Chapter 46
Chapter Forty-Six
Cole
I was sent to shower and nap while Willa bossed people around. I’d progressed from the brain fog stage to the vomiting stage of recovery and had spent most of the day with my head in the toilet. That FBI agent, Portnoy, who’d been at Jude’s house had stopped by briefly. He was a complete asshole. Smart, though, and Parker seemed satisfied with the questions he’d asked me. I wasn’t sure how helpful I was with the way my thoughts had blurred, but at this point, I had nothing to lose.
The rage boiling up inside me—not just for me, but for all the kids who’d lost their hockey arena last night—didn’t help.
The ice rink was more than just an ugly building from the ’70s. For decades, it had been a home for so many kids like me who needed an outlet, who needed a place where they could find themselves.
Whether I was headed to jail or not, my primary concern was the Lovewell kids who’d lost that special place. I doubted Arthur had the money to fix it, and I’d be surprised if he had an insurance policy hefty enough to do much good.
My chest tightened painfully with guilt. Yes, I’d been drugged, but the damage had been done, and regardless of who the mastermind behind it was, I was responsible for it. I couldn’t imagine the rumors that had been flying around town. I’d worked so hard to earn the respect of my community over the last year, but I was the son of Mitch Hebert, so it had probably been a waste of my time from the start.
Whatever happened, I’d deal with it. Right now, I was too tired to even think. So I lay in my lonely bed and closed my eyes.
I’d just drifted off when a clatter outside had my eyes flying open. I remained prone, too tired to move, and after a moment, let my lids lower again.
“Cole.”
I looked to the doorway, where Willa was standing. Even blurry, she looked like a beautiful angel.
“Cole, get up.”
“What’s wrong?”
“I think you need to see this for yourself.”
Groaning, I hauled myself to sitting, and when I stumbled to my feet, I stretched, smacking my hands on the ceiling beam above me.
Willa shuffled in and embraced me. “Come,” she said, pulling back and grabbing my hands.
I staggered out behind her, letting her lead me to the front door. She stepped into her boots and motioned for me to do the same. Leaning against the wall, I slid one foot in. She helped adjust it, then we repeated the move with the other boot.
When I straightened, she pulled open the door, revealing a crowd of people. On the wraparound porch, and in the driveway, there were people everywhere outside our little cottage.
“What’s going on?”
She looked around, her lips tipping up. “I made some calls.”
I stepped outside, instantly finding my team.
“Coach,” they squealed. The girls were dressed in their jerseys, wearing the knitted hats I’d made them, holding hockey sticks.
“We’re here to defend you,” Goldie Gagnon declared.
The other girls nodded, their faces serious. Some of their parents were sipping coffee and chatting on the porch.
There was no stopping the grin that spread across my face.
“You didn’t do anything wrong.” This from Olivia. “We know you’d never hurt the rink.”
“You love hockey more than anyone,” Kali added.
She was right. I did love hockey. But for so many reasons I never would have imagined before these last few months. I loved what it could do for all these kids. I loved the community it created. And I loved the dreams it inspired.
Out in the yard, my brothers were building a fire, and Debbie was chasing Thor, who was waddling around in his snowsuit.
At the end of the driveway, a group of older ladies were passing a flask around. Bernice had a large thermos and was joking around with several of the other knitting club ladies—Jodie, Steph, Erica, Gayle and MaryJo.
Erica broke into a large grin and waved when she saw me.
I waved back.
“All these people are here to support me?”
Willa squeezed my arm and nodded. “There were some unfortunate rumors spreading around town, so I took it upon myself to set the record straight. Bernice was outraged and said she’d rally the senior citizens.”
Emotion clogged in my throat. “I don’t know what to say.”
“This is your town. You belong here. You’ve convinced yourself otherwise, but look at all these people who love and support you.”
It was jarring, the sight in front of me. For so long, the story I’d told myself was that I didn’t belong. Not here, not anywhere. That I was destined to be the odd man out forever.
My eyes went hot, and my chest went tight.
But this heartwarming display of affection was interrupted by sirens.
I braced myself as the noise got louder.
And when two police cars pulled up, my heart sank.
The crowd of rowdy seniors refused to move from the end of the driveway, forcing law enforcement to park at the end of the driveway.
Chief Souza exited first, putting his hat on and striding up the icy drive, his focus fixed firmly on me.
Unsurprisingly, the various people milling around did not get out of his way, forcing him to navigate around them comically. As he approached the porch where we stood, Willa reached down and squeezed my hand.
“Mr. Cole Hebert,” he said at the bottom of the stairs while holding up a piece of paper. “You are under arrest. You—”
“You’re not arresting our coach,” one of the girls hollered.
The declaration was followed by a chorus of yeah s as the girls crowded around him with their hockey sticks. A few of their parents snapped videos with their phones.
“He’s innocent,” Kali yelled. “We’re not letting you take him to jail.”
The chief barked a vicious laugh. “You’ve got children fighting your battles, Hebert? Good God, you’re pathetic.”
“No, what’s pathetic is you targeting and framing my husband,” Willa shouted. “We know what you did.”
Glowering, he said, “Watch yourself.”
His deputies had finally made their way through the crowd and stood next to him, hands on their tactical belts, looking confused and shaken.
Willa stepped between two of the girls on my team, glaring at the chief. “You put a controlled substance in his water bottle to incapacitate him and frame him for a crime he didn’t commit.”
A gasp went around the crowd.
“You have no idea what you’re talking about,” he hissed.
“Actually, I do. Because despite how good you’ve become at lying and manipulating over the years, Chief, you can’t control science.”
He took a step toward her, which spurred me into action. I stepped closer, growling. No one looked at my wife like that.
“I don’t want to have to arrest you too, Dr. Savard,” the chief bit out.
Willa smiled. “That won’t be necessary. Now please leave my property.”
He looked around at the crowd, who was unmoved by his threats. “I’ll arrest you all.”
“You can’t arrest us,” Merry said, stepping forward. “We haven’t broken any laws, and we’re on private property. And my mom,who is standing right there”—she jabbed a finger toward Finn’s ex—“is a lawyer.”
Alicia crossed her arms, gazing proudly at her teen daughter.
Merry lifted her chin. “So you should probably leave.”
“Yeah,” the girls shouted in unison.
“Get out of here,” Kali hollered.
“And find the bad guys who did it,” Goldie added. “Not our coach.”
There was no wiping the smile from my face, despite the real possibility that this asshole was going to haul me in.
“You should go home,” Souza bit out. “This is no place for little girls.”
I almost laughed. If this man only knew what little girls were capable of.
“Our coach taught us that we’re stronger as a team. So we’re not going anywhere,” Goldie declared.
The chief’s face was getting redder by the moment, and his deputies were looking around, frowning, without a clue as to how to handle this situation.
In front of me, Willa popped up on her tiptoes and waved. The crowd in the driveway parted, and a black suburban pulled in.
The doors opened, and several men in dark suits exited.
“Agent Portnoy.” Willa smiled. “Right on time.”
He strode through the crowd, wearing an expression so inscrutable, it would be easy to believe the guy was here to pick up his dry cleaning rather than interrupt a standoff between a rural police chief and a gang of elementary school girls with hockey sticks.
“John Souza,” he said, a brow cocked at the angry man who had just threatened a crowd of children. He held up a badge. “Agent Portnoy, Federal Bureau of Investigation. I need to ask you a few questions.”
Chief Souza glared at him. “I’m here to make an arrest. It can wait.”
He stepped in front of him, blocking me from view. “I’m afraid you are not.”
“I have a warrant,” he said, holding up the paper.
“Not anymore. I just got off the phone with Judge Quimby. Since you lied on the affidavit, this warrant is invalid.”
He took it out of his hand, tore it neatly twice, and then let the paper flutter to the ground.
“And like I said, we’d like you to come with us.”
Another handful of federal agents had stepped out of a second SUV and were milling around, totally conspicuous in their identical dark suits, earpieces, and sunglasses.
One big, beefy guy crossed his arms and grunted. That finally got the chief moving.
“Shame on you,” Bernice yelled as he headed toward the blacked-out Suburbans.
Others followed.
“How could you turn on our community?”
“Corrupt, corrupt,” Debbie chanted.
Quickly, the whole crowd was joining in, chanting “Corrupt, corrupt, corrupt” as he ducked his head and slid into the waiting Suburban.
The scene was surreal. My head still ached, and I struggled to understand what had just transpired, but one feeling won out. Love.
For my community.
For my family.
And for my wife.
Breath hitching, I looked at Willa.
“Did you do this?”
She shrugged. “I had a lot of help.”