking away for a moment like he wasn’t used to hearing something so soft directed at him. “Yeah, well. Don’t get used to it. I’ve got a reputation.”
She laughed and Andy’s shoulders loosened.
He bumped her knee lightly with his. “C’mon. You ready to get out of here?”
“Yeah,” she said, standing.
As they walked toward the doors, Andy slipped an arm around her waist, cautious at first as if checking whether she wanted the closeness. She leaned into him without hesitation.
Just as they reached the exit, Sharon added quietly, “And for the record… priests don’t make me cry.”
Andy smirked. “Then who does?”
She gave him a sideways glance. “Men who wait for me. Even when they don’t understand why.”
Andy blinked, the smirk fading into something softer. Something almost reverent. “I love you.” He kissed her forehead. “I’d do anything to keep you happy and safe.”
Sharon leaned it further to him. “Please, tell me you’re not going to propose in church.” She teased.
Andy let out a low laugh, the kind that came from deep in his chest. “Propose? In front of Saint Jude? Nah.” He shook his head. “I’m reckless, not suicidal.”
Sharon snorted. “Good. I don’t think I could handle another emotional crisis before lunch.”
“Well,” he said, nudging her shoulder lightly as they stepped into the sunlight, “if I ever do propose, I promise it’ll be somewhere with better lighting. And less incense.”
She nudged him back. “And maybe not right after confession.”
“Yeah, that too.” He paused, then added with mock seriousness, “Also, I’d need a ring. Pretty sure proposing without one is frowned upon.”
Sharon raised a brow. “And you don’t have one hidden somewhere?”
“I plead the fifth.” Andy grinned.
Sharon stopped on the last step, turning to face him fully. “You plead the fifth?” she repeated. “Andy, that’s not a denial.”
He shrugged, hands slipping casually into his pockets casually. “Didn’t say it was.”
Her eyes narrowed. “You’re messing with me.”
“Me?” Andy widened his eyes in the most unconvincing display of innocence imaginable. “I would never.”
She folded her arms, fighting a smirk. “So there is a ring?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t deny it.”
“I also didn’t confirm it.”
“Andy.”
“Sharon.”
They stared at each other for a moment, neither blinking, both daring the other to crack first. Andy’s mouth curved into that crooked smile she’d come to know too well, the one that meant he was enjoying this way too much.
“Look,” he said, leaning in slightly, “if I did have a ring, hypothetically—”
“Hypothetically,” she echoed, unimpressed.
“—I’d only use it when I knew you weren’t stressed, emotional, recovering from trauma, or moments away from punching me.”
Sharon let out a soft laugh. “So… never?”
Andy grinned. “See? You get it.”
She shook her head, rolling her eyes as they started walking again. “You know, most men don’t tease their girlfriends about hypothetical rings.”
“Yeah,” Andy said. “Most men aren’t living with you.”
She glanced at him, caught off guard. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“That I don’t want to rush things,” he said simply. “You’ve been through enough. We’ve both been through enough. So, if I ever ask you to marry me…” He trailed off, voice softening. “I want it to be when you’re smiling. Really smiling. Not surviving. Not hurting.”
Her steps slowed, his words settling deep in her chest. “Andy…” she murmured.
He reached out, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “Plus,” he added with a smirk, “I want a chance at you actually saying yes. If I asked you today, you’d probably panic and make me go back inside and confess for bad timing.”
She snorted, the emotion easing into warmth. “You’re probably right.”
“I usually am,” he said smugly.
“But just so you know,” she slipped her hand into his, “if I ever see a ring box anywhere in the penthouse, I’m opening it.”
Andy didn’t miss a beat. “Then I’ll keep it somewhere you’ll never look.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Oh really? And where’s that?”
He smirked, squeezing her hand. “That’s for me to know… and for you to never find.”
Sharon laughed, leaning into him again as they walked down the street.
“Don’t go penthouse hunting just to find something.” He pointed at her.
She scoffed, lifting her chin in mock offense. “Penthouse hunting? Please. I don’t have to hunt. I observe.”
Andy groaned. “That’s even worse.”
“It’s a gift,” she declared proudly. “I can spot a misplaced envelope at twenty feet.”
“Yeah, well,” he countered, “I can spot trouble at twenty feet. And right now,” he tapped her nose gently, “you’re it.”
She swatted his hand away, laughing. “I am not trouble.”
“You absolutely are,” Andy said. “If I leave you alone for five minutes, you’ll probably dismantle the whole apartment just because I said I might have a ring.”
“Might,” she repeated, narrowing her eyes. “You keep saying that word like it means something.”
“It does,” he said.
“And yet,” she pressed, leaning in close, “you won’t deny it.”
Andy held her gaze for a beat too long before he broke into another infuriatingly calm grin.
“You’ll live,” he murmured.
Sharon muttered under her breath, “Hate you.”
“No, you don’t.”
“Ugh.” She looked away dramatically. “Fine. Maybe not.”
He chuckled, slinging an arm around her shoulders as they resumed walking. “You know, for someone who’s supposed to be a detective, you’re very bad at subtlety.”
“I’m not being subtle,” she shot back. “I’m being curious.”
“You’re being nosy.”
“It’s the same thing.”
“No, it’s not,” Andy said. “One is sweet. The other is you.”
“Wow,” she deadpanned. “Romantic.”
He laughed, pulling her closer. “If it helps, I like you nosy.”
She blinked. “Yeah?”
He pressed a kiss to her temple. “Yeah. Means you care.”
The simple statement knocked the wind out of her more than she expected. Her smile softened, and for a moment, the teasing faded into something quieter.
“Andy?” she said gently.
“Hmm?”
“You know I’m not actually looking for anything, right?”
He looked down at her, the mischief slipping away. “I know.”
“Good.” She squeezed his hand. “When I say yes—whenever that is—I want it to be a surprise too.”
Andy froze mid-step. His heart did something complicated behind his ribs.
“…When you say yes?” he repeated slowly.
Sharon playfully rolled her eyes. “Hypothetically, Andy.” But the blush on her cheeks said otherwise.
And Andy didn’t hide the quiet, unmistakable smile that stretched across his face as they kept walking; fingers intertwined, steps in sync, the future no longer a question mark, but a promise waiting in its own time.
They walked in a comfortable silence for a block, letting the cool air settle around them. The church sat behind them like a distant echo, its bells quiet now, its comfort still lingering.
Sharon was the first to speak again, her voice softer than before. “You know… this morning felt impossible when I woke up.”
Andy glanced at her, hands in pockets, posture relaxed but eyes attentive. “Yeah. I could tell.”
“I almost told you not to come,” she admitted. “I thought it would be easier to do it alone.”
“And you really think I would have let you walk in there by yourself after everything you’ve been carrying?” Andy asked.
She gave him a sideways look. “You let me do a lot of things on my own.”
“Sure,” he said, shrugging. “But not the ones that hurt.”
A quiet hum left her, half amusement, half gratitude. “You really see more than you let on.”
“Please,” he scoffed lightly. “I have been watching your tells for months. Every time you get overwhelmed your left eyebrow twitches.”
“It does not twitch.”
“It absolutely does.”
“It does not.”
“Sharon, I could make a drinking game out of it.”
She rolled her eyes but he caught the tiny smile she tried to hide.
They rounded the corner toward the parking lot. The sun was higher now, warming the pavement, casting long shadows behind them. Sharon inhaled deeply and exhaled slower, as if testing how her chest felt after confession.
“How do you feel?” Andy asked, not teasing anymore.
Sharon considered the question, thoughtful. “Like I opened a door I should have opened a long time ago. And it was scary. But not as scary as I thought.”
Andy nodded, his jaw flexing slightly. “Good. You should not have to hold that kind of weight alone.”
“I was not alone,” she said quietly. “Not really. You were there. Even when I did not want you to see how scared I was.”
Andy stopped walking. Just outright stopped, turning to her with a look she could not read at first.
“You think you hide that from me?” he asked.
She blinked. “I try.”
“Sharon.” His voice dropped, low and steady. “I saw you that day in the warehouse. I saw what that did to you. And I have seen you wake up in the middle of the night trying to pretend you were not waking up from a nightmare.”
Her breath caught. She had never told him she had nightmares. She had thought she hid them well.
“You are not weak,” Andy said. “And you do not scare easy. So, when you shake in your sleep and pretend you are not… I noticed.”
For a moment she just looked at him, stunned by the gentleness threaded through his rough edges.
“You never said anything,” she whispered.
“Because I did not know if you wanted me to,” Andy replied. “I figured… when you wanted to talk, you would.”
She swallowed, eyes warming. “Thank you.”
Andy looked like he was about to brush it off with a joke, then seemed to think better of it. “Yeah. Well. Someone has to pay attention.”
They resumed walking, but slower now.
After another stretch of quiet, Sharon asked, “Do you still think about what happened in Cabo?”
Andy drew in a sharp breath at the question. “Every day,” he said simply. “It was a closed call.” His voice went tight. “I was late.”
“You were not late,” Sharon said firmly. “You saved my life.”
“No,” Andy said. “You saved your life. I just ran after you.”
Sharon reached out and touched his arm. “Andy. Stop. I survived because of you. Because you did not give up on finding me.”
Andy looked straight ahead, jaw hard. “I keep thinking about what would have happened if I had been two minutes later. Or one. I keep seeing it.”
Sharon’s chest ached at the raw honesty in his voice.
“Then we are both carrying that night,” she said softly.
“Yeah,” Andy murmured. “Seems like it.”
They reached the car. Andy unlocked it, but neither moved to get in. Sharon rested her back lightly against the passenger door, watching him.
“You know,” she said, “Father Stan asked me what I was most afraid of.”
Andy looked at her fully this time. “And?”
She held his gaze. “Losing myself. Losing my badge. And losing you.”
Andy stepped closer, his voice steady. “You are not losing me.”
“You say that now.”
“I say that always,” Andy replied. “Sharon, I walked away from a world that would have swallowed me whole. I have you. I am not letting go of that.”
Her breath trembled just slightly.
He reached up and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, his fingers lingering a moment longer than usual. “I know this is messy,” he said. “I know you got pulled into things you never should have been anywhere near. But I also know who you are.”
“And who is that?” she asked.
“A woman who fought for her life,” Andy said softly. “A woman who protects people even when she is breaking. A woman who gets back up even when the whole world knocks her to the ground.”
Her eyes glistened, but this time the emotion felt steady rather than fragile.
“And you?” she asked. “Who are you, Andy?”
He gave a quiet laugh, one without humor. “A man who is trying like hell to be better.”
Sharon stepped closer, closing the small distance between them. “You are better.”
“Not enough.”
“You are enough for me.”
For a long moment, he searched her face, as if trying to decide whether he deserved to hear it then he exhaled, all tension sinking from his shoulders. He cupped her cheek with a gentleness that surprised even him.
“You really mean that,” he said.
“I do.”
He lowered his forehead to hers, eyes closing for a second. “Then I will keep trying. For you. For us.”
They stayed there in a quiet bubble of peace that neither had expected to find today.
Sharon pulled back just enough to look at him fully. “I am hungry.”
Andy barked a short laugh. “Perfect timing. Emotional breakthroughs always make you hungry.”
“They do not,” she argued.
“They absolutely do.”
She sighed. “Fine. Maybe a little.”
“Good,” Andy said as he opened her door for her. “Because I am taking you to lunch. And you are not allowed to argue.”
“I never argue.”
He shot her a look.
She corrected herself. “Okay. I sometimes argue.”
“Constantly,” he said.
“Occasionally.”
“Sharon.”
“Alright. Often.”
He smiled as she finally slid into the seat. “Better.”
When he rounded the car to drive, Sharon watched him with a quiet tenderness.
The church had given her absolution but this man, flawed and fierce and learning to soften, had given her something else. A place to breathe, return and heal. As the engine hummed to life, she felt ready to face whatever came next.