Unbreak My Heart (Heroes of Port Dale Book 4) Read online

  Unbreak My Heart

  Romeo Alexander

  ROMEO ALEXANDER

  Published by Books Unite People LLC, 2020.

  Copyright © 2020 by Books Unite People

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This book is a work of fiction. All resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

  Editing by Jo Bird

  Beta Reading by Melissa R

  Contents

  Eric

  Blaine

  Eric

  Blaine

  Eric

  Blaine

  Eric

  Blaine

  Eric

  Blaine

  Eric

  Blaine

  Eric

  Blaine

  Eric

  Blaine

  Eric

  Blaine

  Eric

  Author notes

  More books by Romeo Alexander

  Eric

  “God damn it all to the depths of piss filled hell!”

  His curse was almost immediately swallowed up by the noise of the precinct. It sure didn’t swallow the flare of agony washing up from his foot, though. Eric gritted his teeth, tapping his foot on the tiled floor of the shared office in an attempt to ward off the pain. He’d heard once that swearing helped lessen pain, some sort of psychological trick. He wasn’t sure he believed that, but it made him feel better anyway.

  “Very smooth,” his partner, well, ex-partner told him.

  Eric shot a glare at Sam. “What the fuck did you even put in that box, bricks?”

  He twisted his scowl down toward the offending box. He was supposed to be carrying the damned thing out to Sam’s truck in the parking lot. Eric hadn’t expected how heavy the damn box was, and it had slipped out of his fingers. Gravity had pulled its predictable trick, and he ended up with what felt like a broken foot.

  “Right, blame me for your butterfingers. Sounds about right,” Sam said dryly.

  “Oh blow it out your ass, Sam.”

  “Sounds like you’re in need of something up yours.”

  Eric growled. He was not going to dignify that with a response. He focused his irritation on the box, giving it a kick. Another spike of pain lanced up the already injured foot, and he hopped back with another series of curses.

  “Mother fuck!”

  Sam watched him from his seat, hands gently laid in his lap. He remained quiet, looking at Eric as he cursed the box roundly, calling it all manner of names that would have made a veteran sailor blush.

  “Feel better?” Sam asked as Eric finished.

  “No. Fuck you,” Eric grumbled, refusing to look Sam in the eyes.

  “I think Alice might object to that, but I’ll be sure to ask her.”

  Eric gave a snarl, snatching up the box and pulling it close to his chest. “I repeat, fuck off.”

  Sam smiled gently. “I’m going to miss you too.”

  Eric snorted, turning and walking out of the office the two of them had shared for almost five years. He was not making a bigger fuss about the pain in his foot because the only partner he’d had was leaving. Sam deserved his promotion, even if it did require him to transfer to the other side of Port Dale. The guy was almost forty. If he wanted to take a quiet desk job instead of the chaos of walking the streets, he had every right.

  It meant a new partner, of course, one Eric would have no say in, but that was life. His whole life had been a series of decisions, most of which had been made without his input. Sam’s promotion was just one more thing for Eric to have thrown at him, that he was forced to adjust to. God knew adjustment was something Eric was used to, even if it meant cursing and complaining along the way.

  He ignored the stares of the rest of the precinct as he stomped through the main room. Cubicles made up most of it, filling the room with the sound of clacking keyboards and the smell of coffee. Knick knacks and pictures of family and friends lay among the scattered desks. Officers milled about, some staring blankly at their screens, others talking with their neighbors. Just another day at the precinct, as everyone went about their business as though nothing had changed.

  Eric managed to get through the cubicles without any comment until he reached the front lobby.

  “Oh, look who’s in a good mood today,” called a familiar voice.

  Officer Cochran smirked at him from behind the front desk. A hiss from the dispatch radio sitting next to him, and a book in his hand.

  Eric glowered at him. “Fuck you too, David.”

  David chuckled, pulling his latest book into view. “Good evenin’ to you too, Eric. Helpin’ Sam get packed up, huh?”

  Eric turned his dark mood back to the box that had already tried to break his foot. “Yeah, well, who the hell else is going to do it? You know he’s got a shit back. If he did it, I’d have to listen to him bitch for the rest of his shift.”

  “Right, the shift he’s got like, what, two hours left on? The last one he’s gonna have here,” David pointed out, attention turning to his book once again.

  Eric’s glare flickered and stuttered, and he turned on his heel before David could see his face. Okay, fine, maybe it did suck like hell that Sam was leaving. The guy had been Eric’s partner the whole time Eric had been on the force, and it hurt like hell to know the guy was leaving. Eric could deal with someone else, someone new, at least that’s what he tried to remind himself.

  It was the leaving that stung. That’s what always hurt.

  At least Sam’s car was parked on the front curb, which was only courteous in Eric’s mind. It was unlocked too, which Eric thought stupid, but kept it to a low grumble as he popped open the back hatch. Still grumbling to himself, he shoved the heavy box into a free space.

  God, he hated this. He was going to have to figure out how to say goodbye. Sam would only be on the other side of town, but it was still goodbye all the same. Whoever said a door closing was the sign of another opening deserved a swift kick in the balls by Eric’s assessment. Goodbye was goodbye, and he was tired of saying it.

  He was ten years old the first time he’d been forced to say goodbye.

  Six, if he counted the goldfish he lost.

  But ten was when he lost his parents.

  Eric had been the youngest of a dozen children. The baby, the unexpected gift, as his mother called him. By the time he was ten years old, all of his siblings were adults, and some had kids of their own.

  He wished he could claim that a family so large was close, but that wasn’t the case. Ten kids had outgrown the nest and flown away as fast as they could. A mixture of life taking them away, and parents who were...well, Eric knew his parents weren’t the greatest. An absent mother, and a domineering father, it didn’t make for the greatest combination.

  Their loss had still hurt, though. A drunk driver had taken them both. That the driver had been Eric’s father didn’t seem to matter much. In the end, Eric had been left without parents, without guidance.

  Without anything.

  And his siblings? Well, they were a joke. No one wanted anything to do with the youngest brother. They had families of their own, spouses, jobs, anything that separated them as much as possible from the home life they’d known while growing up. Eric was a reminder of too much, the tight grip, both literal and figurative.

  That was, except for Sean.

  An older brother, but still young in the scheme of twelve siblings. Sean was
the only one who saw Eric, parentless, aimless, and in desperate need of help. Sean had taken guardianship of Eric. He had been the one to play parent, brother, and friend, all in one fell swoop. He had grabbed Eric from the grasp of a system that might have cared, or might not have.

  He’d shown him love, he’d shown him a home, he’d shown him a sacrifice.

  Sean had been the only thing Eric had ever found he could rely on.

  A hand clapped him on the shoulder, ripping Eric from his thoughts. He turned to face Sam’s frowning features. God, was Sam really that old? There were creases Eric didn’t remember being there before, mainly around the eyes, and wrinkles in the forehead. Sam’s eyes still twinkled with that same mischievous color, but it felt forced, hollow as he looked down at Eric.

  “You okay?” Sam asked softly.

  Eric cleared his throat, adjusting the box and stepping back. “Yeah, I’m fine. Why?”

  Sam looked him over. “You just...had a look.”

  “A look,” Eric repeated dryly, slamming the hatch shut.

  “Yeah, the one that said you were thinking things you have no business thinking about.”

  “Oh god, are you going to do that thing where you invite me to talk about my feelings, and you share your old man advice?” Eric groaned.

  Sam’s fingers tightened on his shoulder for a moment before pulling his hand away. Eric knew his partner well enough to know the older man had something on his mind but wasn’t going to share. It was in the false light of his eyes, the way his smile didn’t reach his eyes as he spoke.

  “Naw, was gonna tell you that after this is over, we should get a couple of drinks,” Sam told him.

  Eric blinked. “Yeah?”

  Sam nodded. “Yeah. You and me, kid.”

  Eric rolled his eyes, stepping around Sam. “I’m not a kid. Bet I can drink you under the table.”

  “That a promise, or a bet?” Sam called after him.

  “Both. You old bastard,” Eric shot back, sneering at Sam’s knowing smirk.

  “I’m really gonna miss you.”

  Sam’s words sent a wave of warmth through Eric. They were actually clear as the two of them stumbled out of the dense, noisy bar. Eric wasn’t quite sure what the name of the dive was, but Sam had insisted on it. All it had taken was a few hours, and one too many rounds called, and the two of them were left stumbling and weaving down the sidewalk.

  Eric snorted. “Like Europe misses the plague.”

  Sam chuckled. “Naw. You’re a good kid.”

  “Fuck you too,” Eric said companionably.

  Sam, predictably, ignored him. “You act like you got your shit together, and that you’re just fine being a giant jackass, but you know what? You got a good heart. You give a shit.”

  Eric shook his head, hooking his arm tighter around Sam’s waist. “You are drunk.”

  “Yeah, I am. But I’m telling the truth too.”

  Eric rolled his eyes but focused on trying to keep the two of them steady as they made their way down the sidewalk. The one good thing about the bar Sam had chosen was they weren’t that far from Eric’s apartment. It might not be much, but he had a decent enough couch for the guy to crash on.

  “Shit,” Sam murmured in the silence. “Wha’ time is it?”

  “Past your bedtime, old man,” Eric told him.

  “Yeah yeah, keep talkin’. I’m still able to kick your ass.”

  Eric wouldn’t doubt it. Sam might have been more than happy to take a life behind a desk, but the guy was tough. He stood a head taller than Eric’s rather measly height, and he was broad. Eric found himself eternally struggling to put on any sort of muscle mass, no matter how hard he tried. While Sam, despite being several years older than Eric, kept his impressive bulk with what seemed like minimal effort.

  “Just don’t get my face. It’s all I got,” Eric warned him.

  They stumbled at the front door of Eric’s apartment building as Sam chuckled. “And that’s another thing.”

  “Oh Christ,” Eric muttered as he fished his keys out.

  “A guy as young and good looking as you should have guys all over you.”

  “You hitting on me, Sam? Because that’s a little weird. And not just because you’ve got a loving wife and two kids.”

  “Oh, shut up. Just because I’m straight don’t mean I can’t tell a good looking man from an ugly one.”

  “I’m relieved to know you’re comfortable in your sexuality.”

  Sam shoved him through the door with surprising strength. “Only problem in your love life is you.”

  Eric watched carefully as they mounted the stairs. “Oh, thanks, Sam. I didn’t know you gave a shit about who was fucking me.”

  Sam snorted, leaning heavily on the rail as he climbed the stairs. “Fucking you? Ain’t what I’m talking about, and you know it.”

  “Is this where you go from ex-partner to matchmaker on me? I’ll be honest, that sounds terrible. You’re a horrible judge of character,” Eric told him.

  “Fuck you too,” Sam grunted as he reached the top of the stairs.

  “Yeah, same,” Eric said as he shoved his key into the deadbolt of his apartment.

  “What were we talking about?” Sam asked as he stumbled in behind Eric.

  Eric flipped the entryway’s light on but left the rest off. It was enough to light up the spacious living room, equipped with his huge TV and sprawling couch. There were a few other pieces of furniture, a coffee table, the entertainment system his TV sat on, and a huge chair sat beside the couch. There wasn’t much in the way of decoration, decor had never been his thing.

  But it was home, it was his, and hell, it was comfortable.

  “We were talking about how you need some sleep,” Eric told him.

  Sam squinted at him. “Pretty sure you’re full of shit.”

  Eric rolled his eyes, dragging Sam over to the couch. “Just lay down and get comfortable. I’ll get your dumb, drunk ass something to curl up with.”

  “Fuckin’ sound like my wife,” Sam muttered, even as he did as he was told.

  Eric grunted but otherwise ignored him as he stepped away from the couch. He walked past the enclosed kitchen and the dining room that followed it. Stopping at the mouth of the hallway that led down to his bedroom, he opened the closet door. Pulling out a fresh pair of pillows and a blanket, he closed the door before returning to the living room.

  Sam looked quite comfortable as he curled up on the couch. Eric carefully placed a pillow under the man’s head and shoved the other into Sam’s arms to hold onto. Rolling his eyes once more, he tossed the blanket over him, grumbling about needy partners who didn’t know their ass from their elbows.

  Knowing that Sam would be set for the night, Eric turned and walked away. He was once more at the mouth of the hallway when Sam’s soft voice reached his ears. His now ex-partner’s words sucked the air from Eric’s lungs and left him cold.

  “Always wondered what got you so bad that you don’t let no one else in. Who broke your heart, kid?”

  Eric said nothing, standing in place as he waited to see if Sam said anything else. When the silence stretched out long enough for Eric to finally hear Sam’s heavy breathing, he let his legs carry him forward.

  He should have entered his bedroom and headed straight for the huge bed against the back wall. A place he was used to curling up on his own, balled up in the blankets that kept him secure and warm. It was his sanctuary, his place to hide from the world and his thoughts.

  Instead, he found his legs carrying him back to the closet, and his hand reaching up to pull the string of the closet light. Reaching up, he pulled a small box from the top shelf. Once, it had held some gift or other from someone, though he couldn’t remember who or what it had contained. The lid opened up to a velvet lined interior, where only a few items lay.

  A necklace of interlinked, dried daisies. His mother had made it once with him, on a warm summer evening when Eric had been seven.

  Pressed upo
n it was a jagged piece of clay. Sean had made it when he’d been fifteen, a part of a strange statue he’d created. The only thing to survive the kiln had been that one piece, and he’d presented it to Eric, with a tearful apology.

  And a broken chain necklace. Once it had held a class ring, a ring too big to fit Eric’s small fingers. It had been a promise of something great, something meaningful.

  And it had been a lie.

  The necklace no longer held the ring, and its chain was broken. Torn from his neck by his own hand when he’d known he was being left behind, being abandoned. The ring had been thrown back, knowing the promise was broken.

  His fingers traced the necklace.

  “Fuck this.”

  His snarl came just as he snapped the box shut and shoved it back onto the top shelf. Darkness spilled over him as he yanked on the string, almost breaking it. Without another glance toward the closet, he threw himself onto the bed and drew the blankets around him tightly.

  Alcohol was a relief to him then, dragging him down into dreamless sleep.

  Blaine

  Looking out the rearview window of his truck, Blaine took a deep breath. The building looked like any other police station, he supposed, nothing made it stand out. His view from the parking garage was clear, and he could see people flowing in and out of the double doors at the front. He took in the brownstone frontage, the clean lettering over the door reading precinct thirty-two, and the patch of flowering shrubs lining the building, as though to bring an air of gentility to the place.

  In a quiet display of nerves, he bent his thumb toward his ring finger. On it sat a chunky, somewhat gaudy ring of silver, with a large peridot in the center. Immediately, he began fiddling with it, twisting it around his finger and tapping it with his thumb.