The 5 Stages of Grief

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Chapter 15, Sgt. Whitford

Once in a lifetime was more than enough – never, even better – but twice in the same fucking weekend? “I’ll be there as soon as I can. Need to pull myself together.”

“I need you sooner than that. This one’s attracting a lot of attention. They want it cleaned up and put away pronto, like yesterday. I want you at your best Scotty, no fuck-ups, capice?”

“Who is it Steve? Tell them to call back later – in a few hours.”

“Is that Lil? It isn’t, is it?”

“No Sam, it’s not. That’s over.” He looked across the bed to where Rhonda, Wanda? Fuck it, she calls me Steve, was lying, just the corner of the sheet covering what should have been a patch of hair but he doubted had been one for a long time.

The shout through his phone brought his wandering mind back to the situation, the Lieutenant practically stepping through the phone. “Are you hearing me Sergeant? One hour!” Click.

Scott sat, the silence ringing, lingering in his ear then shook the call from his mind and crawled back into bed and the warm, soft, body that lie there still half asleep. She purred and rolled over so he could nuzzle from behind, wiggled her ass on him to draw his attention. “Who was that baby? Do you have to go?” Her voice was still drowsy, not ready to wake without coaxing. He reached around with his right arm and playfully circled her nipple with his fingertips, she purred some more.

“Not just yet,” he said, feeling the warmth, the electricity emanating from her nakedness. He moved in, pulled her closer. “Soon, but not yet.”

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