9. Sutton
Sutton
S aturday morning, I checked in with the Coles at The Moose’s Muse to see what type of car Jimmy drove. I definitely kept an eye on my office window overlooking Main Street, taking note every time a cherry red vehicle drove past.
The BMW he owned snagged my attention not long after my breakfast from Scone Haven, and I craned my head, watching the blond beauty hang a left down Pippen Street.
I grabbed my keys and left the station without incident, climbing into my cruiser mere minutes behind the boy. Either he headed for Mary’s or he planned to check in on the residence he’d been paying taxes on from afar the previous three years.
A ride by Mary’s and empty driveway sent me farther southwest of town. Expecting Jimmy had no interest in visiting the graveyard where Mary had buried the elder Riley’s ashes, I headed toward the house that would doubtless bring back a mess of emotions and memories I didn’t want Jimmy facing alone.
In my years as the chief of police, I’d found being nurturing, compassionate, and supportive wasn’t enough to change a man’s path. If a person didn’t want to straighten out their life, they wouldn’t.
Had Jimmy had gone to therapy in his absence in the hopes of finding healing?
Had he come to terms with the childhood trauma inflicted on him by the one man who should have protected him at all costs?
Without answers, I couldn’t help but feel responsible for his well-being no matter where he’d driven to.
His car sat in front of the ranch where I’d expected, but Jimmy didn’t slouch in the driver seat or on the front steps.
I hopped from the cruiser and strode up the uneven cobbled walkway, my footfalls deliberately heavy on the treads leading to the tilting stoop so he would know I approached.
A waft of stale air from the opened door passed my nose, and I grimaced as memories assaulted me of the day I’d figured Jimmy’s dad might have drowned his liver.
No such luck that afternoon, and by the time his body had finally given out after years of alcohol abuse, Jimmy had been long gone.
“Jimmy?” I called out while stepping over the threshold into a mess of filth and trash.
The boy didn’t answer, nor did I hear anything but deathly stillness, the house more a tomb than shelter from the elements.
I stepped farther into the dim interior, the stench of the air unsurprising considering how long the house had been shut up. “Jimmy?” I called again but not so loud as to startle him.
A choked sob sounded back the hallway, and I hurried forward, rounding the bend to find Jimmy hugging himself in his bedroom doorway. In profile, his face appeared blanched, tears streaming over his cheeks. Red marks lined his left arm as though he’d been scratching.
While I’d wanted to see him broken down so I could help rebuild him, this went far beyond what I had hoped for.
Never would I wish to see a man curled in on himself, a mere shell of the usual sass and energy he’d displayed the night before.
I closed the distance between us, desiring to reach out to him and offer comfort, but I kept from doing so since he still didn’t seem aware I was there.
Heaviness settled over my shoulders as I stopped shy of his personal space, and my throat went thick at the display of hurt and insecurity overwhelming his entire body.
“Jimmy,” I whispered, and his eyes closed, letting me know he realized he wasn’t alone. “Are you doing okay?” It was obvious as fuck he wasn’t, but I needed to check in with him, hear from his own lips what he was dealing with.
“I want to burn it all to the ground,” he choked out, his voice ragged as though his insides shredded to unrecognizable pieces.
“Every reminder.” His voice broke, and he swallowed hard.
“Every nightmare.” A shudder ripped through him, and he whimpered, hugging himself tighter with arms streaked red from his fingernails.
Unable to help the draw, I gently cupped his elbow, tugging the slightest bit. “Come here,” I murmured, shifting him toward me.
Like an innocent lamb, he allowed me to steer him toward my chest as I’d always longed to do.
He pressed against me with a shuddered sigh, his arms encircling my waist to cling to my uniform as I held him. He shivered and shook in silence when I’d expected harsh sobs.
I closed my eyes, his head tucked beneath my chin, soaking in the warmth of his slight form. While I finally had the chance to give him the comfort he needed, I hated that our first embrace was due to unimaginable pain he must been reliving from having stepped into this damned house.
Long moments passed as my heart thumped heavy against the side of his face, but at least my groin lay relaxed rather than roused at finally having a body— him specifically—plastered against my front like a second uniform. He fit like he’d been tailor-made for me.
Jimmy’s breathing regulated, and I readied myself for the second he would pull away, leaving me missing the feel of him.
All too soon, he released his hold on my shirt as I’d feared and stepped back, shoving his hands in his pockets. He hadn’t even wiped the damp tracks from his cheeks.
He studied the floor. “I’m going to sell this shithole,” he said, his tone wrecked as though he’d been sobbing for an hour or longer.
“Glad to hear it.” I fisted my hands at my sides to keep from brushing unruly waves of hair off his forehead and tipping his face up with a light touch to his chin so I could drown in his vulnerable baby blues. “If there’s anything I can do to help, let me know.”
“Thanks.” Jimmy exhaled heavily and straightened his shoulders as though throwing off a weighted cloak that had attempted to tug him toward the earth.
He tilted his head back and met my gaze straight on, his still-wet eyes as riveting, yet shadowed, blocking me from reading his feelings.
A saucy smirk tilted his lips, and my heart fell as his old facade settled into place like he’d flipped a switch.
“So.” He hummed, taking a good, long look at how I filled out my uniform. “Following me around town, are you, Chief?”
A muscle ticked in my jaw as I studied the face shuttered from my perusal.
This wasn’t the real Jimmy from moments before, the vulnerable man who’d needed me as much as I wanted him.
A shiver slid over my spine at the realization this boy already held power over my heart, and it wouldn’t take much manipulation on his part to play me for the fool I’d always been when it had come to him.
“I’ll admit,” he stepped closer, his voice lowering, same as the night before whenever he got all up in my space.
His fingertips trailed over the buttons atop my chest, and I held my breath, chin lifted, peering down my nose at him as he attempted to disarm my staunch determination to remain unaffected.
“Coming here wasn’t easy,” he continued, tugging on the button right above my belt, gaze fixed farther south, “but I can think of a few ways to get both of our minds off the bad times we shared on this property.”
I caught his wrist in a tight grip and gave myself a bit of space with a small backward step that hurt more than helped.
Jimmy lifted his focus, eyes blank of pain when his voice had been coated with it for one brief moment of vulnerability I wished would last long enough for me to connect with him for real.
Nothing sexual or even sensual, simply a freedom to simply be in our feelings.
“Don’t be this way, Jimmy. Please.” I searched his face, hoping the boy would listen to me.
Wetness slid over his gorgeous irises, and I inhaled deeply, drinking in as the veil he hid behind slid from place. His shoulders wilted, and I released his wrist, allowing him to wrap his own arms around himself since I needed to see his face for this brief moment of honesty he would gift me.
“He beat the shit out me the night I left Pippen Creek,” Jimmy said, his voice as small as it’d been when he’d been ten and I had first suspected abuse.
It was his only admission to what I’d always wondered, what DHHS had decided never occurred.
“His knuckles tore through my scalp, and I bled while curled up and defenselessly took his kicks.” He nodded toward a stain in the wood flooring, and my insides clenched, hands once more fisting at my sides.
I remembered no such injury marring his head or discoloring his hair that night.
“He eventually stopped and left me lying there. Once he passed out, I showered, packed up a few personal belongings, and planned to head out of town—if you didn’t want me. ”
I could recall with vivid clarity the memory of big eyes begging me to save him in the only way he thought I could.
By claiming him. Making him mine.
Back then, I hadn’t considered the possibility.
But now? I wanted to do both—and feared the repercussions.
A sad, crooked smile lifted Jimmy’s lips, and he glanced at me before quickly looking away once more as though ashamed of what he’d done before heading south toward Massachusetts.
“I’m sorry,” I murmured, not sure if it was for turning him down, for all the shit he’d endured, or a mix of both.
But back then, I hadn’t seen Jimmy as anything more than a hurting boy, thank fuck, or claiming the kid would have landed me in hot water no matter the fact he’d turned eighteen at the stroke of midnight.
“Do you regret denying my offer even a little bit?” He attempted to flirt but failed miserably, and I hated the pain that lined his face.
How the fuck could I answer that without laying myself bare? Opening that can of worms would leave me wasted and broken beyond how Darla had ruined me.
I fought for words that would soothe Jimmy and not open me up to a boatload of hurt but came up empty.
His focus dropped to the floor once more, and I hated that in my silence, I’d failed him yet again.