The detective's jaw was tight, his eyes locked on Liam with an intensity that felt personal.
And it was personal.
The detective had been waiting for this since that day at the station.
The day he'd asked Grace out—again—and got shot down—again.
He'd walked away from her desk feeling like an idiot, went to grab coffee to shake it off, and when he turned around, there was this kid sitting at her desk.
Talking to her. Making her actually laugh. Not the polite professional laugh she gave everyone, but a real one.
He'd started walking over. He was going to say something. Insert himself into the conversation. Anything.
But then some kid showed up.
The brother of a victim from a case.
Started asking questions, crying, making a scene.
Wouldn't leave him alone.
By the time the detective finally got the kid to calm down and stop pestering him, he was so frustrated and drained that he didn't even care anymore.
The moment was gone.
But the memory stayed.
