Tim Bradford did not fall.

She’d heard about him before she even met him—tough, all about discipline, didn’t have time for what he called “soft policing.” Which, apparently, included her

She was new to the LAPD’s pilot program, embedding social workers with officers to de-escalate certain calls. Tim had been skeptical from day one.

“If things go sideways, you’re not trained for that,” he’d said on her first ride-along.

“Neither is half of the department,” she’d shot back.

So, yeah. Not exactly besties.

And then—this happened.

She wasn’t even sure how. One second, they’re were both stepping into a front yard on a welfare check, and the next—pure chaos. A broken porch step, a rogue garden hose, a very unhelpful cat darting between legs.

And suddenly, Tim—unshakable, Tim—was crashing into her.

It was a full-body, limbs-tangling, breath-knocking, straight-to-the-ground kind of fall.

All 200 pounds of Tim Bradford on top of her.

There was a beat of stunned silence.

There’s gonna be so much paper work.

—

Which is how they ended up here.

Rocking side to side in the back of an ambulance, awkwardly seated across from each other as a paramedic cleaned up a scrape on her arm. Tim had a forming bruise on his temple, a few scrapes of his own.

For once, he was quiet. Contemplative.

“…Still think we’re useless?” She asked after a moment, raising an eyebrow.

Tim exhaled through his nose, looking at her like she was the most exhausting person he’d ever met.

But then—just barely—the corner of his mouth twitched.

“…Ask me again when I can feel my ribs.”