Work was supposed to be a distraction, a way to keep his hands busy and his mind focused on something other than the case against him, the suspicion in people’s eyes, and the way his life had fallen apart again.
But he couldn’t stop thinking about Brooke and the moment they’d had in her coffee shop before the arrest. The way she’d smiled when he asked her out. The yes that had made him feel, for the first time in years, like maybe he could have a future. Maybe be able to build a new life and have a second chance at a family.
Then Adam had walked in and destroyed it all.
Tyler wanted to see her again. He needed to apologize for dragging her into this mess. She’d found a body and met him on the same day—how could that not cast suspicion on their connection?
But more than that, he wanted to know if that moment had been real. If the connection he’d felt was something she’d felt, too, or if it had been one-sided hope from a lonely man who should’ve known better.
Maybe he’d been wrong about being poison, wrong about not deserving happiness, wrong about needing to stay away from people he cared about.
Maybe everyone didn’t die or leave. Maybe sometimes they stayed.
The thought was dangerous. Hope was dangerous. But Tyler couldn’t quite shake it.
He couldn’t even count the number of times he’d thought about calling her or going to her coffee shop. But he’d stopped himself.
He’d seen the social media posts and the things people were calling the coffee shop. Murder central. Mostly it was made in jest, but Tyler knew there was some truth to it. Not to mention the accusations being thrown at Brooke. Someone had leaked that she was the one to find Sheila’s body, which made things worse. The news that he was there with Robert and Sue did nothing to improve the situation and only added to the rumors.
Tyler had driven past her shop every day on his way to and from work. Surprisingly, she seemed busier than usual. That was saying something.
Morbid. That’s what people were. Just like the ones coming here now, hoping to see him, to say the killer had worked on their car. He’d noticed it after Jen and Garrett died. People drove past his job back then, or by his friend’s house where he slept on the couch. They were curious, yes, but it was a morbid curiosity.
The morning passed in a blur of oil changes and diagnostic work. Customers came and went, some makingeye contact and offering greetings, others avoiding his gaze entirely. Tyler tried not to care.
Sue arrived at noon with sandwiches and homemade cookies, settling into the break room with Robert and Tyler like this was any other day.
“How are you holding up?” she asked, passing out food.
“Been better,” Tyler admitted. “Been worse too.”
“The whole thing is ridiculous,” Sue said firmly. “Anyone with sense knows you didn’t kill Sheila.”
“I wish the sheriff’s department had sense then.”
“They will. Eventually.” Sue’s confidence was reassuring. “The truth has a way of coming out.”
Tyler wanted to believe that, but experience had taught him that truth and justice didn’t always align. Sometimes innocent people get convicted while the guilty walk free.
“I can’t just sit around waiting, hoping they’ll figure it out.”
“What do you mean?” Robert asked.
“I mean someone killed Sheila. Someone left her body in the Beartooth Mountains. And whether it was intentional or not, that same person has made me look guilty.” Tyler set down his sandwich. “I need to prove my innocence. Actively. Not just hope the investigation clears me.”
“How?” Sue asked.
“I don’t know yet. But I can’t keep pretending everything’s normal while my life hangs in the balance.”
Robert exchanged a glance with Sue. “What do you need from us?” Sue asked.
The question caught Tyler off guard. “You’ll help me?”
“Of course we’ll help you,” Sue said, like it was obvious. “You’re innocent. You need support. That’s what friends do.”
Friends. The word felt strange. Tyler had gotten so used to being alone, to keeping people at arm’s length, that friendship seemed like something from another life.
“I don’t even know where to start,” Tyler admitted.
