Page 99 of Under the Radar

“Just tired.”

“Okay. Be safe out there.”

I nodded. “You know it.”

* * *

I got Warren and Helen to the hospital, listening to him coaching her to breathe and relax.

“I can’t relax,” she informed him. “Your daughter is determined to come now!”

I radioed ahead, and they were waiting for us. I watched them go, smiling at his fussing and her quarreling with him. I returned to my car and pulled into an empty spot in the parking lot. The rain beat down on the hood, its steady rhythm peaceful. I drew in a long breath, letting it out slowly. My hands still trembled, and I was tense. I told myself I was fine. Everything was fine. The call was a false alarm. An amusing story to tell one day.

But today wasn’t it. I kept seeing another door. Another couple. A different scenario.

I shut my eyes and did all the tricks my therapist had taught me. I counted. Concentrated on my breathing. Tried to think of good things. Spoke out loud, reminding myself everything was fine. Today was a different day. I did that until I felt calmer. Then I radioed in and pulled out of the parking lot, praying I would remain calm until my shift ended.

* * *

By the time I got home, I was shaking again. Tamping down the panicked feeling in order to get my key into the lock and get inside. I shut the door behind myself, pressing my back against it. I was home. I was safe. Chase was here.

I let my coat fall to the floor. I had changed at the station, locking my gun in my locker. I rarely brought it home. I kicked off my shoes, taking a deep breath in. Chase came from the kitchen, stopping in confusion when he saw me.

“Hannah.” He rushed toward me. “Baby, what’s wrong? What is it?”

With a sob, I launched myself at him. He wrapped his good arm around me, holding me close. “Hannah, are you hurt?” he asked, panicked. “Can you tell me?”

I shook my head, unable to stop crying. He led us to the sofa, sitting down and cradling me on his lap. He held me tight, running his hand over my head repeatedly. “It’s okay, it’s okay,” he murmured. “I’m here. You’re safe. I have you.”

Relief swelled, making me cry harder for a moment. He let me sob, making hushing noises and whispering that everything was okay until I began to calm down. He pressed some tissues into my hand, and I wiped at my face. “I’m sorry,” I whispered. “I-I didn’t mean to do that.”

“Don’t be sorry. I’m here, Hannah. Tell me what happened,” he urged.

I told him everything. The call. The sudden fear. How it lingered. “I thought I was over it,” I admitted. “But I’m not.”

“I’m not sure you can ever ‘get over’ something as traumatic as that,” he murmured, cupping my face.

I looked at him, seeing only understanding and caring on his face. “If it had been a real domestic violence call, my fears could have kept me from acting in time,” I whispered. “I was so scared, Chase.”

“You need to talk to someone,” he said. “I think you left therapy too quickly.”

“I felt so ashamed after. As if I was a coward.”

“No.” He cupped my face. “You are anything but. A very wise and beautiful woman once told me that it takes a great deal of strength to admit your fear. You’re admitting them. You’re feeling them.” His grip tightened. “Maybe your fears are trying to tell you something, baby.”

I knew what he was saying. I shut my eyes as another set of tears ran down my cheeks. “I can’t be a good, effective police officer anymore. I need to do something else.”

“Are you sure about this, Hannah? It’s a big decision.”

I opened my eyes and met his gaze. It was warm, hopeful, and filled with love.

“I’ll support you no matter what you want to do,” he assured me.

“I’m going to accept that job. I can still be an effectual part of the station.”

“Yes, you can,” he agreed. “Are you certain about this?” he repeated.

“Yes. I keep thinking about it. Thinking of the things I could do to help. Some community initiatives I could suggest. Ways to improve the reporting access.”