The Detective and the Rockstar

Chapter 17

          The smell of the cold concrete hit her as she stepped into the dank dressing room. She sat on the bench and started unwrapping the tape from her knuckles. Her jaw hurt where Sandy had punched her, but her heart hurt more.

           She was confused. Annika had decided to concentrate on rebuilding her life. She had all intentions of doing it, but a facet of her refused to let go of Rio. She was caught in a net of fascination. The intrigue of being loved by a man like him had snagged her. She was helplessly being reeled in.

Annika had always believed she was a different sort of woman. She could throw a man with one arm and knock him out with one right hand. Annika always claimed she was not like those women who chased after men with embarrassing desperation. Now she realized, as much as she tried to be different, she still had the heart of a woman, and her heart was telling her that it wanted Rio.

"Hey, skinny! Good fight. You had me believing I would knock you out in the first round!" Sandy said as she threw her sweaty towel on the bench.

Annika gave her a smirk. "Never judge a book by the cover. Sometimes the words don't match."

"I'll say. I'm Sandy." She extended a hand.

"Annika." She shook her hand.

"Alright, Annika. You have a good night. I'm gonna hit the showers. See you around, pipsqueak."

Annika nodded and watched her walk away.

"Pipsqueak! Hah!" she laughed at the room.

The door opened, and two other women walked in. Annika pushed herself off the bench. It was time to shower and head home.

✵✵✵✵✵

          She stepped out of the giant concrete building. The sounds of the busy night surrounded her as she walked to her car. Horns honked, sirens blared, and music wafted in the air. People were walking along the streets, some of them in groups, others in pairs, and a few trekked solo. She wanted to enjoy the night like them, but Annika was drifting into a deep depression that threatened to destroy her. She wished she could go back and relive the day Eric died. This time, she would happily take the bullet and die.

          She stopped and looked at the pier across the four-lane street. A party boat was docked near Drifter's Bar, an establishment she and Eric used to frequent after a fight. It was a dank place with dim lights and rows of pool tables near the entrance. The carpet smelt like dust and mold, and the stools were faded and scarred. But she loved that place. She smiled to herself as happy thoughts floated in her head like fireflies in the darkness.

           She sighed, feeling her heart sink lower into her chest. Annika wished she could rip the treacherous thing out and stomp on it until it stopped beating.

           She walked toward her car, disappearing from the dull neon glow of the street lamp. She rounded the corner, keeping watch around her as she walked. A few people were still hanging around the now-empty parking lot. Most of the spectators had eloped to Drifter's Bar. She could hear the loud music as she walked in the dark, her boots clanging on the cold concrete.

          She pulled her gym bag closer to her body, trying to remember why she chose to park in such a lonely place. This was how women ended up on the bulletin board back at the station.

          She stopped, her heart beginning to race in her chest. She touched the cold steel of her firearm in the waist of her jeans. Someone was sitting on the hood of her car. They were looking at their phone as if they were passing the time until she returned.