Ipull into my driveway, putting the car in park. Work was slow, and I couldn’t help but think about how Trey looked last night. He'd stopped shaving and looked tired. Seeing his reaction—or lack thereof—after a good ride makes me wonder if I hurt him worse than I thought.
I pause before exiting the car and look at myself in the mirror. The dark circles under my eyes show through the makeup. I’ve lost some weight, and my hair needs to be washed soon. I just can’t find the energy.
You did this to him. You did this to yourself.
No, Daryl did this to us,I argue with my conscience.
Tap, tap, tap.
A rap on my window makes me jump, pulling me out of my negative thoughts.
An average-height man in a suit and tie stands next to my car. Bryce Young, the county sheriff, is with him. I feel the blood drain from my face, and I’m immediately on edge. I open thedoor and climb out. I’m sure it’s only a follow up about Trey’s truck—nothing more.
“Hi, Sheriff. Sorry, Trey doesn’t live here anymore. You’ll have to call him about his truck.”
“Uh.” The man in the suit glances at Sheriff Young. “Sorry, ma’am, I’m Detective Wilson. I’m actually here to speak with you. If you have a few minutes.”
A detective? Why does he want to talk to me? I grip my purse strap with both hands, glancing between the two men, trying to steady my breathing and remain calm. Bryce and I went to school together, but we were never close.
“Miss Hawkins, Detective Wilson and I have a few questions about your father, Daryl. Can we come inside and talk?”
Shit, shit, shit.
No, no, you cannot, because if Daryl sees you here, he’ll fucking kill me.“Um, now’s not a good time. I’m kind of busy,” I say, trying not to sound rude or guilty to thepolice, but this can’t happen. I know they can’t force me—I’m not under arrest; they just want to ask me questions about Daryl.
Detective Wilson’s eyes track my body language; he’s trying to read me. I stop spinning the ring on my finger, my biggest nervous tick. Even then, I know what he sees; inherited guilt.
Law enforcement has always made me uncomfortable. I don’t break any laws, but we all know who does and my father taught me from a young age to steer clear of badges. I respect and appreciate them, but I’m terrified to be anywhere near them.
“It will only take a few minutes. You’re not in any trouble—we’re only here to ask a few questions,” the detective assures me.
I shake my head and step toward my house. “I’m sorry, I can’t help you.” My voice shakes.
Bryce grips Wilson’s arm, stopping him when he goes to say more. He takes a business card out of his pocket and holds it out to me. “We understand. If you change your mind, please reachout. You can call or text this line. If you ever need anything, don’t hesitate to reach out.” I stare at the card before glancing around the street and surrounding houses like I’ll see Daryl watching me. I quickly take the card, shove it in my bag and retreat to the house.
I couldn’t stay home. It’s not rational, but I felt like Daryl already knew cops showed up at my house, and he would come for me. I was crawling out of my skin in that house.
Turning onto a back road at the ranch, I head for one of my favorite spots. No one knows I come here from time to time to think and escape. It’s on the far side of the ranch, just an old pull-off for loading and unloading horses, but the view is pretty. It’s peaceful.
I’ve always felt safe here.
Sitting in my car, I breathe through my ever-growing panic. Why did they want to talk to me? What questions did they want to ask? What did Daryl do? I’ll remain unable to answer those very questions unless I call the number on the card.
I don’t fight off the tears that start to fall. Why is this my life? I feel like I’m stuck living in a nightmare with no way to wake up. Will it ever change? I’ve never told a soul about Daryl forcing me to give him money, his threats, or anything else. I kept telling myself he’d get bored and stop showing up one day, but that day has never come.
I’ve lived like this for years, but I don’t know how much longer I can take it. I got a glimpse of happiness with Trey. What it felt like to have someone in my corner, someone who cared aboutme, someone who didn’t judge where I came from but instead valued who I am as a person. Then, like everything else good in my life, Daryl ruined it.
I’m sobbing, palms pressed to my face, when I hear a truck door.
Before I can react, my car door opens, and rough hands grip my wrists. “Jessie?” It’s Carson.
Fuck.He must have been driving by.
“Hi, I’m okay.” I let him pull my hands back.
“No, you’re not. What’s going on?”
I wipe the tears from my cheeks. I want to tell him, but at the mere thought, my heart pounds in my ears and my hands tremble. I shake my head no. The truth will changeeverything.
