robbie-riveraâ:
of all the people that would knock on the deputyâs door at five in the morning, while wade would stir in the wake of another policeâs failure, robbie never have expected it to rosalyn. fletcher, perhaps, for work. daisy, even, who he still wondered why he did not arrest tonight, why he let her go while some of her friends (he assumed) got in. robbie had been utterly exhausted. today did not seem to want to end; the deputy had left the station not more than forty minutes ago, and his empty home did not hold the same peace it usually provided. the silence was heavy with todayâs implications and robbie practically punched the radio open.
his brain short circuited as she spoke, something about him calling her doctor white, it seemed. wasnât she, though, a doctor? fletch had requested the aid of doctor white, not rosalyn. not rosalyn, who used to smoke in silence next to redâs wall with him, while he listened to the night. not rosalyn who spoke of elephant mugs and shared experiences with stupid people. both of those women were the same, though. and perhaps heâd thought that at least one of them was his friend, or ⌠was on the path of being a friend. the damn knife in his back said otherwise.
still, even though robbieâs feelings had been hurt, he would do what he always did : bottle them up, put them aside, and ignore them. maybe heâd follow fletcherâs example and punch a wall, but that could wait another time, where all his limbs felt like lead. he felt depleted, and that was probably the reason why the door opened wider for rosalyn, an invitation to come in. she did look worse for wear, and a small part of robbie felt sorry for her.
âplease come in,â always polite, he was raised well. ârosalyn.â
the door closed without much a sound, and robbie felt suddenly underdressed, vulnerable in his own home. while his own appearance was usually well-put together, he knew he looked a mess, an old sweater on (it read the name of an old unit, faded), his sweats hanging low, hair wet from the quick shower. seeing roz, though, she did look as a mess as he was, and that settled something in his chest.
gesturing to the kitchen table, inviting her to sit as he prepared the coffee (he let his forehead fall on the cabinet for a second, what the hell was he doing, he should be asleep, she should be asleep, josie should be found and dead, six feet under) any fight he could have had in him, gone. âif youâre looking for a fight, iâm really not in the mood.â leaning his back on the counter, the deputy kept his eyes the coffee, watching it fall and drip in the pot.
Part of her was expecting him to send her away, giving her any excuse in the book to get her to leave and go home where she probably should have been right then â and he wouldnât be wrong. It was nearly five in the morning, nocturnal animals were beginning to burrow into their respective dens despite the sun not peaking out from the horizon quite yet. Thereâd been countless moments like this where sheâd be gazing out the window, watching the sunrise with a forlorn expression as she wondered if sheâd be able to make it through another day â and she almost did the very same thing only minutes earlier, but her mind had been occupied on other things.Â
On someone.
And it bugged the hell out of her.Â
Swallowing thickly, Rosalyn stepped inside his house, eyes looming the unfamiliar space with a slight hesitation. She didnât go over to peopleâs houses â to menâs houses, no less. The woman wrapped her cardigan tighter around her small frame, the loose braid that gathered her long, dark dresses unkempt and tangled over her shoulder. She looked like a mess, she felt like a mess, but at least Robbie appeared to be in a similar boat if not more so. To be fair, he probably had more reason to be than she did.
Rosalyn hesitantly sat down at the table, perched stiffly upright. Tense, and she could tell she wasnât alone in that. She looked up at him from her seat, tongue poking at her cheek when he refused to meet her gaze. "And even if I was?â she questioned, rather than answering him outright. âYou let me in anyway. There must be some part of you that is.â A bad attempt at humor, sure, but even she wasnât laughing.
"Youâre pissed that I helped Fletcher,â Rosalyn began, pushing a stray piece of hair behind her ear. âYou resent the fact that you werenât told of my involvement. I get it, but...â she shook her head. âIt wasnât my secret to tell. It was his. You know that, donât you?â















