Chapter 9 #3
“Excuse me,” he muttered, pushing to his feet and holding up his phone like it had buzzed. “I need to take this.”
He slipped into the house and tossed the phone onto the kitchen table. It didn’t ring. It hadn’t buzzed. He just needed out.
Gripping the edge of the counter, he sucked in a breath. Then another. Each one came with effort, shallow and thin, like breathing through a straw.
His mind split in two—one half desperate to get back outside, to return to the laughter and light and love of the only people who had ever truly seen him. The other half wanted to run. To bolt. To climb into his truck and drive until the road ran out and the noise in his head finally quieted.
He’d fought so hard to build something real—with the team, with Chloe. She softened his edges. Made him feel like maybe he wasn’t broken beyond repair.
But now, all he could feel was the cold grip of fear and the past pressing down on him. He couldn’t move forward—not when he still carried the guilt, the grief, and the unrelenting belief that he wasn’t made for the kind of love and commitment these men had found.
He pressed a palm to the counter, head down, breath steadying by degrees.
He wanted to be that man. For Chloe. For himself.
But wanting it didn’t make it real.
And right now, it felt a thousand miles away.
Chloe set her bag on the kitchen counter and grabbed a water from the fridge. The cool bottle did nothing to calm the low thrum of unease in her chest.
Nick had always said she jumped into confrontation too fast. That she didn’t give people enough space, didn’t let things breathe. That not everything needed to be solved the second it surfaced.
But this wasn’t about impatience. This was about instinct.
She turned, watching Hayes drop his keys on the table and hang up his jean jacket like his movements were rehearsed and automatic. As if he were on autopilot. It wasn’t like him. While he could often be quiet, he never behaved like an emotionless robot.
“You’ve barely said five words since we left Fletcher’s,” she said. “And you’ve been off most of the night. Are you okay?”
“I told you—I’m just tired.” His voice was calm. Even. Too even. Like someone reading off a script instead of speaking from someplace real.
It was the kind of flat response that made Chloe pause. He wasn’t looking at her. Wasn’t offering even a shadow of the man she knew—the man who usually met tension with wit, not distance.
She studied him for a beat, then said, “Sure...tired.” She let the word hang there. Gave it space. “But you didn’t check out emotionally the last time you were sleep-deprived and running on fumes. Something else is going on.”
He walked to the sink and washed his hands, scrubbing not like someone cleaning up after a long day, but like a man trying to wash off something he couldn’t name. His shoulders were tense, his movements mechanical, focused, but disconnected.
Chloe watched him in silence, feeling the gap between them widen with each passing second. This wasn’t just post-shift exhaustion or the come-down after a long day. This was avoidance. She’d seen it before—in suspects, in victims’ families, in the mirror, and she hated it.
She took a step closer. “Hayes, talk to me.” God, why did her voice sound so unsure?
She wasn’t needy. She didn’t beg for attention or push for feelings before they were ready to surface.
But this wasn’t nothing. This wasn’t just a rough night.
She could feel it in her chest, in her gut.
He was unraveling—quietly, maybe even subconsciously—but it was happening, and she was close enough to see the threads start to pull.
It made her heart twist because he was the one who had asked for more. He was the one who’d kissed her like he’d meant it and told her they should try again, even if the future was blurry. He was the one who’d looked her in the eye and said, I’m not going anywhere .
So why did it suddenly feel like he already had?
Chloe held her breath, waiting for a crack in the silence, a flicker of honesty—anything real.
Because what she wouldn’t do, what she couldn’t do, was stay in another relationship with one foot already out the door.
Not again.
He dried his hands and leaned against the counter, still not meeting her eyes.
“This isn’t you,” Chloe said, her voice calm but pointed. “You’ve been off all night, and I’m not buying that it’s just about being tired.”
His jaw worked, like he was chewing on a response he didn’t want to say out loud. “It’s been a long week. That’s all.”
She stepped forward, slowly. “You’ve had long weeks before, and you didn’t shut me out. That’s usually my job.” Her attempt at humor fell flat.
He didn’t flinch, didn’t look her in the eyes, but the tension in his shoulders gave him away.
“You were the one who wanted to try again,” she said, quieter now. “I was the one who said I couldn’t make promises. Not until Heather’s case was closed. But you...you said we should see where this goes.”
“I know what I said.” The words came out low, not angry—but tight.
“Then help me understand why you’re pulling back when you’ve never done that with me before. When that’s always been my line.”
He finally shifted his gaze, but the look wasn’t soft. It wasn’t cold either—it was guarded. Careful. The kind of stare that belonged to someone retreating behind old, familiar defenses—and she knew that because she was the queen of hiding behind those defenses.
“I’m not trying to pull back,” he said. “I’m just trying not to screw this up, and right now, if I say anything, I will because you won’t like what comes out of my mouth, and I’m not even sure I can express it.
” He heaved in a long breath and let it out with a big sigh. “And now I’ve said too much.”
That hit her sideways—because it didn’t sound like an answer. It sounded like a warning.
She blinked. “You’re not making any sense.”
He gave the barest shake of his head. “Because I’m tired, and there’s a lot on my plate right now. My brain is jumbled, and I can’t think straight.”
“Right,” she said, heat rising in her chest. Everything that he said were all the excuses and rationalizations she used to give Nick.
They were non-answers. They were bullshit rhetoric meant to confuse and deflect, instead of dealing with the heart of the matter.
“Because the rest of us are just coasting through life with nothing going on.”
“That’s not what I said, and I don’t want to get into this tonight.”
“Well, I do.” She raised her hand. “I know what you’re doing because I’ve done it a million times myself.
Only, I don’t know why you’re doing it.” Her eyes burned.
She shouldn’t care this much. “I pushed Nick away, or any man I got involved with—including you—because I couldn’t afford to be distracted from catching a killer. What am I distracting you from?”
“It’s not like that.” He lowered his head, pinched the bridge of his nose, and sighed.
“Then explain what it’s like,” she said. “Or are you going to disappear behind some wall I don’t have the blueprint for?”
“I’m not disappearing.”
“No? Because it feels a lot like you are.”
He looked like he wanted to argue—his jaw tight, eyes flashing with something sharp and unspoken—but instead, he turned slightly, putting space between them. Not much. Just enough to make her feel it.
Chloe didn’t hesitate. She reached out and curled her fingers around his biceps, grounding them both. “Don’t you dare turn away from me.”
“I don’t want to fight,” he said, quietly, like the words were a truth and a plea all in one.
“You know what? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you fight.
Not really.” Her voice rose with frustration, and she threw her hands in the air.
“Any time things get tense with anyone, you either charm your way out of it, or you fade into the background like it doesn’t touch you.
But that’s not a connection, Hayes. That’s avoidance.
” She slapped her palms against her thighs, not out of anger but exasperation.
“Sometimes, a good, old-fashioned argument is healthy. It means you care enough to stay in it. It means you show up.” Then she jabbed a finger into the center of his chest. “So, show the hell up.”
He looked down at her finger, then up at her face. A slow, crooked grin tugged at his mouth. A soft chuckle slipped out before he could stop it.
“It’s not funny,” she muttered, but her voice cracked with something else—relief, maybe. Or hope.
“I know it’s not,” he said, gently. “But you...poking me in the chest like that, it’s kind of your thing.
” He traced his finger across her jawline.
“I really am utterly exhausted, and to be honest, I don’t completely understand why I’m in such a foul mood.
I shouldn’t be. Not anymore. I didn’t want to talk to you about it tonight because it took me most of this evening to sort it all out in my brain.
I’d rather be fresh. I’d rather it be at another time when the moment is better.
Not forced, or rushed, or when we’re in the middle of all this chaos. ”
“That’s all bullshit. You’re shutting down on me.” She pressed her finger over his lips. “Something triggered you tonight. Trust me, I know the signs, and I was triggered, too.”
He cocked his head. “What do you mean?”
“Weddings, babies, families—they always get me. Not so much because they’re something I want for myself, that will either happen or it won’t. I don’t get hung up on that too much.” A tear fell from her eye and landed on her cheek.
Gently, he wiped it away. He could be sweet and attentive when he wanted to be. “If not for yourself, then…oh.” He cupped her face and dropped his forehead to hers. “Because Heather will never be able to have those.”
“Exactly. Not only was her life stolen from her, but it’s all the things that I know she wanted.
I mean, we might have been complete opposites and drove each other nuts, but we would’ve been each other’s maids of honor and our babies’ godmothers.
We talked about all that stuff late at night when we put aside all our differences and were just sisters.
All that stuff was stolen from Heather, and it hurts my heart.
” She blinked out a few more tears. “Nick used to accuse me of sabotaging our relationship because I felt guilty over being able to have the life my sister never could.”
“I have often wondered if Max would’ve stayed in the community. Or if he had lived, if I would have. I don’t know. But all those what-ifs do creep into my mind, and the guilt can be overwhelming at times.”
Before she could respond—before either of them could say what came next—Chloe’s phone buzzed in her back pocket.
She stiffened. Reached for it. Her eyes flicked down to the screen. Then everything in her expression shifted.
“What is it?” Hayes asked, the smile vanishing from his face.
Her voice was tight. “Buddy texted. There’s another body.”
Hayes didn’t blink. “The Ring Finger Killer?”
“Yeah,” she said, throat dry. “North of the marina. On Keaton’s old property.”
“I’ll get the truck,” Hayes said, already moving.
Chloe grabbed her bag, her pulse racing now for an entirely different reason.
The rest of that conversation would have to wait.
The killer wouldn’t.