“It was good seeing you, Steele,” she said, giving me a quick but genuine hug. “And you don’t have to do this, but I think you should. It would be nice if Elizabeth could say the same again for you soon.”
I nodded. I understood. Not in Santa Maria, but maybe elsewhere.
Tara got in her car. I got on my bike. She went west, and I headed south. And just like that, the two of us went our separate ways again.
And this time, I didn’t have to force the feeling of moving on. I really had.
For perhaps the first time since before Sheriff Davis had thrown me in the jail on the bullshit public indecency charge, I felt good. I wouldn’t say great, but I felt like things would get better. I could see a point in the near future where Elizabeth and I would hang out and I could do so without the shadow of my last relationship hanging over it.
I could—
Sirens filled the air.
“Are you fucking shitting me right now,” I growled.
I pulled over, got out my license and registration, and waited for Sheriff Davis to approach. I should have known that life couldn’t keep going this smoothly. Something would have to come along.
It’s not always perfect. Don’t lose your shit with the sheriff.
Sheriff Davis came up to my side.
“You know that you were speeding, right?” he said, and he held out his radar gun to prove it. “Sixty-one in a forty-five, Steele. You can say all you want at me—”
“Don’t you need to ask for my license and registration?”
Sheriff Davis looked like he was about to say something shitty to me before he accepted the documents. He returned back to his squad car without a word. Already, just the fact that I didn’t immediately get arrested for harassing an officer was an improvement of some kind.
I twiddled my fingers as I sat on my bike, waiting for the sheriff to give me a ticket of hopefully just a hundred bucks or so. My phone buzzed in my pocket. I was normally loathed to check it whenever pulled over, fearing the sheriff would use it as an excuse to charge me with something, but since he was in his car, I checked. It was from Brock.
“Bandit attacking shop. Get over here.”
Fuck!I looked back. Sheriff Davis was still checking my docs. I had a gun in my seat compartment I could use, but I couldn’t use it from a couple miles out. I had to hurry up. But if the fucking sheriff wasn’t going to let me go…
Take a risk.
I got off my bike, walked over to the sheriff, and held my hands up as I approached.
“The hell are you doing, Steele?”
“Asking if you pulled me over because I was speeding or because you needed to hold me back from something.”
“The fuck sort of—”
“The auto repair shop I work at is under attack by the Bandits right now, and I know you’re not going to help,” I said. “So you got two options. You can keep pocketing their bills, be a coward, and let this town dissolve into more chaos and despair. Or you can fucking let me take charge, you can let me go, and I can help fight back the Bandits—and you, someday, can be an actual sheriff of this town. What’s it going to be?”
The sheriff glared at me. He looked at my documents. He looked back at me, fierce anger in his eyes. I refused to back down.
And then he gave his answer.
