2. Elyse
CHAPTER 2
Elyse
REALLY HATE THE PEE
PRESENT
T he Clore County Detention Center reeks of things I’d rather not identify—one smell, in particular, overpowering the rest. Why do the worst situations always smell like pee? A fuckboy’s headboard-less bedroom, the backseat of a minivan, cheap motels, hospitals, and now jail—it’s like life’s most cringe-worthy moments come with their own urine-scented air freshener.
“You got a smoke on ya, sweetie?”
Sherry, a frequent flyer around these parts, asks while lounging on the bottom bunk.
She’s in for slashing her husband’s tires. Again. He has a bad habit of sticking his dick in women who aren’t his wife. And Sherry is just crazy enough to destroy the only thing he actually loves, his big, red souped-up truck. I support it.
“Sorry Sherr, not on me.” I unfold my arms and show her my open palms. “They took everything I had on hand when I was booked.”
She shrugs and returns to eating her bologna sandwich .
I’m not a smoker, unless I’ve had a few drinks, and then I dabble. It’s not the sexiest habit, but I don’t really give a shit what the male gaze deems attractive. Most have proven they’ll fuck anything with a hole, anyway.
As my fingers rub together, coincidentally craving the comfort of a cigarette, the electronic beep of our jail cell chimes and the door swings open.
When I notice who it is, I lock my arms over my chest and cross my legs, not bothering to look up and give Dominic the satisfaction of my attention.
After our incredibly silent drive to the county detention center, Dominic passed me off to another deputy without so much as a glance back. I didn’t think I’d see him again until some unfortunate run-in in town.
But now he’s here.
I may not be looking at him, but that doesn’t mean I’m not taking in every detail through my periphery. He’s practically under a spotlight with the harsh fluorescents shining down on him.
I guess the saying about a man in uniform is true—he wears it really well. Annoyingly well.He had to have gotten it tailored because no one else’s fits as snug as his does—tight on his biceps, stretching taut across his broad chest, every ridge of his chiseled abdomen on full display. Tattoos litter his corded, muscular arms, some I recognize and some I don’t. A pang hits my sternum, the unfamiliar tattoos a stark reminder that we don’t know each other anymore.
He catches the corner of my gaze and, in return, gives me a subtle yet appreciative once-over. My skin warms under his stare, completely beyond my control.
Had I known I’d be spending my afternoon in jail, I probably would’ve chosen something slightly less revealing. The thin black slip dress paired with a blazer does little to hide my legs, given how short the hem is and how high the slit sits. Quickly, I jerk my head away, desperate to regain some composure. This is exactly why we can’t be around each other—our chemistry is combustible enough to ignite with the slightest spark.
“There was an initial bail set on your warrant. Lucky for you, someone paid it.”I can hear his smile—know exactly how it curves on one side first. I hate that I still remember that.
I was expecting him to tell me I could make a phone call, not that I could leave.
The relief I should feel to be getting out of this cesspool of piss, is dimmed by the uneasy rolling of my stomach. If my bail was paid, that means Dominic called someone, and I’m not sure I want to find out who.
My forehead creases as I begrudgingly face him. “Who posted it? Don’t tell me you called?—“
“Elyse Meredith Ledger.”
I close my eyes, a shudder running through me at the familiar voice in that familiar tone I thought I’d outgrown.
I'm going to kill him.
He couldn't have called one of my brothers—Gavin, Ethan, or even Shane? God knows they all owe me at least a favor or two.
A tall frame fills the doorway, his expression unreadable. Great. It’s like my high school graduation night all over again, yet somehow more embarrassing.
I stand, squaring my shoulders. I’m not going to whither like a child. “Hi, Dad.”
I highly doubt civilians are allowed in this part of the county jail, but rules have never really applied to Jack Ledger. Not because he demands special treatment, but because he’s so highly regarded, he may as well be the mayor.
My dad is trying his best to give me his stern, disappointed look but his lips keep tugging upward like he wants to laugh. I wasn’t quite expecting that reaction .
At least someone finds this funny.
“Really, Elyse? Skipping out on jury duty, of all things?”
“I never received a summons,” I defend.
He shakes his head, more amused than upset. He’s gone soft in his older age. I’m also nearly thirty—far too old to be scolded. Yet that same surge of teenage dread, like I’m about to be grounded, still grips me the same.
I give Sherry a wave and join my dad on the other side of the jail cell—the free side.
“Thanks for calling me, son,” my dad tells Dominic as they shake hands. He’s always called him son, but that doesn’t stop the word from sounding like a betrayal.
That’s the problem with Dominic—everyone likes him, especially my family.
“Of course, Jack.” Dominic nods at him, giving him the level of respect a soldier would give his superior, without all the formalities.
I can’t even begin to explain how much I hate this entire situation. More than the pee, and I really, really hate the pee.
“We should go.” My voice is overly-cheerful.
“How are your folks?” my dad asks Dominic, ignoring me.
Did he not hear me say we should leave?
I expect an animated, long-winded answer and instead, an eerie quiet settles, my dad waiting expectantly and Dominic falling silent.
Going against all my instincts, I risk a glance at Dominic, and my stomach plummets the moment our eyes lock.
His expression is pained, hands twisted, eyes hollow. Every single facet stealing more of my breath the longer he goes without speaking.
Something is wrong.
A tightness grabs hold of my chest, and my body tenses as a knot forms, rolling up my throat. Whatever he has to say, it’s not good .
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
“My mom’s doing okay,” he says, with his eyes firmly fixed on me while speaking around the audible catch in his voice.
A gulping breath escapes me at the same moment the pieces fall together.
His dad.
A man I loved like a father.
My head is already shaking, refusing to accept the words I know are coming. I want to hit rewind, retreat into the blissful ignorance I had just moments ago.
Dominic clears his throat, an obvious mask to conceal his emotions. “My dad passed in January. Heart attack.” It comes out strained, like it physically pains him to say it. And maybe it does, because hearing it hurts. It hurts everywhere, all at once, a thousand pinpricks, jabbing over and over again. Survivable, yet torturous.
Whether it’s years of ingrained instinct from knowing each other since we were kids, or the fact that neither time nor distance has dulled our connection, every fractured piece of our past reconnects for a brief moment. I have to physically hold myself back from collapsing into his chest, from burying myself in him until there’s no space left between us. Wanting to comfort him and being unable to feels like defying something written into my bones. Denying it is like trying to unlearn breathing.
“Why didn’t you call me?” The accusation flies out of my mouth before I can think to hold it back.
Dominic’s brows raise, eyes widening. I’ve shocked him—stunned him to the point that he blinks at me several times, his head rearing back slightly.
It’s too late to take it back now, as much as I wish I could.
“Ellie—I—I?—”
I put my hand up to stop him. “You don’t owe me an explanation, I shouldn’t have said that. I’m sorry. ”
He nods, clearly not wanting to press the matter.
In different circumstances, I wouldn’t be so quick to eat my words, but I’m not such a monster I can’t admit when I’m in the wrong. Why would he call me? It’s not as if I’ve ever given any indication in the past ten years I want to hear from him.
Still, the relentless pounding of my heart against my chest leaves behind an ache—a hollow, empty void. It’s as if an unwelcome seed is trying to take root—a seed that feels a lot like regret. But my reasons for breaking up with Dominic were valid then and remain valid now. Any hint of regret is likely grief manifesting where it doesn’t belong. Letting go of Dominic meant losing his family, and after years of feeling like they were my family too, it was an entirely different kind of breakup to get over.
My dad, ever the perceptive one, saves us both from opening the Pandora’s Box that is our complicated relationship. He comes forward and wraps Dominic in the kind of hug men so rarely receive.
“I’m sorry to hear that.” His voice is muffled as he holds Dominic, whose body has gone rigid from the unexpected affection, until it seems he’s reached the point he can no longer carry the weight of his grief. I watch as his shoulders sag, accepting the embrace.
Witnessing the strongest man I know comfort the boy I used to love is almost too much to bare. Watching them share in their mourning may be one of the few things sharp enough to chip away at the hardened shell I work so hard to maintain. I hate feelings. And most of all, I hate feeling feelings, because once you let one in, the rest find your cracks and seep through.
My vision blurs, moisture burning my eyes. I look away before the tears find their way out. Luckily, a few rapid blinks later, and they’re dissolved. I rarely cry, and I’m not about to cry in front of Dominic. His emotions are warranted, he just lost his dad. I don’t deserve to cry over a man I haven’t spoken to since we cut ties.
This day has taken so many unexpected turns, I’m ready to cocoon myself in bed until the universe balances out whatever this is. Because I sure as shit didn’t wake up with jail and death on my bingo card for the day.
“I’ll pay you back,” I tell my dad as we pull out of the parking lot. We have to get my car at the impound lot, across town.
He nods easily, already past his emotional moment with Dominic. An expert at compartmentalizing—I would know since I inherited that useful little skill. “I’m not worried about it. It was only $100.” Chuckling, he shakes his head. “Want to explain to me how you unknowingly had a bench warrant out for your arrest?”
“Apparently I didn’t change my address from my college one, so the jury duty summons went there without me knowing anything about it.”
He exhales deeply before his lips straighten into a thin line, and like a frayed string on an old sweater, the work I put in to turn my parents’ opinion of me from wild teenager to dependable adult, starts to unravel. He’s probably been sitting back and waiting for me to reveal I hadn’t changed at all. My blood turns hot as it pumps through my veins. Years of work, years of proving myself. And for what? So one measly little arrest could undo it all. I’m not sure who I’m even mad at right now. Me? Dominic? Past me? My dad, for his obvious lack of faith in me? The world?
I’m going to go with Dominic because it’s easier to be mad at him. It’s actually better if I’m mad at him because I can already feel myself sliding back into old patterns and I can’t go there. I refuse. Besides, the asshole arrested me. Asshole.
“Elle did you hear me?”
My dad stares at me like he’s waiting for an answer to a question I clearly wasn’t paying attention to. “I’m sorry, I zoned out. What were you saying?”
“Your mother. You should call her.”
My back presses further into the seat, defeat finally overtaking my last bits of resilience. “You told her!” I blurt out, internally cringing. I’m not trying to sound like a petulant teenager, but the way my voice pitches up says otherwise.
He tosses me a scrunched expression. “We don’t keep secrets. If I didn’t tell her, someone else would have.”
That’s the shitty part about Red Mountain. Big enough to not feel suffocating, small enough that gossip is the town’s number one form of entertainment.
“I’m sure she’s thrilled,” I tell him as I dig through the ziplock bag full of the stuff the jail confiscated from me. My phone is buried at the bottom.
The moment I pick up my phone, the screen lights up with a flood of notifications—texts, missed calls, emails, and more. Among them are half a dozen missed calls from a number I’m certain I’d already blocked. Not wanting to encourage any further contact, I block the number again. Ignoring the mess for now—I’ll deal with it when I get home—I dial my mom.
She picks up after the first ring but stays quiet. Dragged out seconds go by before she speaks. “Oh, Elyse. You’ve had a day, haven’t you?”
The breath I didn’t realize I was holding, releases. I don’t know what to say, I feel foolish. It was a stupid reason to be arrested, but in the end I feel a million times more stupid that I allowed it to happen in the first place. I’m organized, dependable—not someone who lets details like this slide and ends up screwed.
“Sorry, Mom.”
She sighs a resigned, heavy breath, and I can picture the slow shake of her head, the unspoken disappointment flowing through the phone.
“You’re an adult, there’s nothing to apologize for.”
“I’m sure you’re ashamed of me. Embarrassed at the very least.” I’m aware being a Ledger there’s a certain expectation to uphold a good image. As one of the town’s founding families, we’re scrutinized under a much harsher lens.
“Elle, you’re being too hard on yourself. Gossip will make the rounds, as it does, and then next week someone will cheat on their husband or steal mascara from the pharmacy, and you’ll be old news.”
“You think so?” I hate how weak I sound; how childish I feel.
She laughs lightly. “I know so.” My dad gives my shoulder a squeeze, not that he can hear what she’s saying but can probably guess. “Is it true? Is he the one who arrested you?”
At least she has the decency to pretend she doesn’t already know. I let out a humorless laugh. “Yeah, believe me, no one is more shocked than I am.”
The click of her tongue sounds. “He always did have a way of catching your attention.”
“Mom,” I warn. “That’s not what that was.” My cheeks heat in spite of my protest, defensiveness sending my heartbeat thrumming.
“Then what was it?” She’s smiling, I can tell. Since when did my strict parents become so relaxed?
I groan, frustrated that I’ll likely be retelling this story for years to come. “He was doing his job. Dominic and I are nothing. We don’t even know each other anymore. If it wasn’t him, it would’ve been some other cop. ”
“Hmm, I don’t know about that. You two know each other better than anyone.”
“Knew, Mom,” I quip back. “Past tense.”
“Elle, I?—”
“We just got to the impound lot, I’ll call you later.”
“You—”
I hang up before she can finish her sentence. I don’t know what she was going to say but I’m sure I have no interest in hearing it.
“I can handle it from here,” I tell my dad while I unbuckle.
“Alrighty,” he sings. “I can stick around, make sure there aren’t any hiccups.”
I flash him an assuaging smile. “Not necessary, I’ve got it.” I lean over and give his cheek a brief kiss. “Thanks Dad, I promise I’ll pay you back this week.”
He leaves with a wave and I stay unmoving with my arms crossed until his car rounds the corner, out of sight. I wouldn’t put it past him to turn around and spy, so I remain rooted for a few minutes longer before going inside the ramshackle building.
The impound lot is exactly as bleak as I imagined it would be—cracked pavement, a rusting chain-link fence, and an office that smells like stale coffee and old motor oil. The guy behind the counter doesn’t look up when I walk in, too busy scrolling on his phone.
“Hi,” I start, my voice tight with discomfort, “I’m here to pick up my car.”
He glances up, his attention bouncing between me and the paperwork I’m sliding across the counter.
“Driver’s license?”
I pull it from my wallet, and he snatches it up like I might bolt for the gate. After typing something into the computer, he nods. “Yeah, it’s here. Black Mercedes, right? ”
“That’s the one,” I reply, with a fake smile and a squeaky voice to match.
He practically throws my license back to me. Once I grab it, I start to move but he lets out a whistle, raising his brows with a bored expression. “Not so fast there, Ma’am. Gotta pay up first.”
After he tells me the fee, I’m nearly seeing red. I could buy a designer bag for what today has cost me.
Reluctantly, I hand over my credit card, ignoring his evil little smirk. This place is a rip-off and he knows it. Seems proud of it, too.
He hands me my card back and jerks his thumb toward the yard. “You’re clear. Spot 47. Keys are in it.”
I pushout the back exit, the heat of the afternoon sun beating down on me, burning past the layer of my blazer. Rows of cars stretch across the lot, each one covered in a thin coating of dust. Near the back, my black car waits, its once-sleek surface faded, now sinking into the bleakness that surrounds it.
The moment I reachit, I yank the door open, brushing away the grime on the handle. Sliding into the driver’s seat, I slump back and sigh, closing my eyes. The last few hours blurring together like a fever dream.
But as I press the start button, the engine sputtering to life, my mind wanders back to Dominic—those deep, searching eyes, the way my name rolled off his lips like it still carried meaning, like I still mean something. My chest constricts, a twist of emotion settling in my ribs, impossible to swallow. With my fists clenched, my nails dig into my palms, as if the pain is enough to deter my intrusive thoughts.
Easing out of the lot, I pull onto the main road, exhaling with relief. At least now, I’m back in the driver’s seat—literally and figuratively.