𝟏𝟗𝟖𝟖 | 𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐂𝐀𝐆𝐎

jack walsh finally had “the duke”. notorious, highly annoying white collar criminal, in handcuffs. he could finally deliver him back to eddie, and get the $100,000 he was promised. but as he looked around the chicago airport, waiting for the flight to los angeles, all he could think about was you.

it was stupid. it’d been years since he’d been back to your chicago home, or even seen you. or his daughter. and you were married. to another cop, just to add salt in the wound.

but his worn leather jacket felt heavy on his back, and the thought of you weighed heavy on his mind. the watch you bought him that he still wore, even though it hasn’t been the right time for years, the photo of you together that’s stayed in his wallet, the feel of your skin that’s he’s never forgotten…

enough. you didn’t love him anymore. just like you said when he left, all those years ago. which is what he told himself, as he stood outside your front door.