To thank her for everything that she’s done for me in the last few weeks. To just give in to what I know that we both want.
I know that I shouldn’t be thinking like this, but I can’t help myself. It might be emotions, or the flowers she left downstairs.
But for once, I want to give in to whatever it is I’m feeling.
I want to know if she tastes as good as she looks. How her nails would feel on my back, or tangled in my hair.
I shake my head of my inappropriate thoughts.
“I know that I don’t have to, but I want to. It’s the first time that anyone has done something for me, outside of the funeral,” I admit. She tilts her head as she listens to what I have to say. I’ve never been good with words. But there is things I could think of that would show her how grateful I am, but none of them are appropriate.
She shrugs and tilts her head to the side as she watches me carefully, like she’s trying to figure me out.
We fall into easy conversation, both of us just talking about my dad, sharing our favorite memories of him.
“My favorite memory of him was from when I was probably like eight, maybe nine. We were all at the Fourth of July party, and it was right before the fireworks were supposed to start. It was the first summer I’d really started to put on a noticeable amount of weight. All the other kids were eating ice cream.” Her voice cracks, and I watch as her eyes get glassy with tears. “I reached out to grab one, and Monica smacked my hand awayand told me that I’d had plenty of calories for the night. It was the first time I’d ever felt huge. The first time I ever wanted to sink down into the earth and never come back. Lottie giggled at me, took a second ice cream, and Monica didn’t stop her. She smirked at me and forced me to watch her eat both of them.” A tear leaks down her face, and she doesn’t even try to stop it. My heart clenches, anger and sadness warring with each other, because no one should ever be forced to feel that way, especially not at nine years old.
She takes a slow, shaky breath before she continues. “Everyone had moved down to the grass. As I was getting ready to go join Mason and Kaden, Grandpa grabbed my arm and pulled me aside. We hid in the garage, and we ate ice cream together. He listened to what I had to say, and he never once said anything about my weight. Never stopped me when I reached for a second ice cream. He just smiled and told me jokes that made me laugh so hard I was crying. It was one of the many times he made me feel seen. He was always there for me, no matter what was going on. I have no idea how many hours I spent at his house. How many hours he wasted trying to explain hockey to me, or how many games of checkers we played. He always had a silly jar of suckers, and he never ever stopped me from eating them. He let me eat all the treats I wanted, and he called me beautiful no matter what I looked like. I’m sorry, I have no idea why I’m crying so hard right now,” She whispers, pressing the heels of her hands into her eyes.
I don’t know how it happens, but before I know it, I’m scooting across the bed and pulling her into my arms. I hold her tight, and she doesn’t fight me; she just hides her face into my chest.
I absentmindedly run my fingertips up and down her back, trying to soothe her.
“Is that the reason for the cherry suckers?” I ask as the pieces slowly start to slip into place.
She takes a few moments to respond. “Yeah, I guess. I don’t allow myself very many treats, with the occasional exception. But there is just something that’s comforting about a sucker. It feels like…”
“Like home,” I whisper, finishing her sentence. She nods.
“Yeah, it feels like home.”
We fall into silence for a few more minutes, neither of us moving or saying a word, and I’m not sure why it feels so good. I shouldn’t want to hold her like this, but I can’t find it in me to pull away, either.
“You remind me a lot of him. In the best ways, you always have. After he died, I didn’t really have a lot of people. But I knew that if I ever needed anything at all, I could call you.”
Her words take me by surprise. “You canalwayscall me.”
“I know,” she whispers, wrapping her arms around me just a little tighter.
I lay us back against her pillows, and she follows me down, both of us snuggling up as if we’ve done it a hundred times. I don’t remember the last time that I ever held someone like this. It’s been a long fucking time.
She rests her head back against my shoulder, and I lay my cheek on top of her head, breathing her in. She starts another story about my dad, something about hockey. The more I listen, the more I realize that this is exactly where I’m supposed to be, even if it’s only for the night.
11
BECKETT
My whole life, I’ve lived for others. My childhood was spent looking after Logan, my little brother, who had cancer and other terminal diseases that wouldn’t allow him to live into his teen years.
My teen years were spent making sure that Briar stayed alive. While taking care of my parents, who were coping with Logan’s death.
My whole adult life has been spent looking after Mason. Making sure that I could provide for him in any way that I could. And looking after my father after my mom died. All while still making sure that Briar was alive, and so was his family.
Every fucking day, it’s someone else’s problem handed to me. And at first, when Briar called, I know a part of me, even if it was small, thought that I was just taking on another problem of his.
I realize now how wrong that is. Sloane isn’t a problem; she’s a solution. I’m just not sure what problem she will be fixing.
I run a frustrated hand through my hair as I sit in my office. It’s only seven o’clock, but my brain is fried. This case is taking its toll on me. It’s one of the cases that I was assigned a few months ago. A person has been kidnapping and murdering people, with what appears to be the same type of motives as thecase I hold in my hands. Well,cases.There are ten of them that span over four years, and they are scattered all over my desk.
