This is so weird.

Once you've moved away from home, coming back never quite feels the same. I've lived in the city for almost ten years now and my life's been turned upside-down. A father in prison, a career in uniform that's anything but glamorous, and a small apartment in the East Village. But it's my life. If anything, coming back to Westchester makes me appreciate it even more.

I went to high school with a lot of the people here. Half the cheerleading squad I recognize in the crowd, baby strollers in tow, here to drop off their BMW SUVs, mix and mingle, and playfully hoot over the smiling men dutifully soaping them up.

It's a warm, late-spring day that slips into evening and a new rush of people make their way over after the work day. The whole thing is quite innocent. It's funny to me that Hailey thought this would be a downright scandal when really, these firefighters were just sweet, older men - who did indeed keep their shirts on, along with some guys I knew from high school who were all married with kids now, and one or two who seemed barely of legal drinking age. It was sort of endearing to see them having a good time, blushing now and then at the attention, hard at work scrubbing tires and hosing down expensive cars.

I park myself at the folding table outside the station with the Chief's teenage daughter, collecting and counting money. It keeps me busy and helps me not to dwell on how many of the people here still hate my family. There are some judgmental gazes and faces when old neighbors question me about what I'm up to now and I tell them I'm a cop. As if my dad's choices somehow make me unfit to wear the badge. But for the most part, people have moved on.

Later that night, I watch the bubbles slowly disappear from around my knees as I ease back into the oversized bathtub. This is heavenly compared to my cramped, sad little shower in Manhattan, so I intend to spend the rest of my night right here.

Grasping my beer bottle that I set on the rim of the tub, I peer at my phone and decide to give Jamie a call. I meant what I told him when I said that he's my best friend, so it felt strange to go all day without talking to him.

At this time of night, I knew his tour would be over and unless he was at the bar, or on a date, my bet was that he was home watching baseball. And probably eating a salad.

My thumb finds his contact and I arch my head back while I wait for him to pick up.

"Janko."

"Um, yes. Is this Jamie Reagan?" I tease. "I found your police courtesy card and word on the street is you let cute girls from the parking garage stay in your bed, and I was wondering-"

"You-" He laughs, "will never let me live that down, will you?"

"I'm still salty about it."

"She never stayed in my bed, by the way."

"Mm," I hum. "Such a nice boy."

"For the most part. So are you all done for the day?"

"I am."

"And the fireman parade… thing," he manages, and I have to roll my eyes, amused. "How was it?"

"Oh, it was just downright outrageous. All of my wildest fantasies come to life."

A rumble of laughter sounds through the phone. "I bet."

"No, it was fun, though," I tell him. "But tame. Hence how I'm calling you at nine o'clock at night from my parents' house."

"Come on. No phone numbers, no dates, nothing?" He presses.

"It was a shallow pool, Reagan," I chuckle. "Including my date to tenth grade Homecoming who ditched me that same night, Russell Wyatt, now of ladder 19. He tried to get my number today."

"Ditched you?"

"Oh yeah. Homecoming 1998. Midway through the dance, he was nowhere to be found. Turns out he had left with some other girl who I guess promised him a way better time. I had to walk to a payphone and call my mom to come pick me up. Kids today with their cell phones will never know the struggle."

He laughs again and the sound of it makes me smile, despite the sore memory. "What a dick. No doubt he saw you today and hates himself."

"I hope so. I hope he shamefully jerks off to memories of me and regrets all of his life choices."

I hear him crack up even harder and it's like I can picture it. It's one of my favorite reactions I get from him. "Oh god," he groans. "Too bad for him. Did he wind up washing your car?"

"I actually didn't bring the Porsche." It's weird, even though I don't really care one way or another about whether it gets washed at some fundraiser, Jamie's faux jealousy over someone else getting their hands on it was somewhat endearing and I decided to leave it at the house for the day. "I was just a volunteer for Hailey more than anything."

"Ah." He pauses and I hear the soft exhale on his end, like he's taking a swig from his own beer. "Where are you? What is that?" He asks.

"What?" I bring one knee up and realize he must hear the water when I shift in the tub. "Oh, I'm taking a bubble bath."

It's quiet for a moment and then he eventually clears his throat. "Oh."

I can't help the slight smirk that surfaces on my lips and I trail my fingertips along the bubbles at my thighs. "So how was your day? Another reminder that you have the smartest, most beautiful partner on the force?"

"Yeah, yeah. She's not bad." He muses. "I gotta get in line, though. Bridges spent half the day asking about you and whether you're single. Same crap I get asked all the time. We gotta get you an agent."

"Oh please," I groan. "Says the NYPD golden boy. If I had a dollar every time some girl we pass on patrol makes a crack about how you could handcuff her anyday."

"Eh, the handcuffs are overrated. People don't realize."

"Right?" I laugh softly into the phone.

"Other than having to shut that down, it was a pretty quiet day."

"Well good."

"So when are you due back tomorrow?" He asks. "We should hang out before work."

I sigh. "I don't know, no rush, really. You want to come out here? Spend the day with me in the suburbs?"

There's a brief pause on the line while he takes another sip of his beer. "Yeah let's do that. I'll take the Chevelle, I can bring you back so you don't have to ride the train."

I smile. "I like that."

"Alright. Well I'll head up there around lunch time." There's a soft lull on the phone before he tells me, "Enjoy your… bubble bath."

The quiet shift of his voice unsuspectingly sends a swell of heat from my chest that stretches lower. I touch the cool glass of my beer bottle to my lips and I feel the corners there flick upward. "I will."

The words we don't say buzz beneath my skin, flicker with possibility in my brain. I picture him there on the other end, relaxed in his apartment, and savor the almost-sleepy rasp of his voice as I sink down lower in the bubbles.

I really should have clothes on when I talk to him.

"Goodnight Jamie."