“I am sorry about your mother, Steele, I really am,” he said, his angry tone suggesting otherwise. “But you had better watch what you say about your father and brother.”
“Oh, what, how it was obvious that the drunk driver that killed them was a fucking Bandit? But you did nothing about it? How’s it fucking feel, Davis, to know that the person most responsible for ripping my family apart has never so much as had cuffs on him? And now, how’s it feel to know that because of your bullshit ways, my mother died alone?”
“Steele—”
“No, shut the fuck up, Davis!”
I heard Officer Cone walk in, but to my shock, Sheriff Davis told him to stand down. He folded his arms and turned his eyes back to me.
“You know damn well what goes on in this town,” I said. “You know damn fucking well that the Bandits pay you a pretty dollar, and you just do whatever you can to help them. Sure, once in a while, you’ll press charges when the town’s outraged enough. But otherwise, you just let them live their lives as if the police don’t fucking exist. And because of you…”
I can’t ever have anyone close to me again.
No Elizabeth. Not that that was going to be a thing, but…
At least I won’t have to worry about any more family.
“Because of you, Davis, I’m alone now. At least I can handle it, but what happens when someone else in this town who can’t handle it is left alone?”
I thought I saw a momentary flash of unease from the sheriff. I was imagining it, surely. But was the fucking sheriff realizing the truth? Or at least accidentally revealing it?
Makes no damn difference. Not going to bring my mother back.
“You know your fucking duty,” I said. “Protect and serve? Who the fuck are you protecting, Davis? Who are you serving? Does the name on your badge say Bandits Sheriff? Or does it say Santa Maria Sheriff? You’re fucking failing. People aren’t just pissing on the streets and leaving shit on the ground. Love is lost because of those people.”
The sheriff unfolded his arms and put his hands on his hips. I opened my mouth, but I was running on fumes now. If I kept speaking, one of two things would happen. Either I’d start fighting him, or I’d just turn into an embarrassing emotional mess.
“You know what you need to do,” I growled before I spun around.
Office Cone briefly tried to block my way, but he looked over my shoulder, saw the sheriff make some sort of motion, and stepped aside. I never looked back, but I suppose I felt some sort of odd gratitude at not getting arrested for bullshitagain.
As soon as I got outside and got alone, though, I could feel the mask of anger and assuredness dissolving, leaving nothing but a sea of sadness and regret to crash over me. I hurried to put my sunglasses on so that no one could see me. I leaned forward on my bike, put my hands on my forehead, and fought like hell not to shed tears in the fucking police parking lot.
But it was a fight I struggled to win. My mother, gone. My father, gone. My brother, gone. I’d only had a good relationship with one of them, and that one—my brother, Stan—hurt most of all. But my mother dying…
That was horrible. Too fucking horrible. Predictable, yes, but we were just starting to develop something resembling a mother-son relationship. We would never have a hug-and-kisses relationship, but shit…
And now I’d never get that.
Death was too fucking final. It wasn’t never like Tara having said we’d “never” get back together. Life was the great provider. So long as you kept your heart beating and your mind functioning, you would always have a chance.
But death was the ultimate finalizer. Once it came and made its presence known, there was no turning back. I would never, ever get my mother back in the flesh. It did not matter if I screamed, cried, found Jesus, found Buddha, founded my own religion, mysteriously discovered a cure for cancer…nothing would ever bring her back.
That was what sucked the most.
Nothing.
Just…nothingness.
Brock had assigned Garrett and me to take care of the sheriff, but at this point, that just seemed futile. It was up to us to hunt down the Bandits with the resources given to us by Cole.
My phone buzzed in my pocket. I pursed my lips, sighed, and grabbed it. I prayed it was from one of the Black Reapers, for I assumed that none of them had learned what had happened to my mother yet. I needed an escape from reality.
When I looked down at my phone, though, it was not a Black Reaper. But it was not someone I ever would have expected to reach out to me, either.
Tara?
