I've spent so long being the good daughter, trying to please everyone, avoiding conflict. Look where it's gotten me—Lance still controlling my life from jail, my mother choosing his family over me, and Sawyer paying the price for protecting me.
I'm done being a victim. I'm done being a people pleaser.
If my mother wants a fight, she's going to get one.
Chapter 26
Sawyer
Something’swrongwithAlice.
It’s been three days since I told her about Tracy’s complaint, and she’s been avoiding me. Not obviously. She still responds to my texts, still says hello when I stop by the bank. But there’s a distance that wasn’t there before.
Yesterday I texted asking if she wanted to grab lunch. She said she was too busy at work. This morning I stopped by the bank for coffee, and she barely looked at me while processing my deposit. When I asked if everything was okay, she just smiled and said she was fine.
“You look like someone kicked your dog,” Chris says, sliding into the passenger seat of the patrol car.
“I don’t have a dog.”
“It’s a figure of speech, old man. What’s eating at you?”
I pull out of the station parking lot and head toward our patrol route. “Alice has been acting weird since I told her about the complaint.”
“Weird how?”
“Distant. Like she’s trying to avoid me without making it obvious.”
Chris is quiet for a moment. “You think she’s having second thoughts about you?”
“I don’t know. Maybe she feels guilty about the whole thing.”
“The complaint isn’t her fault.”
“But Alice…” I shake my head. My grip tightens on the steering wheel. “She blames herself for everything. She probably thinks if she stays away from me, it’ll make the complaint go away.”
“Will it?”
“No. Tracy isn’t going to drop this just because Alice keeps her distance. If anything, it’ll probably make her think she’s winning.”
This is exactly what Tracy wanted. Drive a wedge between us, make Alice feel like she’s toxic to anyone who tries to help her.
We drive in silence for a few minutes, past the elementary school and around the town square. The radio crackles with static between calls.
“So what are you going to do?” Chris asks.
“I don’t know. Part of me wants to show up at her house and make her talk to me. But—”
“Then showing up at her house might make it worse.”
“Exactly.” I sigh.
My radio crackles with a call about a fender bender on Main Street. We respond and spend the next hour dealing with two drivers who can’t agree on whose fault it was. By the time we’re done with the paperwork, it’s end of shift.
“I'll catch you later, man,” Chris says as we head back to the station.
I nod without saying anything.
The Cozy Cup is busy when I walk in, the smell of espresso and cinnamon mixing with conversation, the usual after-work crowd grabbing coffee and catching up on local gossip. I scan the room but don’t see Alice anywhere.Of course not.
