Chapter 27
Ben
I woke up in Kayla’s bed for the first time with daylight in the room.
We’d slept here before, tangled together in the dark after, her breathing evening out against my chest while Jolly snored at the foot of the mattress. But I’d always come by after William went to bed and left before morning.
Slipped out while the sky was still gray, crossed the yard to my place, kept the line between her life and mine clean enough that a six-year-old wouldn’t have questions over breakfast.
This morning, I hadn’t left. William was still at Trish’s, would be all weekend, and while I never minded having the kiddo around, I was excited about having a full weekend just the two of us.
Kayla was in the shower now. I could hear the water through the wall. Jolly was lying on the living room floor, eyes straying to the stairs, probably wondering what the hell I’d done with his buddy William.
I stood at the counter and drank my coffee and looked out the window at her yard.
I’d pulled two more slats from the fence between our properties a few days ago, widening the gap enough that William and Jolly moved between the yards like there was no boundary at all.
Most afternoons, they were out there for hours, doing whatever they did, neither of them tiring of it before the other.
I let myself think the thought I’d been circling since last night.
This felt permanent.
Not in the way I planned things. Not a decision made and executed. In the way a river cut a channel. You didn’t choose it. You just realized one day that the water had been running the same direction for a long time and the ground had changed shape around it.
I had changed shape around Kayla.
She came down the stairs in a T-shirt and bare legs, toweling her hair. She stopped when she saw me at the counter.
“You made coffee.”
“I made coffee.”
She crossed the kitchen and kissed me, brief, easy, like she’d been doing it for years. Then she took the mug I’d already poured for her and leaned against the counter beside me.
We stood like that. Not talking. Not needing to.
Kayla was the one who broke the silence, tapping her fingernail against the side of her mug. “Trish isn’t dropping William off until tomorrow,” she said. “So we have an entire day with no responsibilities and no one asking us to watch Paw Patrol for the nine hundredth time.”
“I don’t know. Jolly might still want Paw Patrol.”
“Then you can leave it on for him.” She smacked my arm playfully. “I’m trying to plan an actual adult day here.”
I let my eyes travel down to her bare legs and back up. “We could just go back to bed.”
“We just got out of bed.”
“I’m aware.” I set my mug down and turned toward her, resting my hand on the counter on the other side of her. “Vividly.”
She laughed, and the sound of it warmed my chest in a way coffee would never touch. “I meant out in the world, Ben. Like people.”
“Overrated.”
“Humor me. There’s a planetarium in Glenwood Springs. Or there’s that new Italian place everyone keeps talking about. Or we could see a movie.”
“What’s playing?”
“I have no idea.” She wrapped both hands around her mug. “I haven’t seen a movie in a theater since before William was born. For all I know, they still have intermissions.”
“They don’t have intermissions.”
“How would you know? When’s the last time you saw a movie on the big screen?”
I thought about it. “Kandahar. At least five years ago. They set up a screen in a mess tent.”
She stared at me. “What was the movie?”
“Something with the Rock.”
“That narrows it down to about forty films.” She took a sip of her coffee and shook her head. “Okay, so we’re both terrible at this. Planetarium?”
“Planetarium.” I reached over and tucked a damp strand of hair behind her ear. “I’ll buy you a star chart.”
“You’re such a romantic.”
“I have my moments.”
She looked at me over the rim of her mug, eyes tender, and the smile that spread across her face was the kind that made me want to cancel the planetarium and take her back to bed.
I was halfway to acting on that when my phone buzzed on the counter. I checked the screen. Summit Falls PD dispatch.
“Hold that thought. I have to get this.” I picked up. “Garrison.”
“Ben, it’s Rawlings. We’ve got a drug overdose fatality at Ridgewood Apartments, unit 2B. Suspected Drift. Unfortunately, just because we found our leak doesn’t mean the drugs automatically stopped. Any chance you can bring Jolly out and work the scene?”
I looked at Kayla. The damp hair. The bare legs. The planetarium we weren’t going to make, at least not this morning.
“Yeah, we’ll be there as soon as we can.”
“Copy. Scene’s already being processed. You’ll see units in the lot.”
I ended the call and set the phone down. Jolly’s ears had come up at the shift in my voice. He was already watching me from the doorway, reading the change the way he always did. Not the words, just the frequency.
Kayla turned around, coffee in hand, and stopped.
“I need to go in. Rawlings needs Jolly at a scene.” I turned to face her. “I’m sorry. I don’t know how long it’ll take, but maybe we can still do the planetarium this evening.”
Part of me braced for the shift. The tightening around her mouth, the careful “it’s fine” that meant it wasn’t.
I’d never been the guy who canceled plans, because I’d never been the guy who made them. This was new territory, and I didn’t know what it cost a woman when a man had to choose something else over her. But it was unescapable in my line of work.
Jesus. How did this cup-of-coffee moment become so critical without us being aware of it?
Kayla had gotten a de facto babysitter so she and I could spend time together alone. She wanted—hell, deserved—to be wined and dined and courted. She hadn’t signed up to date a cop, but right now, I was having to act like one.
Her being pissed would be understandable. Fuck, her calling everything off between us would be understandable.
But she didn’t do either. She set down her mug and crossed to me, resting her hands flat against my chest. “Go. Seriously. I’ve got plenty to do around here and more edits I’ve been pretending don’t exist anyway.
” She smoothed the front of my shirt like she was straightening a collar that didn’t need straightening.
“Just come back when you’re done, and we’ll figure it out. ”
I covered her hands with mine. “I’ll come back.”
“I know you will.” She pushed up on her toes and kissed me, quick and sweet. “Now go before I change my mind and lock you in the bedroom.”
“Wait. That was an option? Let me call back and—”
She playfully smacked me again. “Get out of here.”
I pushed away from the counter. Jolly scrambled up, nails clicking on the hardwood, already oriented toward the door.
Kayla put her hand on my arm before I could go farther. “Be careful.”
I kissed her forehead. Then I grabbed my keys and my go bag from beside the door, and Jolly and I walked out into the morning and across the yard to my place.
I loaded him into the truck, backed out of my driveway, and headed toward town.
Ridgewood Apartments was the kind of complex that told you everything before you stepped out of your vehicle.
Two stories, exterior corridors, paint peeling in strips above the stairwells.
The parking lot had more cracks than asphalt.
A dumpster sat at an angle near the entrance, lid propped open.
Three patrol cars and an unmarked sedan were already parked along the curb, lights off.
I pulled in beside the farthest unit and cut the engine. Jolly pressed his nose against the window, reading the scene the same way I was. New people, new territory, tension in the air. I walked around the truck, let Jolly out, then clipped on his working lead and brought him to heel.
The apartment with the victim was on the ground floor. The door stood open, propped with a rubber wedge. I checked in with the officer holding the perimeter log, signed my name, and stepped inside.
Small. That was the first thing. You could stand in the living room and see the kitchen and the bedroom door and the bathroom all at once. A place that said someone was making it work on not very much.
Officers moved through the space with the careful choreography of a scene already in process. Evidence markers on the kitchen counter. A photographer working the angles. Vance stood with two detectives conferring near the refrigerator, voices low, although he gave me a slight nod when he saw me.
Nobody making small talk. Nobody cracking jokes. Nothing about this was fucking funny.
The victim was on the kitchen floor. Young, female, early twenties, maybe.
Her dark hair fanned against the linoleum.
Her eyes were closed. She wore jeans and a gray sweatshirt and one sock, the other foot bare, toes curled slightly, like she’d been in the middle of something ordinary when the ordinary stopped.
A coffee mug sat on the counter, half full. A grocery list stuck to the refrigerator with a sunflower magnet.
I took it in, then put it where it needed to go and focused on the work.
Vance met me just inside the door. He looked tired. Which, given everything that had happened this week—first Martinez, now this—wasn’t surprising.
“Garrison. Appreciate you coming out.” He kept his voice low. “The detectives would like the dog to do a sweep if you’re good.”
“We’re good.” I kept Jolly at heel and assessed the space. “Walk me through what you have.”
“Victim is female, twenty-three. Neighbor called it in around one o’clock.
Hadn’t seen her since yesterday, door was unlocked.
First responders confirmed she was deceased on arrival.
Preliminary assessment is overdose, consistent with Drift.
No visible paraphernalia beyond what’s been tagged. ME is en route.”
One of the uniformed officers near the door was talking to Briggson. If Vance looked worn out, Briggson looked downright haggard.