Twelve

Cassandra

I step out of the office and see Crayvin leaning by the back door with his field equipment on and ready to go. His ocean eyes meet mine, he folds his arms over his chest, furrows his brow. I know he's being impatient, so I rush to my desk to grab my things.

Drew stands up behind me and places his hands on my waist while I try and ready myself. This action makes it a little difficult for me to strap on my duty belt and put my bulletproof vest on, but I'm not complaining. The contact feels nice.

"Everything okay with you?" His voice softly echoes through my ears. A small shiver runs up my spine when I nod, finally managing to button up my top over the vest.

"Then why are you shaking?" He asks.

I look down as my fingertips struggle to button the last two buttons. I didn't realize that I was shaking until he pointed it out just then.

"It's nothing, I'm fine," I lie, then turn around and kiss his cheek as he did mine earlier that morning.

The sounds of 'awws' fill the office as the rest of patrol makes fun of us. In the blink of an eye, Drew turns as red as a tomato.

"That's my cue," I whisper. I give him a faint smile before I turn back around and trail behind Crayvin out the back door to the unit parking.

Just when I think I'm safe and any fears I had of him remembering the other night, as I walk to the passenger side of the unit, Crayvin stops mid-walk and arches that dark brow of his. As I put my hand on the door handle, my heart slowly begins to beat faster and I inhale sharply at his utter silence and awkwardness.

"What are you doing, Peanut?" He questions as he remains still. I exhale and when I finally look over to him, he's smiling.

There's that damn devilish grin and that nickname. I swear he has a new one for me every day, but this one is the worst.

"Uhm, waiting for you to unlock the door so we can get a move on. What's it look like, genius?" I scoff, trying to act normal.

Well, as normal as I can be around the devil incarnate.

He tosses his keys, I miss, and they land right at my feet. I bend down and pick them up, hearing his feet scuffle against the concrete. After I stand up and hold the keys out, Crayvin now stands before me.

"You're driving today, remember?"

Holy... shit.

He remembers. He fucking remembers!

My subconscious wants to scream. Instead, I nod and scurry over to the driver's side. I'm pretty sure with how hot my face feels, I'm the one looking like a damn tomato now. After my fingers fiddle with the keys, I find the right one and put it in the ignition. I have to pull the seat up-way up- so that I can reach the gas pedal and see over the dashboard before securing the buckle over my waist.

"I didn't think you'd remember," I admit squeamishly.

I fight the urge to look over at my partner but fail as my curiosity gets the best of me. When I look over, his eyes lock onto mine.

"I remember everything," he admits in a voice no louder than a whisper. I feel my jaw drop, and my mouth hangs partially open. What do I say?

Crayvin exhales and looks out the windshield. By the storm of emotions that swirl in his eyes, the twitch in his fingers, and the press of his lips into a firm line, he looks as if he's having an internal battle of his own.

Crayvin being in deep thought reminds me of a toddler trying to take his first poo in the potty. I have to bite my lower lip to keep from belting out a laugh as his brows pinch together in determination.

"Look, if I train you with no complaints, I get the Sergeant's position. I've been working my ass off for it and I know that I can do it. But can we put aside our past for the duration of this training?" He asks and a lump forms in my throat, keeping me from responding.

"Thing is, I was an asshole back then, plain and simple." His voice shifts from being indignant and imperative to a soft tremor without inflection. "I apologize for everything I did to you. I have no excuse for it either. I had good parents and everything, so the only person I can blame is myself," he admits, then turns around in his seat to face me once more.

"I need to train you to be a sergeant and you're also dating my best friend. The odds aren't exactly in our favor, so we are kind of stuck in this predicament of ours. We have to make some type of compromise or at least try to get along. Do you think you can handle that just for the time being? I promise you can trust me. I will be as kosher as I can, just please work with me."

The vulnerability laced in his voice is uncanny. The apology I've been waiting for years to hear, was just presented to my ears, but is it enough?

How do you trust someone to change when all you have from the past is evidence of why you shouldn't?

I peer out the windshield and let out a breath I had been holding since the moment he said, "I apologize."

"Okay," I answer. My voice is ambivalent and lacking confidence. I am still not too keen on this idea of being around my old crush and nemesis while at work.

That said, as much as I don't want to have to deal with him or admit it, he's right. I am pretty much dating his best friend and I also need to do my training. Like Miles told me, he's really my only option and it's only for six months.

I can handle it.

I look back to Crayvin and for once, I think there's sincerity in his facial expression, maybe with just a tinge of relief to my reply.

"Unit Four, please respond to Fifth and Burns for a courtesy check. A neighbor called and said that a woman in her late seventies has not come outside in days."

The dispatcher over the radio breaks the silence between us. Crayvin gives me an approving nod and I grin.

Finally, it's my turn to drive and be in control.

Maybe being trained by him won't be so bad after all.

Besides, Miles did admit that Crayvin was trained by the best, and my dad was definitely the best.