Part of me wants to keep arguing. To push him away before he gets hurt worse. To save him from me. But the certainty in his voice makes something tight in my chest loosen. For so long, I’ve been used to facing things alone. Having someone refuse to abandon me, even when it would be easier, feels foreign and wonderful and terrifying all at once.
“Fine,” I say finally.
“Okay then.”
“We face it together.”
Sawyer smiles, the first real smile I’ve seen from him all evening. “Good. Because I wasn’t planning to give you a choice anyway.”
Despite everything, I laugh. “You're very bossy for someone whose career is on the line because of me.”
"Bossy works for me." There's a hint of a smile at the corner of his mouth. “My career is on the line because Lance Carlston is a stalker and your mother would rather protect him than you. You didn’t do anything wrong, Alice.”
I want to argue, but something in his voice stops me. Maybe he’s right. Maybe I need to stop taking responsibility for other people’s choices.
“So what now?” I ask.
“Now we wait for the state police to contact us. We tell them the truth. And we trust that justice will actually be served.”
“What about my mom?”
“We'll handle her.”
He pulls me closer, and I rest my head on his shoulder. His heartbeat is steady under my ear. My phone buzzes one more time with another text from my mother, but I ignore it. I turn it face-down on the coffee table.
For the first time in my life, I'm choosing someone who chooses me back. And no amount of threats or lawyers or complaints is going to change that.
My mother wants me to believe I'm not worth fighting for.
But Sawyer's proving her wrong every single day. And maybe, just maybe, I'm starting to believe him.
Chapter 31
Sawyer
Theconferenceroomatthe county courthouse feels smaller than it should with three state investigators sitting across from me. Gray walls, fluorescent lights, a table scarred with years of use. The air conditioning hums too loud. My uniform feels tight. Detective Morrison, a woman in her fifties with steel-gray hair, leads the questioning while the other two take notes. A recorder sits between us, its red light steady.
“Officer Edwards, let’s start with your first interaction with Miss Alice Campbell,” Morrison says, consulting her file. “Walk me through that day at the bank.”
I keep my voice steady, professional. “I was getting coffee when a customer became verbally abusive toward Ms. Campbell. He called her stupid and was being disruptive. My partner and I intervened to de-escalate the situation.”
“Was this intervention requested?”
“No ma’am. But the customer was causing a disturbance in a place of business.”
Detective Morrison makes a note. “And this was your first time meeting Ms. Campbell?”
“Yes.”
“But not your last.”
“No. I became a regular customer at the bank.”
“For coffee?”
“Yes.”
She looks up from her notes. “Officer Edwards, how many banks are there in Pine Hollows?”
