We stood there for a second, both of us silent. The night pressed in around us, full of invisible things that used to be true.
Knox spoke first. “You want to come in? Coffee’s on.”
I shook my head. “No. Thank you.”
He nodded, and I could see the suspicion melting away, replaced by something else. Understanding, maybe. Or just the kind of sadness that doesn’t have a name.
I turned to go, but Knox called after me, voice softer now. “He’ll be back, Sheriff. He always comes back.”
The porch steps wobbled under my feet. I got to the truck, shut the door, and sat for a long time with the engine off, headlights cutting two pale cones through the night. My breath misted on the inside of the window.
I pressed my forehead to the steering wheel, knuckles white on the leather. I wanted to scream. I wanted to punch something until my hands were numb. I wanted to make sense of any of it, but I couldn’t.
Instead, I picked up my phone, stared at the empty message thread, and whispered the thing I hadn’t said to his face. The thing I’d spent my whole life avoiding.
I whispered it once, then again, just to see if I could survive it: “I love you.” It hurt in a way nothing else ever had.
I put the truck in reverse, backed out slow, and watched the lights from the house fade away in my mirror. I told myself Knox was right. That Ransom would come back. But right then, driving alone through the darkness, I wasn’t sure I believed it.
The drive home happened in slow motion. The dashboard clock flickered 11:47, then 11:54, then 12:03. I barely remembered the turns, the stop signs, the dead stop at the blinking red in front of Miller’s Feed. My hands knew the way without help from my brain.
When I pulled into my driveway, the headlights washed over the frost-silvered grass, making the yard look like the surface of the moon. I cut the engine and sat there, the tick-tick-tick of the cooling block filling the air. My breath ghosted on the window, and for a minute, I just stared at it, waiting for the condensation to run down like tears.
Inside, the house was even colder than before. The heat had shut off hours ago, the thermostat blinking a warning I didn’t bother to read. I shut the door behind me, locked it, and then pressed my back to the wood, waiting to feel something. Instead, I just heard the hollow echo of my own heartbeat.
The living room was a museum of absence. The couch where we’d sat together, me pretending to care about his dumb streaming shows while he dozed off with his feet in my lap. The blue mug on the shelf—how the fuck did that get back here? Had he snuck it in when I wasn’t looking? I crossed to it, picked it up, and traced the hairline crack by the handle with my thumb. I wanted to throw it, but I couldn’t. I set it back on the shelf, exactly where it belonged.
In the kitchen, the coffee pot was still set up from that morning, the cone filter full of spent grounds. I lifted the pot and poured the dregs down the sink, then ran the faucet until the water ran clear. I leaned over, staring at the drain, and remembered the way his hair always fell in his eyes when he wasconcentrating, how he’d make a face when he tasted the coffee, how he’d call me “old man” and kiss my cheek when he thought I wasn’t looking.
I gripped the edge of the sink until my knuckles went white. I wanted to scream. Instead, I turned off the tap and wiped the counter until it was dry.
In the hallway, I caught my reflection in the mirror. The face was the same as this morning, but the eyes were older, the red rims darker. I tried the neutral face, the one I’d practiced a thousand times, but it looked like a Halloween mask. I punched the wall beside the mirror, just hard enough to sting, and then did it again.
The pain helped, for a second.
I went to the bedroom, peeled off my shirt, and let it fall to the floor. I sat on the edge of the bed, hands on my knees, and stared at the patterns in the carpet. There was a stain from the time Ransom spilled red wine and tried to hide it with baking soda. I’d pretended not to see, because I liked the idea of something imperfect in the house.
I pressed the heels of my hands into my eyes, trying to block out the memory. Didn’t work.
I lay back, but sleep wouldn’t come. I tossed, rolled, punched the pillow, but nothing made it better. Every part of me was awake, every nerve screaming with the need to move, to do something, to fix it.
So I got up. I put my uniform jacket on, then took it off and let it drop to the floor. The badge glinted in the lamplight, the reflection stabbing me right in the chest. I stared at it for a long time, wondering if I’d traded the only real thing I’d ever wanted for the comfort of rules and appearances.
I walked back to the living room, past the blue mug, and collapsed on the couch. The cushions were cold, but they held the shape of a memory. I curled up, arms wrapped around myribs, and let the grief take over. It started as a single sob, sharp and sudden, then another, and another, until my whole body was shaking.
I cried like I hadn’t since my mother’s funeral, loud and ugly and relentless. My throat burned. My eyes ached. I punched the arm of the couch until the pain in my knuckles matched the one in my chest. I sobbed until there was nothing left, until the house was silent again except for the uneven stutter of my own breath.
The badge lay on the floor, catching what little light was left. The house was dark, except for the single lamp in the living room. The phone was in my hand, the message thread still open, still empty.
I stared at the screen, willing it to light up, to give me some sign that it wasn’t really over. That he’d come back.
But it didn’t.
And all that was left was the sound of the house settling around me, creaking and shifting in the cold, the echo of every word I hadn’t said, and the ache of an empty space where he used to be.
Chapter Eleven
~ Ransom ~
