Chapter 25
Knox
This is fucked. This is so fucked. I press my fingers against my bruised cheek, the skin tender and swollen under my touch. This day has been fucked since I saw Millie’s truck in that ditch, and it’s only getting worse.
My office is a mess of paperwork and empty coffee cups. The fluorescent lights overhead hum a monotonous buzz that drills into my skull. I lean back in my chair, the worn leather groaning in protest, and close my eyes for a moment.
Just a moment.
But the moment is shattered by the image of Liam’s face contorted with rage, the impact of his fist against my jaw. The shock in his eyes afterward, followed by defiance.
This whole situation is fucked.
I check my phone for what feels like the hundredth time. Still no response from the Port Blossom sheriff. If the bastard decides to refuse the delivery of suppressants and the rest of the medical supplies, this town is well and truly fucked.
We’re already stretched thin, and without those supplies...
I push the thought aside and pick up the receiver. “Jasmine,” I say to the dispatcher. “Get on the line with the fire department. Let them know we might need an emergency call tonight. Things could get... complicated.”
“You got it, Sheriff,” she replies, an undercurrent of concern beneath her professional tone. She knows as well as I do how precarious our situation is.
Next, I dial Jake Marshall. The phone rings twice before he picks up.
“Knox,” he says, and I can hear the exhaustion in his tone. “What’s going on now?”
“We have a problem with the delivery of the heat suppressants,” I say, getting straight to the point.
“What the hell happened?”
He’s quiet as I explain the situation to him. Once I’m done, there’s a pause on the other end of the line. “Shit. How bad is it?”
“Arnold is pressing charges.”
Another pause, longer this time. “I’m on my way.”
“Jake—” I start, but he’s already hung up.
I sigh and rub my temples. The headache that’s been threatening all day is now in full force. I dial my daughter’s number, needing to hear her voice, needing to know that at least one part of my world is still intact.
“Hey, Dad,” she answers, and I can hear some YouTube show playing in the background. “Are you coming home?”
“Not yet, sweetheart. Something’s come up.” I hesitate, not wanting to worry her. “How are you doing? Everything okay at the house?”
“Yeah, I’m fine. Just watching this show about these people who renovate old houses. It’s pretty cool.”
I smile, a genuine smile that feels out of place in the middle of this fucked-up day. “Sounds good. I’ll try to get home as soon as I can.”
“No worries. Take your time.” She pauses. “Love you, Dad.”
“Love you too, Clara.”
I hang up, feeling slightly better but still on edge. The town is a powder keg, and Arnold Bennett just lit the fuse.
There’s a knock on my door. “Come in,” I call out, expecting to see one of the deputies.
But it’s not them. It’s Millie.
She stands in the doorway, her hair a mess, a gash on her forehead crusted with dried blood. Her eyes are wide, filled with a mixture of fear and determination. She’s wearing the same clothes from earlier, now rumpled and stained.
“Millie,” I say, sitting up straight. “What are you doing here? You should be in the hospital.”
Her scent hits me then, a complex mix of Omega pheromones that sends my Alpha instincts into overdrive. It’s sweet, like lavender and vanilla, but there’s something else too—something panicked and sour. It tastes in the back of my throat, a bitter reminder of everything that’s gone wrong today.
“I need to see Liam,” she says, her voice quiet but firm.
“Millie, I don’t think that’s a good idea. He’s being processed. Maybe tomorrow—”
She steps into the office and closes the door behind her. I hear the click of the lock, and my instincts go on high alert.
“Please,” she says, turning to face me. “I just need to make sure he’s okay. I need to see him with my own eyes.”
Her eyes are pleading, and I find myself wavering. I know what it’s like to worry about someone you care about, to feel helpless when they’re in trouble.
I stand up and walk around the desk, stopping in front of her. I reach out, my fingers gently touching the skin just below the gash on her forehead. She flinches but doesn’t pull away.
“How’s your head?” I ask.
“I’ll live,” she says, attempting a smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes.
“You had an accident already. I’m worried you might have a concussion.”
“I’m okay.”
“I have a first aid kit,” I say, my thumb stroking the skin beside the wound. “I can help clean that up.”
She swallows, her gaze dropping to my chest before meeting my eyes again. “I’d rather see Liam first.”
I study her face, seeing the determination there, the stubborn set of her jaw. She’s not going to take no for an answer.
“Let me clean you up first,” I say, compromising. “Then I’ll take you to see him.”
She hesitates for a moment, then nods. “Okay.”
“Have a seat,” I say, gesturing to the chair in front of my desk.
She sits, her hands clasped in her lap, her fingers twiddling nervously. I watch her for a moment, struck by how vulnerable she looks, yet how strong at the same time.
I turn to the cabinet behind my desk and start rummaging through it, looking for the first aid kit. The office is quiet except for the rustle of bandages.
“Found it,” I say, pulling out a small white box with a red cross on it.
I turn back to Millie, opening the kit and taking out antiseptic wipes, bandages, and medical tape. I kneel in front of her, my knees protesting the movement.
“This might sting a little,” I warn, opening an antiseptic wipe.
She nods, her eyes fixed on mine.
I gently clean the wound, careful not to press too hard. She hisses in pain but doesn’t pull away. I can feel her breath on my face. Her scent surrounds me, intoxicating and distracting.
“It’s not too deep,” I say, my voice low. “Shouldn’t need stitches.”
She nods again, her gaze unwavering.
I finish cleaning the wound and apply a bandage, my fingers brushing against her skin. The contact sends a jolt through me, a spark of awareness that I immediately push down. Now is not the time.
“There,” I say, sitting back on my heels. “All done.”
“Thank you,” she whispers, her fingers touching the bandage.
I stand up, putting the first aid kit away. “Alright. Let’s go see your boyfriend.”
“He’s not my boyfriend,” she says, a little too quickly.
I raise an eyebrow but don’t comment. “Right. Let’s go see your friend, then.”
I lead her out of the office and down the hall, my mind racing. This day just keeps getting more complicated.
We stop outside the interrogation room where Liam is being held. Through the small window in the door, I can see him sitting at the metal table, his head in his hands. He looks up as we approach, his expression a mixture of relief and worry.
“Millie,” he says, his voice muffled by the door. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” she says, her hand pressed against the glass. “Are you?”
“I’m fine,” he replies, though he looks anything but. There’s a bruise forming on his jaw, and his knuckles are raw and swollen. The ice pack I gave him earlier is tossed in the corner of the room.
I step back, giving them some space. I can’t hear everything they’re saying, just fragments of their conversation carried through the door.
“...Maddox is on his way...” Millie says.
The last thing they need is an audience. I turn and walk back to my office, my mind already racing with the next problem to solve.
Back in the relative quiet of my office, I pick up the phone and dial my other deputy. “Lucas,” I say when he answers. “Any update on the road clearing?”
“Working on it, Sheriff,” he replies. “The main roads are clear, but some of the side streets are still blocked by debris. It’s going to be a while before everything is back to normal.”
“Keep me updated,” I say, hanging up.
The phone rings almost immediately. It’s Captain Ashford.
“Knox,” he says, his tone grim. “Mayor Marshall filled me in. We’re on our way. Should be there in twenty minutes.”
“Appreciate it, Captain,” I say, my mind already shifting to the next problem.
Suppressants. That’s my biggest priority right now. The panic could get pretty bad if Omegas start going into heat without access to their medication. The town is already on edge; we don’t need to add a biological crisis to the mix.
I’m poring over a map of the county, trying to figure out alternative supply routes, when there’s a knock on my door.
“Come in,” I call out, not looking up from the map.
It’s her. Millie.
She looks calmer now, the panic in her scent replaced by something softer, more serene. It’s a subtle shift, but I notice it immediately. She smells a little like Liam, too, their scents mingling in a way that sends a pang of jealousy through me.
“You’re done?” I ask, looking up from the map.
She nods. “Thank you for letting me see him. And for... you know.” She gestures to her forehead. “I’m heading to check on Liam’s mother.”
“You really should get your head checked,” I say, my concern overriding my professional demeanor.
She shakes her head. “I was already tested for a concussion today. I’ll skip it.”
I nod, respecting her decision. “I’ll do what I can to help Liam,” I promise.
She nods again, her gaze dropping to the floor. “Where’s Arnold?”
“I’m not sure,” I admit. “Probably at a motel or something.”
She looks up, her eyes meeting mine. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” I say, though my jaw is still throbbing.
She points at the bruise on my cheek. “I’m sorry Liam did that.”
“I’m okay for real,” I insist. Then I ask, “Are you okay?”
She says she is. I say okay. It feels so weird between us. She goes to say something, I say something, and then we both stop and smile. It’s a moment of awkward, unexpected connection in the middle of this mess.
“Can I wait out front for Maddox to drive me home?” she asks. “If that’s okay.”
I nod. “Of course.”
“Thanks,” she says, turning to leave.