Twenty-two #2
Beckett glances back at me. I nod slowly and step forward. “I’m here, but how did you know that?”
“May we come in?” Jonas asks, his tone polite but firm.
Beckett hesitates, then opens the door wider. “Yeah. Sure.”
They step inside, bringing the night air with them. Elijah removes his hat. They’re not here to reminisce about school.
Jonas flips open a notebook. “We received a report of a domestic dispute at your former residence. Can you confirm whether you know an Alex Tremblay and Simon Tremblay?”
My stomach drops. I grip the back of the couch for balance. “Yes. Of course. We all went to school together.”
“But you were in a relationship with Alex Tremblay and living in his home until recently, correct?”
Beckett moves to stand beside me. “She doesn’t have to answer anything without a lawyer.”
I place a hand on his arm. “It’s okay. I want to answer. Yes, I used to live with Alex, and Simon is his brother. Alex and Simon own a garage.”
“Why did you leave?” Elijah asks.
I inhale slowly. “The list is long, but really I left because I was tired of the lies, and I no longer felt safe.”
Elijah and Jonas exchange a glance. “Why didn’t you feel safe?”
I give a single-shoulder shrug. “Wow. Lots of reasons really. Scary guys would come over, which I assume were his dealers. We got robbed, but all they took was his old laptop and the television. And also, we didn’t have much of a relationship anymore.”
“With the break-in, do you know if they called the police?” Jonas asks.
“I assume so. I was on my way out for work, so I didn’t stick around, and when I got home again, he had a new flat screen on the wall.”
They look at each other, and Beckett puts his hand in mine.
“Were you aware that Simon Tremblay has a known history of violence?” Jonas asks. “Did you ever feel physically threatened?”
“I know he’s big and often angry.”
“Did he threaten you?” Jonas leans toward me.
Suddenly, I’m sure he knows, and I don’t want to get arrested for lying. I hesitate. “Only recently.”
Beckett turns and looks at me, seeming shocked.
I take a deep breath. “Earlier today, I ran into Demi Franklin. Her boyfriend hangs with Alex and Simon. We were at the fruit stand on Market Street, and she told me Simon was upset with me and had said that if I wasn’t already dead, the next time he saw me, I would be.”
“Why would he want you dead?” Beckett asks.
I shake my head. “I honestly have no idea.”
“You’re not involved in any ongoing activity related to either of the Tremblay brothers?” Jonas asks.
“No,” I say, louder this time. “I left when I started to feel unsafe. I’m not part of whatever they’re into.”
Beckett’s voice is calm but firm. “She’s telling the truth. She’s been living here in my guest room for the last two months. She works at the Paradise Hill tasting room. And when she’s not there, she’s visiting Rosemary Kennedy at the hospital.”
Elijah nods. “My mom said she needs a heart transplant.”
Sometimes, Paradise is way too small.
Jonas folds up his notebook. “Thank you. If for any reason you feel unsafe again, please reach out. We’ll be following up on the report, but at this point, this is just a check-in.”
I nod, my throat tight. “Thank you for coming. ”
They leave as quietly as they arrived. The door clicks shut behind them, and silence falls.
Beckett turns to me, his hand settling on the small of my back. “Why didn’t you tell me about Simon’s threat?”
I exhale. “I was going to, but after we went for the walk and started talking, I couldn’t bring it up. I’m sorry. I’m not involved in anything they’re doing.”
“Do you think they’re dealing drugs? You said you thought the guys that came over were drug dealers.”
“Alex always had something, but mostly just pot, and he could get that from any BC cannabis retail store. I never saw him do anything more.”
“You’re safe,” he promises. “He can’t get to you here.”
His words don’t just comfort me. They steady me. And in that quiet, I realize something deeper than fear is growing inside me. Resolve . I’m done running. Whatever comes next, I don’t have to face it alone.
We try to return to normal, but we can’t quite get there. Beckett pours me a glass of wine and himself a carbonated water. He’s trying to act like everything’s fine, like this is just another night. But we both know it’s not.
I take the glass he offers, our fingers brushing. “Are you on call?”
“Not exactly, but I’m hoping tonight’s the night Rosie gets her heart. Someone was killed with an AB blood type in an accident up north. They’re doing the surgery now.”
I raise my glass. “Fingers crossed that you get the notification soon.” Now we have two reasons to be alert.
We sit side by side, and I catch him watching the window more than once. Every time headlights pass on the road outside, we flinch, though neither of us says anything.
There’s a weight between us now. Not tension exactly, but awareness. Something dark is following me. Whatever life I thought I could rebuild might still be out of reach. But Beckett doesn’t pull away. If anything, he leans in, offering comfort without asking anything in return .
“I hate that I brought this to your doorstep,” I say finally.
“You didn’t,” he replies. “They brought this. Not you.”
His conviction calms me. I rest my head on his shoulder, grateful for the strength he offers.
We talk quietly for a while about nothing important.
Books he’s reading. His shift next week.
The vineyard fundraiser. Talking helps. It reminds me there’s a world outside my fear.
But deep down, I know we’re just waiting for his beeper to sound.
Though it doesn’t.
Finally he reaches for his phone and calls someone. “Any news?” I watch his shoulders fall. “Nope. That won’t help us. Thanks, though.”
“What happened?” I ask, knowing from his body language it was nothing good.
He sighs loudly. “The heart wasn’t viable for transplant.”
Tears prick at my eyes. “Why not?”
“The victim had an unknown heart condition that showed up during an echocardiogram.”
I want to drink the rest of the wine in the house. “What are you going to tell Rosie?”
He shakes his head sadly. “Nothing. I didn’t tell her there was a possibility. This happens more often than you think.”
I roll my head back and look at the ceiling. “I hate that you can’t go in and fix what’s wrong. And if I’m being real honest, I wish someone with a good heart would just die.”
“Me too on both counts. Let’s go to bed,” he adds softly after a moment. “I want to hold you.”
So I go with him. The thought of sleeping alone feels impossible anyway.
He doesn’t press me for more, doesn’t ask again about Alex or Simon. He just holds me, one arm wrapped around my waist as I tuck myself into the familiar comfort of his bed.