Protecting His Heart: a Small Town Cop Romance

20 years ago

Twelve-year-old Ian McCleary sat on the edge of the hospital exam table, his feet swinging above the cold linoleum floor. The room smelled like antiseptic and something faintly metallic—probably blood. His own. He clutched his right arm with his left, fingers digging into his sleeve as if holding it tighter might make the pain fade faster. It throbbed less now, more of a dull ache than the sharp shock it had been.

The doctor said it was broken.

Broken.

The word echoed in his mind like a shout in a tunnel. He’d been roughed up before—plenty of bruises, a few split lips, the occasional black eye. But never this. Never a bone snapped clean through like he was made of kindling.

He peeked up at his best friend’s dad, Kent Lawson, who was pacing the length of the exam room, back and forth like a bear in a cage. The man’s broad shoulders nearly filled the narrow space, his work boots making soft thuds against the tile. Kent was a big guy, but not once had Ian ever felt afraid of him.

Not like he was of his own father.

Ian lowered his eyes. His stomach churned. His arm might’ve stopped hurting as much, but the inside of his chest felt like it was being slowly torn open.

“Ian, son…”

Kent’s voice cut through the silence, low and steady. He stopped in front of Ian and knelt down, bringing them face to face.

Ian froze, every muscle going tight. He knew that voice. That tone. Something important was coming. Something hard.

“I need to ask you a question,” Kent said, his eyes locked onto Ian’s. “And I need you to answer honestly.”

Ian’s heart pounded in his ears. He tried to speak with confidence, to sound like he wasn’t just a scared little kid, but his voice cracked anyway. “Yes sir.”

Kent laid one heavy hand on his shoulder—warm, solid, not rough like his father’s—and Ian didn’t flinch. He felt the heat of it, and a strange flutter of safety beneath his ribs.

Kent spoke slowly, his voice like gravel rubbed smooth. “This isn’t the first time your father has hit you, is it?”

Ian’s breath caught. His eyes dropped to the floor, shame crawling over his skin like ants. He thought he’d hidden it. He really had tried. He’d worn long sleeves in the summer. He’d laughed off the bruises, said he’d fallen off his bike. But they’d noticed.

They knew.

His chest tightened, another feeling surging up fast and mean.

Hate.

He hated what his father had done. Hated the lies he’d had to tell. Hated the fear that never quite left him, even when he was laughing with Jamie or eating Mrs. Lawson’s pancakes or sitting next to Kent at a ball game.

But… could he say it out loud? Could he betray his own father?

His throat closed up. He thought of the Lawson house—how it was always full of music and smelled like laundry and something sweet in the oven. He thought of Carly giggling when Jamie messed up her hair. Thought of Mrs. Lawson putting extra cheese on his spaghetti and calling him sweetheart. Of Mr. Lawson teaching him how to put a worm on a hook.

He loved them.

Loved them like he’d never dared love anyone before.

And it made everything hurt worse.

His voice, when it came, was barely above a whisper. “No sir.”

Kent didn’t say anything right away, but his hand tightened slightly on Ian’s shoulder.

Ian’s thoughts swirled. Had he done the right thing? He’d answered truthfully. But still, that nagging voice echoed: Maybe you deserved it. Maybe if you hadn’t mouthed off. Maybe if you’d gotten the chores done faster. Maybe—

“It’s not your fault, son.”

Kent’s voice cracked around the words. His usual booming tone had gone rough, like it had to fight its way out of his throat.

Ian blinked hard. No. No, he wasn’t going to cry. He’d promised himself. He always cried alone, under his blanket or in the shower when no one could hear.

But this pain wasn’t from the broken arm or the split lip. This was something he didn’t understand, and it made his eyes sting in a way he couldn’t stop.

“The doctor’s going to put a cast on that arm,” Kent said, rising to his feet, his hand still a steady anchor. “Then we’ll take you home.”

Home.

Panic surged like a wave, crashing through his chest. Back there? Back to him?

He must’ve tensed up again, because Kent squeezed his shoulder, his voice low but firm.

“You’re going home with us.”

Ian finally looked up, his vision blurred, his heart hammering.

And for the first time in a long, long while, he let himself believe he might actually be safe.