“So your parents don’t live here?”

“You like spaghetti?” he asked, perhaps to change the subject. “I make my own sauce from scratch.”

I nodded. “Sounds good.”

A moment of silence elapsed, and I wasn’t expecting him to answer my question about his parents, so I got a surprise when he did.

“Mum died when I was fourteen. Overdose. Dad left when we were little, but he still comes around every so often. Waste of fucking space.”

I sucked in a breath. “I’m sorry to hear that. Who took care of all of you after your mother passed?”

Lee cocked an eyebrow like I was being nosy, which I was. “Took care of ourselves. My aunt, Sophie’s mum, fooled social services into believing she was moving in to care for us. What she really did was dump Soph here, then fucked off to live with her junkie boyfriend while getting a nice little government payment every month.”

He was chopping tomatoes, onions, and garlic as he spoke, throwing them all into a blender.

“But if she took the money, how did you survive?”

He paused, looked me dead in the eye, and asked low, “How do you think we survived?”

I stared back at him, and in spite of what he was inferring, sympathy churned in my gut. I didn’t know how to respond. He pointed his knife at me for a second, which was a little jarring.

“Everybody’s always so quick to judge, but we’re all born into our own patch. Some patches are worse than others, and yeah, most of the time you get a choice on what way to live. Trouble is, sometimes the choice is between bad and worse. I had two choices, and if I had picked the one I didn’t, my brothers would’ve been split up and shipped off to a bunch of shitty care homes, where they’d-a been turned into victims. Instead, I chose the other option and turned them into survivors.”

I stared at Lee, but he didn’t meet my gaze, concentrating on the food instead. It made me uncomfortable to see things from his perspective. I’d always looked on the world from the viewpoint of a cop. Somebody who stopped people from taking what didn’t belong to them. The problem was, some people had nothing, and their only option was to take.

There were so many things I wanted to say. Like, why didn’t Stu get a job to support them? He must have been at least sixteen at the time. Yeah, the best he could’ve done was minimum wage, but at least it was honest. Then again, I doubt that kind of money would support a house of five growing kids. Plus, Stu wasn’t exactly the sharpest tool in the shed. I could imagine him looking to Lee, who seemed a lot savvier, for guidance, and who obviously saw a more lucrative path.

“What I’m saying,” Lee went on, “is that we all have our reasons.” A loaded silence fell, and I grew self-conscious as he studied me. “So, what’s yours?”

My brow furrowed. “I don’t get you.”

“Somewhere along the way you decided to become a cop. What was your reason?” he asked, seeming genuinely interested.

I rubbed my palms on my thighs. “It’s a little more complicated than that.”

“Your old man?”

“What about him?”

“Did he push you?”

I laughed, resting my elbows on the counter, surprisingly engrossed by watching Lee cut vegetables. He had those fancy knife skills, like the chefs on TV. “No, actually. The exact opposite. He doesn’t think women are fit to be police.”

Understanding lit up his eyes as he grinned. “Ah, so you did it to piss him off. I knew there was a reason I liked you.”

My smile began to fade. “That’s only a part of it. I want to help people, too. A lot more than I want to stick it to my father.”

Lee’s eyes flickered between mine, his expression contemplative. “Yeah, I can see that.” A silence fell between us, and for the tiniest second I felt like we truly saw one another. All the flaws and all the good bits. The moment was broken when he continued, “Anyway, look, I’m not judging you for the thing with your old man. In fact, this means we have something in common. My dad’s a prick, too.”

“How do you know him?” I asked before clarifying. “My dad, I mean.”

“Now, there’s a story. Just let me get the spaghetti boiling first.” His reply intrigued me, and I waited as he put some dried spaghetti in a pot. Once he was done, he went back to the fridge, pulling out a can of beer and a bottle of white wine. He held it up to me. “This is Sophie’s. It’s got to be better than the shit you were drinking at the bar.”

I shrugged and he poured me a glass before popping the seal on his can. Taking a stool and resting his elbows on the counter, his posture almost matching mine, he recounted his story.

“So, I’d just turned eighteen and I was at my mate’s house party. Some weed was being passed around, the usual. All of a sudden, the lights went out and somebody starting banging down the door. A neighbour must have called the cops to come and break things up, and your dad was heading the team. Turns out the dealer at the party had been on their radar for a while, and your old man was dead set on booking him. Usually, I’d have been out the back window before you can say zip-a-dee-fuckin-doo-da, but I was shitfaced drunk. Before I knew it, your dad was slapping a pair of cuffs on me and hauling me off for a night in a jail cell.

“‘Is that a truncheon in your pocket, or are you just pleased to see me?’” I’d joked. Your old man didn’t take too kindly to that. Bastard twisted my wrist, nearly fucking broke it, and gave me a warning. “‘One more word out of you and I’ll have you up for drugs charges.’”

“‘Fuck you, I don’t have anything on me.’”

“‘You have whatever I say you have.’”

“Even though I was drunk, I knew to shut my mouth after that. Liam and Trev were still only young at the time, and I couldn’t afford to get sent away, even for a couple of months. I’ve had a few other run-ins with him over the years, and he’s a mean motherfucker. So yeah, my condolences and all that.”

I narrowed my gaze at him and shook my head. I didn’t doubt that my dad had said those things, but I was uncomfortable having Lee know what he was like, because that meant he also knew that my childhood wasn’t a walk in the park.

“I…I don’t know what to say. I’m sorry he did that,” I replied at length.

Lee levelled me with his eyes. “Yeah, well, I think the fact that you’re sticking it to him is the fucking business, Snap.”

He was back to calling me Snap again, but I just shook my head. It was a losing battle trying to get him to stop. Returning to the cooker, he poured his sauce into a pan, stirring it every so often. He made quick work of draining the spaghetti, and before I knew it, there was a plate in front on me. It smelled absolutely mouth-watering, so I could only imagine how it was going to taste.

“Um, thanks,” I said, glancing at him as I lifted the fork. I wanted to mouth a silent “wow” to myself when I finally tasted it. It was by far the best thing I’d eaten in a long time, and it was only spaghetti. I could just imagine what he might do with a more adventurous recipe.

“Well,” said Lee, “what’s the verdict?”

“Amazing,” I blurted before I could censor myself, and he grinned wide. “I mean, not that I’m the best judge. My work doesn’t leave a lot of room for fancy cooking. More often than not, I just end up grabbing something from the local takeaway on my way home.”

Lee’s grin didn’t falter, but his eyes did flick to the ceiling for a second.

For the past couple of minutes, I’d been trying to ignore the subtle banging coming from upstairs, but it was gradually getting louder. I glanced at Lee and he smirked, and then I laughed and he laughed, too. We shared a moment of eye contact before I shook my head.

“So, your brother is, uh, kind of vigorous.” I frowned at myself. Why the hell hadn’t I brought up a different topic? Like, say, one that didn’t involve discussing the fact that his brother and my best friend were having a roaring good time right above our heads.