Cora took a shaky breath, willing the tears to stay down. Not yet. She wasn’t ready to fall apart yet. But the air was heavy, pressing in from all sides, and for the first time she didn’t know if she had any fight left.
The thought of Jack brought a fresh wave of pain. She had tried to find him after the fight, after he’d stood up to Nathaniel and ended up in handcuffs for it. It had all happened so fast. One minute, he was by her side, ready to defend her and this place as if it was his battle. The next, the police were hauling him away, leaving her standing there, helpless.
She’d gone to the station, desperate to see him, to make sure he was okay. But the Honeysuckle Festival had the whole town in a frenzy, and the building was locked up tight. While everyone else ate cotton candy and chili dogs, Jack was stuck in a cell for defending her. Meanwhile, the cops were probably off enjoying the festival themselves, forgetting the man who had fought for her.
And now? She had no idea where he was. Or if he was coming back.
She sank onto one of the stools, her legs finally giving out. It was too much. The Spoon. Jack. Everything. It all came crashing down at once, and she wasn’t strong enough to stop it anymore.
She pondered the merits of having a good, old-fashioned breakdown right there on the worn wood floor. And then she heard it—a noise from outside. It was barely noticeable over the pounding of her heart, but it was there. And it was persistent. For a second her tired mind conjured images of ax murderers, but she decided her luck couldn’t possibly be that bad. She snorted at herself. “Get it together, Cora,” she muttered.
She grabbed a spatula from the counter, because spatulas were a great defense against monsters, and crept toward the door. The scratching came again, louder this time and followed by a low grumble that sent her nerves skyrocketing. She peeked through the glass, her breath fogging up the window. And there, under the glow of the streetlight, was Governor Sam. All one hundred and fifty pounds of him. He sat on the back porch, his tongue lolling out of the side of his mouth in a goofy grin, as if to say,Are you going to let me in, or what?
Relief washed over her, followed quickly by a wave of affection for the town’s oversized mascot. She opened the door wide enough to give him a quick pat and send him on his way, but Sam had other plans. The second the door cracked open, he barreled through like a wrecking ball made of fur and slobber, pushing past her without a second thought.
“Whoa, Sam!” she yelped, stumbling backward as he shook himself, spraying a fine mist of drool across her and the floor. “This is not a dog park!”
Sam wagged his tail so hard she thought he might knockover a chair. He sniffed around, lumbering from table to table, inspecting his new domain. She trailed after him, halfheartedly trying to herd him back toward the door, but it was like trying to shove a boulder.
“Okay, big guy, time to go back outside. I’m not in the mood for company, and there’s still broken furniture in here.” Her voice cracked as she spoke.
Not that Sam noticed. He paused in his exploration and turned those big brown eyes on her. Then he flopped down right in the middle of the floor, claiming the space as his. His tail thumped lazily against the wood.
She stared at him, her hands on her hips. “Really? You’re picking today to finally come inside?”
His tail wagged again, slower this time, clearly quite pleased with himself.
With a sigh, she sank down beside him, leaning her back against his warm, solid body. His fur was soft, and his weight was comforting in a way she hadn’t expected. She let her head rest against him, her hands falling limply into her lap, and for a moment, she just breathed.
“I don’t know what to do, Sam,” she whispered, her voice breaking again. “I messed everything up.”
Saying the words out loud made it feel even more real, and the tears she’d been holding back all night finally spilled over, trailing down her cheeks. Sam let out a low whine and nudged her arm with his wet nose. She wiped her eyes, feeling ridiculous for crying in front of a dog, but she couldn’t stop. Not now.
Sam rested his head on her lap, his eyes soft and understanding, and for the first time in days, she let herself break. She sobbed into Sam’s fur, clutching him as if he was the only thing holding her together. And maybe he was. Maybe this big, slobbery dog, the one who’d picked her out of a whole community of people who adored him, was the only thing keeping her from falling apart completely.
Sam stayed still, his steady breathing grounding her. He didn’t move. He just stayed.
“I don’t know if I’m strong enough,” she whispered. “What if I’ve already lost everything that matters?”
She stroked his fur absently, tears still falling, as Sam let out a soft huff and pressed closer, as if to say,I’m here. I won’t leave.
But even Sam couldn’t fill the gaping hole in her heart. Jack was gone. The Spoon would soon be a pile of rubble. And she had no idea what to do next.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Sunrise County Jail looked bleak on a good day, but tonight it was one step shy of purgatory. The deputy who’d dragged Jack in had barely bothered to lock the cell door before heading back out to the festival, keys jingling, his new prisoner an errand he couldn’t wait to finish.
So now it was just Jack, a hard metal bench, and the cold concrete walls. The bench dug into his back as he leaned forward, cradling his head in his hands. The iron tang of blood lingered on his tongue. There wasn’t enough room to pace in the sorry excuse for a cell. Not that he had the energy. He wasn’t some young punk anymore, throwing fists like he’d bounce back by breakfast. He was going to need ice packs, ibuprofen, and a solid week of pretending the fight with Nathaniel Worthington hadn’t left his body twisted into a pretzel.
Worthington.
Just thinking his name made Jack’s fists twitch, knuckles throbbing with the memory of landing those punches. He had that kind of face—smug, entitled, thinking the whole world was his. Jack had wiped off that grin, but what had it really cost him?
Cora’s voice echoed in his head, calling his name, breaking as the cuffs clicked around his wrists. He hadn’t been able to look at her then. Couldn’t risk seeing that flicker of doubt in her eyes, wondering if the town was right. Maybe he was just Sunrise’s favorite screw-up after all. No matter how far he’d run, he was right back where he’d started.
Outside, the Honeysuckle Festival was in full swing. Kids were high on sugar, and floats were drifting by, wrapped in fairy lights. Meanwhile, he was stuck in this concrete box while Nathaniel Worthington strutted around like he owned the place. And after tonight, maybe he did. Jack’s fingers curled into fists again. He’d give just about anything for one more swing at his punchable face.
He stood, wincing as his ribs protested, and limped to the tiny window. Through the bars, he saw the glow of parade floats and twinkling lights. It sank in deeper; while he was stuck in here, Cora was losing everything out there, and he couldn’t do anything to stop it.
