“It’s open,” he said.

I went in.

The place was a wreck. Or at least for Chris it was. There were dirty dishes in the sink, a collection of empty beer bottles on the coffee table, lined up like soldiers, and several wadded, worn T-shirts taking up residence in front of the TV. And for the first time ever it didn’t smell like cologne or cleaner. In my bedroom, this mess would look normal, but he was fastidious.

“You okay?” I asked, looking around.

“Yeah, why?”

“No reason. It’s just . . . I’m used to it looking different in here.” I kicked off my shoes at the door; dropped my keys inside one.

He picked up four beer bottles and carried them, clinking against one another, to the recycling bin, and dropped them in with a crash. “Well, you’ll forgive me if I haven’t really been into housecleaning lately.” He rubbed his hand over his forehead a few times and then up through his hair. It stuck up. “Sorry. I . . . I have headaches. Bad ones. And I’m ready to get back to work.”

“That’s actually what I wanted to talk to you about.” I climbed onto my favorite bar stool. It was here that I’d first found an application for the police force, meant for me. It was here that I’d first really known that Chris believed I could be something more than a fuckup.

He sat on the stool next to me. “I can’t wait to hear how my going back to work will benefit you.”

“Well, don’t say it like that.”

“What other way is there to say it? Isn’t that why you’re interested in me going back to work? So I can do something for you?”

I thought about it. He was right. And I hated that he was right. It made me feel like a self-centered jerk. But I didn’t have time to coddle feelings. “I need you to find a file for me,” I said.

“Nope.”

“What do you mean, nope? You haven’t even heard what it is yet.”

He stood, walked to the fridge, and grabbed a beer. “I don’t need to know what it is in order to know I can’t do that for you.” He twisted off the cap with the bottom of his T-shirt and tossed it into the sink. It rattled around a few times.

“Since when does ‘can’t’ keep you from helping me out?”

“Since I don’t remember pulling files for you before, and if I did, I was wrong to do it. You want to be able to pull files? Go to the academy. Get the job. Then you can pull all the files you want.”

“We’re not going through this again. I already told you I wasn’t going to do that.”