Steele’s voice cut through the smearing charm Garrett had tried to reply. His voice hitched, but he thought better of it when he looked back at Steele. He looked at me one more time, as if trying to decide if it was worth it, but he decided wisely and went into the office. I walked over to Steele and put a hand on his shoulder.
“You OK?”
He didn’t respond. He didn’t even look at me. I bit my lip, wondering if I should even stay here. I walked across from him and sat in the chair Garrett had just occupied. I waited for him to speak, but Steele didn’t even lift the beer in his hand to his lips once.
“Steele?”
I touched his arm again. What the hell had happened?
“I came by to discuss what you said this morning—”
“My mom died last night.”
Oh, Steele…
I dropped my hand from his arm. It felt wholly inappropriate to touch him without him turning to me or asking for me.
“Fucking heart attack.”
Finally, he took a sip of his drink. I could only pray it medicated him and not angered him.
“I could have been there if the cop wasn’t corrupt. I could have hurried over, maybe had a last moment or two with my mother before she died.”
I bit my lip. Steele’s voice was devoid of emotion, as hollow as an empty barrel.
“But the piece of shit Sheriff had to make a point. And because of that, I wasn’t there for my mother.”
He took a sip of his alcohol.
“Just like I wasn’t there for the rest of them.”
“The rest of them?”
“Stan and my father.”
And just like that, Steele told me everything. But it was almost haunting to hear it without emotion, without anger, without grief. I wanted to hold him, but I wasn’t sure that Steele wanted to feel anything, physically or otherwise.
“And I blame myself for not bringing justice yet,” he said. “I get that I couldn’t have when Stan and my father died. I was just a kid then. But I’m not a fucking kid now. Sure haven’t been since they died. And yet…”
He finally—finally—looked at me. His sunglasses made it very difficult to see his eyes, but at this angle, I could just barely get a glimpse. He was looking directly at me, although he was doing so from the side, like he was trying to fool me by having his sunglasses look one way while his eyes looked right at me.
“Now we’re here,” he said. “And now you risk becoming the next in that line of deaths around me. And you know what? Maybe I get myself in trouble by promising things I can’t keep. But I feel pretty good about promising this. You and me? We can’t be a thing. I can’t protect the ones I care about. They always die.”
“Steele…”
But this time, his eyes really did look away. He took a sip from his beer and let it fall to the ground. It made a clinking sound, thankfully not shattering upon impact. I didn’t think Steele gave two shits either way.
“Elizabeth, we had a fun little fling, you and I,” he said. “And I’m grateful for it. You understood me better than Tara ever tried to—some of that’s my fault, I’m sure—and you proved to be someone who went well beyond the image I had of you. But I promise you, you stay with me, and it won’t work out.”
Just as I had felt the surge to rebel against my father, just as I had felt the surge to fight back against the cop, I felt it here with Steele. But unlike those two, I had to choose my words very carefully. I didn’t want to sadden or close off this grieving man any further.
“We can if we choose to,” I said. “If we don’t lead to anything, let’s do so because we find out we’re not a good fit for each other. Let’s do so because we can’t be good for each other. Not because we think a town is too unsafe. There are people who date over much greater distances than big city and small town, you know.”
Steele snorted and didn’t say anything.
“It’s OK for this to not be perfect,” I said. “I don’t want to put myself in the same spot Tara was in with the Bandits. But that was…”
It was a scenario I did not think was likely to repeat itself. At least, that was what I thought at first.
