Chapter 22 #4
Cole keys his radio. "Aimes, come in. This is Mannix."
"Go for Aimes, Sheriff."
"You still patrolling near the one hundred block of Huron?"
"Yes, sir. Cruising down Main, not even a mile away. What's up?"
"Lime Green Lamborghini Urus, license plate four nine nine Zebra Kilo Juniper, driving like a bat out of hell. Nail him, Aimes. Don't make anything up, but hit him with anything and everything you legally can."
"Boss?"
"You heard me."
"Wait, I heard your old-but-new lady showed up with a shiner. I bet I can guess who I'm about to pull over." A pause. "Damn, Chief, he's really flying. You musta put the fear of god into him."
"Actually, Aimes, she did. I just…put a period on it."
"I'm on his tail, Sheriff, and he's about to have at least six points on his license, because this jackass is doing ninety in a thirty-five."
"Shit," Cole mutters. "If he hurts someone…"
The radio crackles. "He's slowing—I got him. And sir? I clocked him at ninety-two in a thirty-five, so we've got him a whole slew of shit. We could impound his car, file criminal charges, you name it."
Cole looks at me, and I consider it. But then I shake my head. "It's your call, Cole, since you're the Sheriff, but if you're asking me?"
"I am."
"Don't impound his car and don't file criminal charges. That will just mean he has to come back up here and I want him in my rearview forever. So just give him the biggest non-criminal ticket you can."
“Give him reckless driving and put the fear of god into him, and then tell him to get the fuck out of my town," Cole tells his deputy.
"Got it, sir."
"Thanks, Aimes."
"You got it." A pause. "Good lord, this car is ugly."
Cole and I both laugh, and then Cole takes me by the arms and gazes down at me. "Is it weird that it was hot as fuck, watching you rip that shitstain a new asshole?"
I grin up at him. "It certainly felt good."
He sighs, shakes his head. "I can't believe he put a tracker on your car and showed up here like that."
"Me either!" I say. "He was acting like it was just a little tiff, like he could gaslight me out of being pissed off."
"I thought you were divorced?"
"We are!" I say. "He had a friend who is a judge sign off on it over the weekend after I confronted him with divorce papers."
Cole frowns, puzzled. "I thought you divorced him for hitting you."
I shake my head. "Nope. I already had the papers drawn up and signed.
I needed his signature and a judge's. I confronted him with the evidence that he was screwing a nineteen-year-old girl.
We…I…" I wince. "I sort of went a little crazy when he tried to gaslight me about it, and things got…
heated. I put my finger in his face while I was, well…
honestly, I was screaming at him. Not my finest moment, I admit, but I'd had it, you know?
There were so many lies, so much gaslighting, and I'd had enough.
I was done. I'd thought we’d get divorced on a normal timeline—a few weeks, maybe a month or two to get in front of a judge.
I thought I'd get a place on my own somewhere.
But then, during that screaming match in our bedroom, I put my finger in his face, like this.
" I stick my index finger half an inch from his nose.
“He backhanded me so hard I hit the floor, and I think I even blacked out for a second.
By the time I got my bearings again, he'd left the house.
I packed everything up the next day and left.
I took pictures of my face and sent that along with all the evidence I had to his work email, and I told him if he didn't have the papers signed by himself and his golfing buddy, Judge Morgan, by the end of the day, I'd send that same email to his boss, to the bar association, the country club, and to every single person he knows.
" I smirk. "I had signed copies in my inbox within two hours. "
Cole gathers me into his arms. "Proud of you, Lace. For that. For giving him what he deserved just now. For being so strong."
"I'm glad you came," I whisper. "I think he would've dragged it out and turned it even uglier if you hadn't."
He winces. "Probably shouldn't have threatened to kill him, though."
“You didn’t,” I point out. "You just asked if he knew what thirty hungry hogs can do to a dead body. That's not a death threat, just a question."
He tips his head to one side. "That was the idea." He frowns down at me. "It's cold out here. Let's go inside."
I touch his chest. "I'm okay, Cole. You can go back to work."
He shakes his head. "No way. Not after this. You're shaking."
I realize he's right, and I let him usher me inside, and I let him take care of me—he needs it, after that, and so do I.
And let's be real, if you've gotta have a confrontation with your ex, there are much worse ways to cope with it than to be pampered by a hot man who loves me.
Three times.
And then rubs my feet while we watch TV on the couch.
Don't tell anyone, but Cole was really into Real Housewives of Rhode Island, ya'll. Like really.