Play Pretend

3: Second Chance

3: Second Chance

Connor Rogers

I brought out my best smart casual wear I could find. I actually fixed my hair before I went, and I took Carrie’s Honda instead of my bike.

But just before I went, Carrie stopped me by the driveway. She came up to me and placed something in my hand.

It was Dad’s favourite beads necklace.

Carrie must’ve kept it secretly since he passed away. She was a daddy’s girl after all.

I looked up at Carrie, who had a soft expression on her face, the one that she would always have when she was thinking of our parents. “Mom and Dad would be proud of you, Connor,” she said shakily.

I gave her a grin and slipped the necklace over my head before hopping into the car.

* * *

Jason was right.

Sergeant Aaron Colton was nothing like Simmons.

He was waiting outside the headquarters when I had arrived, and to my surprise, he was not even in his uniform. He just stood there, phone in hand, leaning against the wall in polo and jeans. He looked perhaps in his mid-thirties, if not younger, judging by his light brown hair.

I parked quickly and approached him, making sure I did not kick my heels into the sidewalk as I approached. “Sir,” I started.

He looked up from his phone and smiled at me, “Connor,” he extended a hand, and after a bit of hesitation, I took it.

“Come on in,” he said, “we’ll talk in my office.”

His office looked as casual as he was. Perhaps it was the light colour of the furniture. Perhaps it was the different crime fictions that were on the shelves. Perhaps it was the pictures of him and his family on his desk.

“Take a seat,” Aaron offered, and I took a seat opposite him, separated by a small desk that was filled with notes, pictures and his laptop.

“So, you want to be an agent here,” he started, and I nodded eagerly.

“Yes sir.”

“Aaron is fine,” he smiled, “why, may I ask?”

“I want to try something different, I guess,” I gave him the truth without a second of hesitation.

He nodded, and scribbled something down, “I read through your application form, and you said your skill is–” he peered at the paper again, “–‘hands-on combat’?”

“I do boxing,” I offered, which wasn’t entirely true. But my style of fighting was pretty much boxing.

“Right,” he muttered, frowning and lacing his fingers together, the way Knight had done she was making a judgement. It scared me a little, honestly.

“Connor,” my head snapped up when he called my name, “I think you may be well-aware of this, but I’ve done a little background check on you.”

I gulped. Yes, I knew that was coming. It was simply a matter of time.

“Yes sir.”

“And it appears that you have been in the juvenile detention centre for six months.”

I took a deep breath. Come on, Connor, you expected this. “Yes sir.”

“What are your thoughts on that?”

My eyes met his gaze, and I frowned. That I wasn’t expecting.

“Well, I knew what I was back then,” I said slowly, “I was a pric – I mean, a pretty uncontrollable person back then, more than a normal teenager would be. But I knew what I did wrong, and I’m willing to change.”