“Umm, good, I guess. I bet you’ve been seeing more of Willow than any of us have.”
His words shouldn’t hurt, but they fucking stab me. Ihadbeen seeing a ton of Willow, but I ruined it.
“Oh, yeah. She’s been working in here a lot recently.”But not this week.
“I’m worried about her. Usually, she cranks out books and it’s no big deal, but this book is consuming her. She’s stressed and definitely wasn’t her usual self at family dinner on Sunday. And she hasn’t talked to anyone since then.”
I nod because if I say anything, he’ll see right through me.
“Will you keep an eye on her? I mean, I know you’re probably busy, but if she comes in here, will you keep an eye on her?” What’s lower than dirt? That’s how I feel. I feel like the scum of the earth I used to track down.
“Of course, man.” I bag up the sandwiches and slide Ainsley’s coffee his way.
I watch him as he nods his thanks, relief in his eyes, and then turns to walk out. I feel sick to my stomach. This is all because of me, and now he’s asking to look after her like I’m not the cause of it to begin with.
The bell dings again, and I almost throw a coffee mug through the window. My nerves are frayed, my mood is completely shot, and I don’t want to talk to anyone. But I do have a business to run, so it’s time to shove all that shit down, like I did before Willow.
“Good afternoon.” Sheriff’s voice is like a spark that causes the fire to start.
“Sheriff.”
“Haven’t seen Willow around lately. Everything okay there?”
What the fuck is with everyone asking me about Willow? I mean, I was glad for a little bit of information from Ledger, but this is just too fucking much.
“Wouldn’t know. I’m not her keeper,” I almost sneer.
His eyebrows raise, but none of this is his business. He can try to pry and dig all he wants, but I’m not talking to him about it.
“Your usual?” I ask.
“Yeah,” he grunts. I wordlessly go about making his stupid Americano before sliding it over to him.
“Something happen between you two?” He smirks, but it disappears just as quickly. Must be the death stare I’m giving him.
“Message received. You know, Oakley, I’m not your enemy. If you want to talk about things or go out to Sal’s for dinner and shoot the shit, we can. You’re allowed to have friends here.” He looks genuine, and I swear it fucks my head up more.
“I appreciate it.” And I do, but I’m not in the headspace to even remotely consider this right now. And that’s a fucking realization.
How much have I really worked on myself since I moved here? I left my old life behind so that I could start fresh, but what have I really done? Open Grind Time? Know everyone’s food and drink order but nothing else? That’s not really living.
Maybe this is my sign to make some serious changes. To really think about what I want long-term.
Because what I think I really want … Is Willow.
“I’m shocked to see you calling,” my therapist from when I first left the Marshals, Dr. Ames, says when he answers my phone call.
“Yeah, it’s shocking to me too, honestly.”
“Is this a friendly phone call, or an ‘I need help’ phone call?” he asks plainly, and it’s one of the reasons I didn’t outright hate him at first. He’s no-nonsense and doesn’t sugarcoat shit.
I take a deep breath and say the one thing that’s the hardest to admit. “I need help.”
“Okay, you want to start with updating me on what’s going on in your life? Last I heard you were leaving the Marshals, but hadn’t heard anything since.”
“Yeah. I left pretty abruptly. I, umm, I just couldn’t stay when I was failing every single day Tennison wasn’t caught.” I clear my throat to try to shove down the lump in it.
“We didn’t get to talk much about how you were feeling overall, more about decompressing from the things you saw and working through that. I apologize for not going big picture with you, but I’m glad you took the step to call me. Do you still feel this way? Still feel like you’re failing?”
