AllFreeNovel
Share Us
On a deep inhale, I cut the engine, unbuckle my seatbelt, and exit the car. My eyes stay trained on her as I approach the entrance and tug on the door. But before I step inside, a diesel engine roars at my back. I glance over my shoulder as two large trucks pull into the lot and park near the back,Creekside Constructionprominent on each truck.
Wonderful.There goes the start of my morning.
Foot in the door, I ignore the boisterous crew outside and head for my spot at the café counter. Before I land in the seat, Kirsten is there, a smile on her face as she flips over my mug and fills it with coffee.
“Morning, officer.” Setting the coffee pot on the counter, she rests her hands wide on the counter and leans closer. “Scramble, oatmeal, or omelet?”
Not sure why, but I love that she has this part of my day memorized. That she knows my breakfast routine and the three meals I alternate between. That I can tell her which one I’m in the mood for and she knows everything else I want on my plate.
Those small details are part of the reason I come here every day. Her brilliant smile, flirty nature, and delicious curves are others.
“Scramble,” I say as the door opens, cool air sweeping in with the noisy crew. On a groan, I roll my eyes. “Please.”
Her soft smile turns playful as she pushes off the counter. “Yes, sir, officer.” She enters my order into the system, then grabs a tray, adds six glasses, and fills them with water. “I’ll see if we can tame the rowdy bunch in the back.”
My hands wrap around the mug and soak up the warmth. “Appreciate it.”
She takes the water over to the table and gathers their drink orders, giving them a minute to decide on food. As she moves around the restaurant, I chant the same mantra in my head I do every time I see her.I will not stare.And as per usual, I struggle with the follow through.
More early risers arrive, the chatter in the restaurant growing louder by the minute. Kirsten and the other servers pick up speed as they move from table to table. As Kirsten keys in a new order, Oliver taps her chest with a finger, then his own name tag. With a quickthank you, she digs in her apron, pulls out her name tag, and pins it to her shirt.
The sweet yet pungent smell of onions wafts from the kitchen passthrough window as the sizzle of food on the grill hits my ears, and my stomach growls. I swallow half my coffee, zeroing in on the mug and tuning out my surroundings. After a beat, my vision blurs. The conversation with my father at the precinct surfaces and I close my eyes.
“Need you to step up more, Officer Emerson.”
Whether at work or home, it is a rare occasion if Dad calls me son or by name. If he shows any form of affection.
Does Roger Emerson love his children? In his own way, yes. What that way is, I can’t be sure.
Hands clasped at my waist, I straighten my spine. “Yes, sir. Whatever you need, you can count on me.”
“Think you have it in you to be a role model? Train rookie officers? Show everyone in this office and town what it means to be an Emerson?”
Some days, I love my job. When I slip on my uniform and serve our town, it feeds my soul. Gratitude surfaces as residents and officers look to me when they need assistance. Exhilaration swells in my chest when others regard me as valuable, an asset to the community.
I do my damnedest to focus on those days. Let the good outshine the bad.
But it isn’t always easy. Not when the Chief—your father—knocks you down a peg day after day. Not when he reminds you every chance he gets that the last name on your uniform—a brand carved in your bones you didn’t ask for—is “God-worthy” in the town of Stone Bay.
I may have been born an Emerson, but all I want is to be myself. Whoever that is and whatever that looks like.
“Yes, sir,” I state, voice steady and strong. My thoughts drift to Pepper and an idea forms. “May be good to add more K-9 officers to the team.”
As of now, Pepper is the only K-9 officer in Stone Bay. I adopted her at eight weeks old and trained her for a year before she earned her badge. It isn’t often her services are needed, but I maintain her training daily for when the time comes.
Chief Emerson hums, his eyes narrowing imperceptibly. The longer he remains silent, the more I question the idea. But as I hold his stare, the answer hits me in the chest. A truth he won’t admit, but I feel it deep in my bones.
He approves of the idea. But he dislikes that the plan didn’t come from him.
Though I know he’ll take credit.
“Right there.” He steps closer and slaps a hand on my shoulder, tightening his grip. “That’s what an Emerson looks like. A man with foundational concepts to benefit the town. An innovative man with a good head on his shoulders. A respectable man the town looks to in hard times.”
Each of the traits he listed is admirable, virtuous. Most of my life, the man across from me has drilled what it means to be an Emerson into my head. How our family is part of the backbone of Stone Bay. How we have a responsibility to the town and its people. That it is ourdutyto protect others.
When I was a boy, the Emerson name made me feel invincible. As a man, it robs me of freedom and drowns me in the bay. There is nothing wrong with having pride or strength or courage. But what about adventure and pleasure and love? Aren’t they equally important and valuable?
“Thank you, sir. I do my best to deserve the name.” Acid claws its way up my throat as the words leave my lips.
