Yes Please || c.g. {complete}

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28

.Carl.

"You're going to be great," Layla grinned as she straightened my tie and kissed me.

I exhaled as she pulled away. I was so nervous.

She studied my face. "You know that, right?"

I shrugged, picking up the folder with my résumé and transcripts from the counter. "I hope so." I took another deep breath and kissed her again before walking over to the door. "I'll be home in a couple hours. Wish me luck!"

"You don't need it!" she called after me as I left the apartment and closed the door behind me.

I was meeting Detective Juarez from the Chicago PD. He was one of my drill sergeants' brothers, and was supposed to hook me up with a job that would look good on my résumé for when I wanted to become a cop. He was coming down to the Yards from Pilsen to meet me. He chose fucking Zen Beanery of all places.

I peeked into the glass door before I went inside to try and size him up. I couldn't see him and I didn't want to be too weird, so I just gave up and went inside.

"Looking for me?" came a deep voice to my right.

I looked over and found a tan, muscular guy in a police officer's uniform sitting at a small table and smirking at me.

Well shit. "Oh, uh, no. I mean yeah. Hi, I'm-"

"Carl Gallagher," he cut in, standing to shake my hand.

I nodded with a sheepish grin, reminding myself to give him a firm handshake. Guys have a weird way of communicating through a handshake that can make or break an entire encounter; you have to be firm enough that you're not a pussy, but not so hard that you're just an asshole. Okay, Carl, now you're overthinking this.

"I'm Detective Emilio Juarez, CPD," he replied as he motioned for me to sit across from him.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, sir," I told him as I took a seat. "Thank you for meeting with me this morning."

Detective Juarez gave me a little smile and motioned for me to slide my folder over. "Let's see what you got for me, here, Mr. Gallagher."

I handed him my folder and he opened it up to study the papers inside. I sat twirling my thumbs in my lap, unsure what to do with myself.

"Millberry Military Academy," he said with a small grin. "Impressive school."

I nodded. "Yes, sir. Just graduated in May."

He looked up. "You have a bit of a juvenile record though, is that correct?"

Well shit. "Uh, yeah. Yes, sir, it is. A drug charge from when I was fourteen."

"Trafficking," he specified, a concerned look on his face. "Quite a bit of heroin."

Goddamnit. How detailed are juvenile records, for fuck's sake?

I looked down, feeling defeated. That brief time in my life would follow me forever. I would be washing dishes until I was seventy. Layla would be a fucking astrophysicist or whatever the fuck she was going to school for, and I would be washing her dishes like the fuck-up I was.

Suddenly I looked up. I would be damned if I let myself end up like that. "Yes, that is correct. I was a dumb kid growing up in a bad situation. I had no parental guidance and struggled for everything I had. I fell into some bad shi- er, stuff, and I did a lot of things that I regret in order to provide for my family," I said, my confidence suddenly making an appearance. "I served my time and was released early for good behavior. I turned my life around, and military school was a huge part of that."