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The station is mostly desolate as Tim heads towards the exit. Other than the quiet buzz of the midnight shift, it’s calm. And the silence only makes the storm in his head sound louder.
Leaving his emergency session, his chest feels completely hollow, like it’s been scraped clean of anything resembling worth. The emergency session hadn’t offered relief; it had simply ripped open the scab covering a lifetime of buried baggage. Every mistake he’s ever made, every person who’s ever been hurt under his watch, seemed to crawl out from the depths of his subconscious and line up in the dim, fluorescent light of the hallway, as if to taunt him.
“You ruin everything you touch, Timothy.” The harsh, gravelly echo of his father’s voice rattles in his mind. Instead of the linoleum in front of him, he sees the heartbroken face of Kyle Henderson’s mother as she watched his empty coffin be lowered into the ground, then it seamlessly morphs into the memory of the devastating tears in Lucy’s eyes when he walked away from her. “Why are you doing this?”
He swallows down the nausea, the guilt like a physical weight crushing his lungs.
He walks through the bullpen like a ghost, completely missing Angela as she leans against one of the desks.
“Tim?” Angela calls out, stepping into his path. She looks into his face, and her expression shifts instantly to one of concern. “Hey. Why the long face? Talk to me.”
Tim doesn’t even blink. He walks right past her, his shoulder brushing hers as he pushes through the double doors and disappears into the parking lot.
Angela stares after him, a swirl of dread moving through her stomach. She knows the many faces of her best friend, but that one—
She hasn’t seen it before. Not like that.
She’s not sure how long she’s been standing there, when Dr. London steps into her view, looking pale.
“Are you Detective Angela Lopez?” the psychiatrist asks quietly. When Angela nods, Dr. London sighs, a tight line of worry between her brows. “Tim has you listed as his emergency contact. He assured me that he was okay to go home, but… I’m concerned about his headspace tonight. Please check on him.”
Panic ignites in Angela’s chest. She pulls out her phone, opening her favorites list and pressing Tim’s contact before she even reaches her desk. It rings once. Declined. Sighing heavily, she tries again. Straight to voicemail. She looks around frantically. Every bone in her body wants to leave now, to follow him. But she’s stuck at the station with a critical case that she can’t legally abandon, at least not right now. Pacing back and forth, she dials the only other person who might be able to get through to him.
—
In her apartment, Lucy moves around her bedroom, getting ready for bed. The bedroom is dark, save for the dim light of the lamp on her nightstand, and the air is heavy with the bitter, depressed loneliness that has become her constant companion since the breakup, and now with Tamara moving out as well.
Just as she’s climbing into bed, wearing a pair of sweats and one of Tim’s shirts—a habit she’s yet to kick—her phone blares from its place on the nightstand. Angela.
Furrowing her brow, Lucy grabs it, wondering why she would be calling her at this hour, and accepts the call.
Before she can say anything, Angela’s words come out rushed, panicked in a way that immediately has her on high alert.
“Lucy, I know things are bad between you two right now, but Tim just left the station and something is wrong. He had an emergency session with Dr. London and he looks… Lucy, he looks completely gone. He wouldn’t talk to me, won’t answer my calls. I’m getting really worried that he might—” Angela’s voice cracks as the last words come out fragile. “I’m worried that he might try something.”
Lucy’s heart rate skyrockets, her body instantly flooding with adrenaline. She jumps up from the bed, pulling the phone from her ear.
Before she can even form a question, a text notification banner appears at the top of her screen.
10:43 pm: From: Tim
I’m so sorry. For everything.
The air leaves Lucy’s lungs in a violent rush, the finality of those five words making her sick to her stomach. “Where is he?” she demands, already searching for her shoes.
“He left… like thirty minutes ago. He should be home by now, assuming he went home.” Angela says.
Lucy hangs up without another word and dials Tim. It rings once.
Twice.
Three times.
Tears pool in Lucy’s eyes, and she’s ready to hang up and dial 9-1-1 when—
“Lucy?”
His voice sounds shattered. It’s a low, raspy whisper that doesn’t even sound like a sound he’s capable of producing.
“Where are you?” she asks, her voice breathless as she shoves her feet into her shoes, grabbing her keys and jacket in one chaotic motion.
“Home. On the couch.” There’s a heavy pause. “Just… having a whiskey.”
“Are you okay?” She begs, running out her front door, ignoring Tamara’s questioning from the couch.
“I don’t know.”
“Tim, look at me—well, don’t look at me, but listen to me,” she scrambles, sprinting down the steps and through the parking lot toward her car. “Are you safe right now?”
His voice shakes. “Don’t worry about me, Lucy.”
“Are you safe?” she cries, slamming her car door shut and throwing it into reverse.
A long, agonizing silence stretches between the line, before she finally hears, “I… I don’t know.”
Lucy white-knuckles the steering wheel, pressing down hard onto the gas. “Where is your gun, Tim?”
“On the table. I didn’t put it away.”
A fat tear slips free, trailing down her cheek. “Okay. Okay, listen to my voice,” she commands, more tears of absolute terror blurring her vision as she speeds through the wet streets of Los Angeles. “Keep one hand on your phone. Keep the other hand on your glass. Do not touch anything else.” She tells him, desperate. “Do you hear me? Stay on the phone with me, Tim. Please. Just stay on the line.”
On the couch in the dark living room, Tim sits completely paralyzed. The heavy whiskey glass is cold in his hand, and his off-duty weapon sits mere inches away on the coffee table. He’s crying silently, the tears he can’t seem to control tracking hot down his face. The session had stirred up too much, dragged the monsters out of the closet, and for the first time ever, Tim has no idea what to do with himself. He feels entirely unfit to exist in the world he’s ruined.
A soft whine breaks the silence. Kojo trots over from his bed, his large, dark eyes filled with a heavy, innocent anxiety. Sensing the tension in the room, the dog doesn’t hesitate. He jumps up, pushing his heavy frame right up against Tim, and resting his head in his human’s lap.
Tim stares down at him, the hand holding his phone automatically burying into Kojo’s fur. I can’t, he thinks, fresh tears spilling over. The sound would terrify him. I can’t do that to him. The truth is, he isn’t even sure he wants to. He’s just so tired of feeling so defective.
He’s broken out of his thoughts when the front lock clicks, the heavy door swinging open.
Lucy bursts into the house, her eyes instantly landing on the couch. “Oh, Tim,” she gasps, her voice a fragile, breathless sound that cracks under the weight of her worry.
Tim doesn’t move. Doesn’t look at her. He sits entirely motionless, staring blankly into the fireplace, hand still holding onto the phone and resting on Kojo’s back.
She runs over to him, her hands immediately grabbing the gun from the coffee table. She marches over to the lockbox under the TV, punches in the code with shaking fingers, and slams the gun inside, locking it away.
She walks back over, takes the untouched glass from his hand, sets it far out of reach, and gently coaxes the phone out of his vice grip, hanging up the call.
Finally, she sinks down onto the edge of the cushion, right in front of him. Kojo shifts, sensing the immediate shift in energy, and gently hops down to head toward his water bowl, leaving the two of them alone.
Lucy reaches out, wrapping her fingers firmly around Tim’s still, cold hands, squeezing them tight before bringing her palms up to cup his face. “Hey,” she whispers, her thumbs sweeping over his wet cheeks. “Look at me.”
“Tim, please look at me.”
At the warm, frantic touch of her hands, the dam inside Tim completely breaks open. His eyes find hers, glassy and swirling with a million emotions, and he crumples. A choked, broken sob tears from his throat, and he drops his head forward, his forehead slamming against her shoulder as he begins to cry with a violent, racking intensity that she’s never seen from him in her life. Tim Bradford—the unbending, stoic rock of Mid-Wilshire—is entirely undone.
“I’ve got you,” Lucy murmurs, her own voice trembling as she wraps his arms around his broad, shaking shoulders. She buries her face in his hair, holding him tight against her, literally holding him together. “I’m right here. You’re okay. Just breathe, Tim. I’ve got you.”
She holds him for what feels like hours, rubbing soft circles into his back until the violent heaving of his chest begins to slow, fading to quiet, ragged breaths.
“Can you move?” she asks softly in his ear. “Let’s get you off the couch, okay? Let’s go to bed.”
Tim shakes a weak, exhausted nod into her shoulder. He lets her guide him up, his large frame leaning heavily into hers as she steers him down the hall into his bedroom. He collapses onto the mattress, and Lucy pulls off his shoes before climbing in right beside him. She pulls the heavy comforter up over them, settling herself into the pillows, and gently tugs him down until his head is resting against her chest, right over the steady, rhythmic beat of her heart.
For a long time, the only sound in the room is the hum of the house and their quiet, heavy breaths.
Once his body seems to completely relax, Lucy swallows hard, the vulnerability of the moment pressing down on her chest, stirring up complicated feelings in her wounded soul. She opens her mouth to speak, and her voice is shy and desperately frightened when she finally breaks the silence.
“Tim?” she whispers into the dark. “Were you… were you going to try something tonight?”
Tim hesitates. The silence stretches, thick and agonizing, between them, before he slowly shakes his head against her chest. “I don’t think so,” he rasps, his throat raw. “The ride-along today… the appointment… it just dragged up so much heavy stuff. Stuff I forgot was even there. Everything I did, everything I ruined. I just… I didn’t know what to do with myself. It was just a really, really bad moment. But… no. I don’t think I could’ve gone through with it.”
Lucy’s chest tightens, fresh tears slipping down her temples. She squeezes him a little closer to her. “Do you… do you want to die?”
Another long pause. Tim closes his eyes, voice dropping low and devastatingly honest. “I don’t know.”
Lucy lets out a broken, quiet sob, the words slicing right through her. But before she can spiral, Tim moves his head slightly, shaking it more definitively this time. “No. No, I don’t think so. I just wanted the noise, the guilt, to stop.
Overwhelming relief floods her veins. She wraps her arms around him even tighter. “Are you going to be safe if we stay right here tonight?”
“Yes,” Tim breathes, his hand weakly gripping the fabric of her—his—shirt. “Yeah, I’m already doing a little better. Because you’re here.”
Lucy exhales a long, shaky breath, releasing hours of tension and anger. Though he’s broken her trust with her heart, and she knows it won’t be an easy fix, with this, she chooses to trust him completely. She strokes her fingers through his disheveled hair, the motion slow and comforting. “I’m proud of you,” she says softly, her voice heavy with absolute truth. “I’m so proud of you for getting help, for going to therapy. The world is a much better place with you in it, Tim. My world is a better place with you in it. Don’t ever forget that.”
Tim tenses slightly, a fresh wave of misery washing over his features as he seems to remember the circumstances that led them here. “Lucy, I’m so sorry,” he chokes out, the guilt clawing at him again.
Lucy shakes her head. “Don’t apologize for this, Tim. I’ll always be here. I want you to be okay, Tim. Never apologize for this.”
“Not just for tonight… for everything. For everything I did to you. For breaking us. I’m so sorry.”
“Shh,” Lucy shushes him gently, shoving her emotions back down. Her fingers continue their soothing path through his hair, refusing to let him drown in the past tonight. “We can talk in the morning. Right now, you just need to rest.”
She presses a soft, lingering kiss to the crown of his head. “Just go to sleep, Tim. I’m not going anywhere.”
Tim lets out a long, shuddering sigh, letting his eyes close as the warmth of her presence finally starts to quiet the noise in his head. Soothed by the steady, familiar beat of her heart beneath his cheek, he finally begins to drift.
Lucy holds him close, waiting until she feels his muscles relax fully, the telltale sign that he’s fallen asleep, before she drifts off herself.
We'll make it through this.
—