25

My Side Of The Fence - Dan + Sha y

I sit at my desk, surrounded by the usual chaos of the station. Despite the hustle and bustle, I can't help but be amused by the banter between Daniels and Reynolds. Daniels' cocky attitude always sparks a response from Reynolds, and their exchanges are a welcome distraction from the grim realities of our job.

There are good days, of course, but when things go south, they go south fast. In my years as a senior constable, I've seen things that would make your blood run cold. From domestic disputes spiralling out of control, to the aftermath of violent crimes, the job exposes you to the darkest sides of human nature. There was this one time, a grisly scene at a remote farm, and another incident involving a drug bust that turned violent. But it's not just the violence; it's the raw emotion, the despair in people's eyes, that stays with you.

You have to be tough to make it in this profession.

I've never had to take a life in the line of duty, and I'm grateful for that. But there have been moments when the thought crossed my mind. I pray I'm never put in a position where I have to make that choice .

Amidst these thoughts, Daniels is currently boasting about his ability to charm anyone, while Reynolds remains sceptical. Stokes, always eager for entertainment, prods Daniels to demonstrate, much to Reynolds' reluctance.

"You're going to make me do this, in a room full of men?" Daniels protests, his scepticism evident.

Reynolds responds with a smirk, "Oh, come on, big boy. Too shy now?"

"Fuck, no. You're lucky Faulkner isn't around," Daniels retorts before reluctantly agreeing. "Just go along with me, yeah? Pretend you're the woman." Reynolds frowns at the suggestion.

"What? Why the fuck am I the woman?"

"How else am I going to demonstrate? You asked for it," Daniels explains, and I can't help but shake my head at their antics.

Daniels moves closer, picking up a bottle of hand cream from Reynolds' desk to kick-start his gambit. Trust Reynolds to have hand cream on his desk. Ever since his wife said his hands are too rough, he's been using it any chance he can get.

Reynolds dismisses the idea and says, "Forget it. Don't worry," before turning to walk back around to his desk, but Daniels' words halt him before he can go further.

"Hey, the other day, I came across this word," he says, pretending to study the label. "And for the life of me, I just can't pronounce it. Is it Jo-jo-ba?" He exaggerates the ‘J's' harshly.

"No. It's pronounced Ho-how-ba. The J is pronounced kinda like an H," Reynolds replies .

"Oh, wow. I didn't realise. What language is that?" Daniels feigns interest, moving closer to Reynolds.

"It's a Spanish term. Not many people actually know about it."

"Mhm," Daniels says, moving even closer to Reynolds and giving him a once-over. Well… this is playing out a lot differently than I thought it would. Is this his attempt at picking up a chick? If it is, then Reynolds is completely oblivious.

"You must have a good ear for languages, then," Daniels continues, nodding slowly, with a cocky smirk on his face. He looks like the biggest tool right now. In a room full of grown men.

"Nah, not really. My wife is—" Reynolds starts, but his voice trails off as he begins realising what's happening. Now, I can understand how this would play out differently if Reynolds were a female. I can see this working.

Stokes interrupts with a drawn-out wolf whistle, followed by Woody's unexpected compliment, "Fuck, I'm going to regret saying this, but that kinda... turned me on, a little."

The laughter that ensues, coupled with Woody's embarrassed blush, adds to the amusement of the scene, and I can't help but smirk behind my computer screen.

"All good, brother. I know I'm good," Daniels says with a wink.

"How did you even do that?" Reynolds asks, shock evident on his face.

"It's a talent, mate. Gets all the ladies," Daniels says, slapping his chest. "I'll teach you a few things."

I shake my head. Such a cocky prick .

"I'm married, you dickhead. I don't think I need it," Reynolds exclaims, and Daniels' eyes go wide.

"So fucking what? Just because you're married doesn't mean you can't keep your woman on her toes." And begrudgingly, I have to admit, the fucker has a point.

"Hey, you even got Bradley smiling," Stokes says, pointing at me.

"No way. Fuck off," Daniels interjects, looking over at me. I immediately wipe the smile off my face, trying to maintain a neutral expression.

"Did I make big ol' Bradley Bear smile?" Daniels says, attempting a baby voice that is more cringe than cute.

"Piss off, cunt," I reply, trying to sound annoyed, but failing as a chuckle escapes me.

Daniels grins triumphantly, clearly pleased with himself for breaking through my facade of indifference. Little do they know, it has nothing to do with them. Seeing Daniels spark up his pickup lines had me thinking of Amelia.

Reynolds adds in, "You know, I think I caught a smirk on his face earlier, too. Either Bradley is in a somewhat better mood today, or my eyes are deceiving me."

I roll my eyes. "It's the latter, trust me."

As much as I appreciate my mates' attempts to analyse my mood, they're missing the mark. The truth is, my improved spirits have everything to do with Amelia. Lately, thoughts of her have been a constant presence in my mind, her smile and laughter playing on a loop in my thoughts. I find myself looking forward to seeing her, as pathetic as that may seem.

It's a feeling I can't quite explain, but one thing's for sure—it has nothing to do with my mates.

I pull up outside my house and turn off the ignition, exhaling slowly. As I step inside, Liv is lounging on the couch, her AirPods in, lost in her own world. I drop my keys on the table by the door. The aroma of a chicken roast and vegetables wafts through the air, letting me know Mum is busy in the kitchen.

Fuck, if I thought I was hungry earlier, I'm starving now.

Dad sits at the dining table, meticulously cleaning his shotgun rifle with a microfibre rag—a routine that is both familiar and calming. I walk up to Mum and kiss her on the cheek. She startles, nearly dropping the wooden spoon she's holding.

"Jesus, Bradley. You gave me a bloody fright!" she exclaims.

"Sorry, Ma." She turns to look at the clock just above the window overlooking the side of our property.

"You're home early today."

"Yeah, got everything I needed done early. The big boss said I could clock off sooner." She shoots me a weird look.

"What?"

"Nothing. You're unusually chipper this arvo."

"Just hungry. Excited for dinner."

"Oh, well, you're just in time for tucker, then," she says with a smile, holding a mixing bowl in one arm while the other flips chicken pieces on a pan.

"Mhm." I walk past Mum and head over to where Liv is lounging on the couch. She spots me before I can scare her, but I still manage to ruffle the top of her hair and flick out one of her AirPods.

"Get up and help your mother," I mutter with a stern look.

She gives me a look that clearly says, Sure thing, bud, but my tone is serious, not teasing. I shoot her a glare, still standing over her, and she lets out a dramatic sigh.

"Fine."

"Good idea," I say, this time with a teasing edge.

She gets up, walks into the kitchen, and grabs an apron from the rack. My eyes meet Mum's, and she winks at me, mouthing, thank you. I nod in approval, feeling a small sense of accomplishment. I head to the steps, calling out to Dad.

"Xav gone home?"

"Ye. ‘Bout fifteen minutes ago."

Slight disappointment kicks in. For once, I'd actually been looking forward to seeing my brother this arvo. Lately, my mind's been all over the place. One minute, I'm fine, and the next, I'm worried about everything. Seeing Xav would've been a good distraction, a way to break free from my own thoughts for a while. But he's gone, and I'm left with my restless mind.

What if I mess things up with Amelia? She's young, with her whole life ahead of her. She might want to travel, chase her dreams, while I'm stuck here—duty-bound, living the same routine. I can't stop thinking about dinner the other night. How fucking natural it felt being around her, how easy it was to open up. And that's not even half of what I want to tell her. Fuck, there's so much more I want to share. But then the worry kicks in.

I'll just drag her down. She's Liv's best friend, for fuck's sake.

These thoughts, these doubts—they're just excuses, masking deeper fears. I need to face this head-on, sort out my shit, and figure out if I'm willing to risk it all for a chance with her.

But, fuck. I'm so tired of these endless questions. I'm sick of the doubts that keep screwing with my head. Just a few minutes ago, everything felt fine. Now, my mind's gone and fucked it all up. I'm pissed at myself for letting this spiral out of control.

Welcome to my brain.

I need a distraction. With a frustrated sigh, I grab my phone and hit Xavier's number.

The scent of sweat and metal fills the air as I step into the town's local gym, Xavier by my side. After I rang him up, I asked if he'd be down for a sparring match. Xav never turns down the opportunity for a brawl—and let's be real, I'm better at sparring than he is. Where else would he have learned how to fight? We're taught basic self-defence at the academy, and from there, I taught myself more advanced manoeuvres so I'd be prepared at all times. As Xavier and I circle each other in the ring, the scent of leather fills the air. Our gloves connect with a satisfying thud as we trade punches, each movement calculated and precise.

"You're getting slow in your old age, Xav," I tease, ducking under a swing and landing a jab to his ribs.

"‘ Old age ,' this cunt. I'm a year older than you—relax."

We circle each other again, my muscles tense and ready. The gym's fluorescent lights cast a harsh glow over us, highlighting every drop of sweat and every flex of our muscles. I throw a feint, trying to catch Xav off guard, but he reads it and counters with a swift right hook. I block just in time, feeling the impact reverberate up my arm.

"Nice try," he says, a smirk playing on his lips.

I don't respond, focusing on my footwork. Shifting my weight, I look for an opening. Xavier's quick, but I've got experience on my side. I fake a left hook and then drive a right jab into his side, making him stagger slightly.

"Lucky shot," he mutters, regaining his balance.

"Keep telling yourself that," I reply, my breath steady.

"So, what prompted today's session?" Xav asks, moving in a circle, hands up.

"Nothing," I grunt out, throwing a quick jab. "Does something need to prompt it?" Xav gives me a look, not buying it. He sidesteps and counters with a left hook that I block just in time .

"What, can a guy not spar with his brother just because? Fuck me," I mutter, dodging his next punch.

"No thanks. And no. Especially not if it's you," Xav retorts, his eyes narrowing as he throws another punch.

"What's that supposed to mean?" I grunt, feeling the sting of his hit on my shoulder.

"It means," Xav says, circling me, "you've got something on your mind. You always do when you call for an impromptu session."

I dodge his next punch and land a solid hit on his ribs, making him stagger. "Maybe I just wanted to kick your ass today," I say, a smirk tugging at my lips. Xav recovers quickly, his expression serious.

"Yeah, right. Spill it, Brad. What's really going on?"

I sigh, throwing another punch. "Just... stuff. You know how it is."

Xav blocks my punch and lands a quick jab to my side. "Yeah, I know. But it's better to talk about it than let it eat you up."

"I don't want to talk about it." Regret tugs at me for asking him to come.

"But you need to. You can't keep shit bottled up. Something's bothering you."

"Just need to let off some steam. Shut up now," I say through gritted teeth.

I throw another series of jabs, putting more force behind each one. Xav doesn't move quick enough, and I land one on his chin, but he recovers fast, grabbing me around the midsection and shoving me to the ground with an oof. He pins me down with his elbow, all up in my personal space, feeling like dead weight on me. The restrictive hold makes my blood boil, and I'm seconds away from kicking him in the balls if he doesn't get the fuck off me.

"Nah, I know you better than that, bro," Xav says, his face too close for comfort.

"Get. The. Fuck. Off. Me." My annoyance reaches a peak. With a grunt, I shove him off me with all my strength, and he falls to the floor beside me.

We both lie on the rubber mats, breathing heavily. The ceiling lights above us seem blindingly bright in the silence that follows. Xav breaks the silence first.

"So, is this about work?"

"No." I let out a frustrated sigh.

"Dad again?" he tries, turning his head to look at me.

"No," I mutter again, staring at the ceiling.

"Well, fuck. Give me something, mate," Xav sighs, exasperated. "Does this have anything to do with a girl?" I stay silent, my fists still clenched at my sides.

"Ah. I see," he says, a knowing tone in his voice.

"I don't know, okay? I don't know what the fuck is wrong with me." The words spill out before I can stop them.

Xav turns onto his side, propping himself up on one elbow to look at me better. "This is about Amelia, isn't it?"

I look at him in disbelief. "What? No," I say quickly. Then I pause, feeling the weight of the words I'm about to say. "Wait. How do you know? "

Xav snorts. "This all sounds way too familiar. Like déjà vu or some shit."

I frown, turning my head to look at him. "How?"

"Mate, you're acting just like I did when I first met Isla—confused, conflicted, scared shitless of messing it up," Xav says with a smirk.

"I don't know what it is," I sigh. "All I know is its confusing as fuck."

Xav chuckles. "Yeah, love'll do that to ya."

"This isn't love," I protest.

"Yeah, maybe not yet." He shakes his head. "Look, whatever it is, I think you're overthinking it, mate. If you like Amelia, then go for it."

I shake my head, frustration creeping in. "I shouldn't, though. She's Liv's best friend."

"So fucking what? She'll get over it," Xav exclaims with a frown.

"It's not that simple," I argue.

"Brad, listen to me," Xav says, his tone serious. "If this is a chance at actually finding someone special, don't let your misguided sense of duty stop you. You'll regret it. You don't get many shots at something real. And besides, Liv will understand." He stops, pondering his words. "Eventually... somehow."

I scoff a laugh. "Gee, thanks."

Xav shrugs. "Eh, how bad can it be?" There's only one way to find out, I guess.

"Look, I'm not one to talk," he continues. "But I think you're making it more complicated than it needs to be. Just trust your gut. "

How can I trust my gut when it's all mixed signals? My mind's a mess, constantly flipping between yes and no. We sit there on the mats, silence hanging between us.

"So... Amelia, eh?" Xav shakes his head with a smile. "You know. I saw it coming. She's cute, in her own quirky way. Can't blame you. She's got this whole shy, good-girl-next-door kinda vibe," he says, and I shoot him a glare, picking up my glove.

"You gonna keep going, wanker? Or do I need to shut you up?" I warn.

He starts laughing, raising his hands in surrender. "Relax, shittt." As I turn away, I hear him mutter, "Yeah, not in love, my ass," and I'm on my feet in seconds, gloves ready. He scurries away, still laughing.

"Dick," I mutter to myself, unable to stop the smirk spreading across my face.