He picks up the water bottle and twists the cap open for me before handing it back.
“Thanks.”
“You sure you don’t want me to drop you at the hospital?” he asks, his eyes on me, assessing.
“I just have a sprained wrist,” I say, a little too defensively. “I’ll have it checked out in the morning.”
He nods, accepting my answer. He watches as I tear open the bag of jerky, the crinkle of the plastic loud in the quiet car. I take a bite, the salty, smoky flavor filling my mouth. It’s not great, but it’s something. It’s a distraction.
“Is it any good?” he asks.
“It’s okay,” I say, shrugging.
“My daughter is a huge fan,” he says, a small, almost imperceptible smile touching his lips. “She’d eat the whole bag if I let her.”
I hold out the bag to him. “Here.”
He takes a piece, his movements careful. He bites into it, his jaw working. “Not bad,” he concedes.
“How old is your daughter?” I ask.
“Clara’s fifteen,” he says, his expression softening. “She’s at home right now, waiting for me.”
This is a surprise, a crack in the hardened façade of the sheriff. “I didn’t know you had a daughter,” I say.
“She stays with my ex-wife in New York,” he explains, his gaze distant for a moment. “But Clara’s here for a visit.”
“Oh.” I’m not sure what else to say.
He smiles again, a genuine, warm smile that transforms his face. He starts the car and pulls back onto the road, the wipers working overtime to clear the accumulating snow.
The rest of the ride is quiet, but it’s not an uncomfortable silence. It’s a shared space, a temporary truce. I find myself watching him, the way his hands grip the steering wheel, the way his eyes scan the road. He’s not just a sheriff. He’s a father. A man with a life outside of this mess.
The thought is strangely comforting.
We pull up in front of Millie’s apartment building. The lights are on, a warm, inviting glow against the dark, snowy night. And then I see it. Maddox’s bike, parked haphazardly by the porch. A wave of relief washes over me, so potent it makes my head spin.
Maddox is here. He’s with her. He’s taking care of her. For a moment, the weight on my shoulders feels a little lighter.
Knox puts the car in park but doesn’t turn off the engine. “Liam,” he says, his tone serious. “Please stay away from Arnold. If he shows up at the coffee shop, if he tries to contact you, you call me. Immediately.”
He pulls a card from his pocket and hands it to me. It’s his official sheriff’s card with his number scrawled on the back.
“Thank you,” I say, my fingers closing around the stiff cardboard. “It’s snowing,” I add, stating the obvious. “You should drive carefully.”
“I’ll be fine,” he says, a hint of a smile in his tone.
I thank him one last time and climb out of the car, the cold air a welcome shock to my system. I watch him drive away, his red taillights disappearing into the swirling snow.
I turn and walk to her apartment, fumbling my key in the lock. I push the door open and step inside, ready for the comfort of home, for the sight of my two best friends.
And then I’m hit by the scent.
It’s a physical blow, a cloying wave that knocks the breath out of me. It’s Millie’s scent, of course. The sweet, intoxicating mix of vanilla and lavender that I know so well. But there’s something else layered on top, something musky and primal. Pine and snow. Maddox’s scent.
My brain struggles to process the information, to connect the dots in a way that makes sense. But the scent doesn’t lie. It’s the scent of sex. Raw, uninhibited, and recent.
I’m confused. My heart is pounding in my chest. I hear a sound from upstairs, the thud of footsteps, and then Millie is running down the stairs.
