I mean, I’m thirty-seven fucking years old, and it feels like I’m starting over.Because that’s exactly what you did.
“You sure are thinking hard over there.”
Brittany’s voice surprises me so much that I dump half the lemon curd I was making onto the stove.
“Shit, sorry. I called your name, like, four times.” She cringes as I start cleaning up, hurrying over to help.
“Not your fault, Britt.” My voice is gritty from the lack of sleep.
“You okay, boss? You can take the day off, you know. You’ve set up for the day. I can handle it from here.”
“I’m good. Thank you, though.”
She eyeballs me as she finishes wiping down the counter.
“I’m good, I swear.” I’m not good, but I refuse to show weakness to anyone.
The next hour goes quickly, finishing up prep before opening up the doors. The big rush in the morning proves to be more challenging than usual. I can’t tell if it’s my attitude or if there’s something in the water, but everyone I talk to has some sort of attitude, and when it finally dies down, I head back to my office for a break.
“Seriously. Go home.” Brittany follows me back.
I sigh. “So I was the problem?”
She winces. “Kind of. We all have off days, though. I can handle it from here. Go take a nap, or work out, or whatever it is you do when you aren’t here.”
Fuck Willow,my thoughts immediately fill in for her, but then I remember last night.
“Alright, you win. But call me if you need help. I mean it.” I point my finger at her.
She rolls her eyes. “Yes, boss,” then turns and walks out the door, heading out to run the shop I’m incapable of running right now.
Dropping my head into my hands, I let the weight of the past twenty-four hours rest on my shoulders.
A workout. I need a workout. Not that it ended so great yesterday, but maybe if I go back to my default before I started hanging out with Willow, my head will work itself out.
Before Willow.My chest clenches painfully, and I move my hand to run over it.
Yeah, a workout is needed. I waste no time, running upstairs to change before heading out the back and out to the park. I debate texting Lennox again but decide against it.
Instead, I pull out my phone and call the last person I expected, but it somehow feels like the right move.
“To what do I owe this shocking turn of events?” Kellen Woodcroft says as a greeting.
“Why did you really contact me and bring me up to speed with the Tennison case?” I ask. It’s something that’s been nagging in the back of my mind. They left me alone for an entire year. And then out of the blue,he comes to visit and gives me information about the case? It doesn’t make sense. Heshouldn’tbe talking to me about any aspect of the case.
“Shit, man,” he curses, and it’s more telling than anything.
“What did you leave out when you came here?” There has to be more.
“Tennison switched things up when you left the force.”
“Switched things up how?” I’m leisurely walking a trail, but my heart rate speeds up like I just sprinted a couple of miles.
“Captain doesn’t want me telling you,” he says quietly.
“Fuck the captain! If it has something to do with me, then I have a fucking right to know, Kellen.”
Panicked. That’s how I feel right now. Worried that I somehow triggered Tennison in a way none of us expected. I’ve taken care to avoid news surrounding him because I wanted to completely separate myself from the case, but now it feels like a potentially fatal move.
