CHAPTER 37 GAVIN
GAVIN
Matt turned on the sirens. Flashes of red, white, and blue guided us through the snow-covered streets down the mountain. The sun is setting, and I keep looking at the dashboard, watching the minutes tick by as if my life depends on it. The traffic opens up for him as we blast through.
As soon as he parks outside of arrivals, I head out the door and make a beeline for the entrance doors. I don’t say one word to Matt as I race out of his vehicle. I’m being an asshole, but that’s pretty up to par with my personality.
I’m too late.
The next thing I know, my desperation has me tripping over my prosthetic foot. I fall to the ground, gritting my teeth.
Fuck. That hurt.
“I got you, brother,” Matt says as he hooks his arm in mine. Placing it back on, I rise to my feet, itching for a smoke.
I can’t lose her.
I know what I have to do.
I have to leave the place that I’ve called home since I was a boy. I have to let go of the past, because Coraline is my future. But the thought of me leaving the cabin kills me. It’s everything. The land, the state, the horses, the two women who raised me there.
It’s my life. I’m not meant for anything else. Alaska made me the man I am today. Now that I’m out of the military, I’ve never envisioned myself anywhere else. I loved being on the teams, but as soon as I lost my leg, I was done. Everything I loved doing was made harder for me—but not impossible.
Coraline makes me feel like life has just begun…and I’ve lost her.
We both stand there, watching the plane’s wheels go airborne. The plane’s nose turns up to the right. The engines roar and reverberate against the floor-to-ceiling windows. That’s her plane. I memorized the flight company.
“Take me home,” I grumble. “Take me home before I flip this place apart.”
Matt nods with a flash of empathy. “You’re drunk. You’re angry, and you’re grieving. Slow down.”
He lets out a deep breath, staring at me.
I know he’s trying to help, but I’m in no fucking mood.
I need to get the fuck out of this airport and back to the cabin.
I have a funeral to plan. But then, I see a familiar look in his eyes.
That’s the same look he has when someone’s pushed him over the edge.
I know it so well because I’ve had it so many times when we were in the military.
And it’s the same look I’d get when we were getting smoked by our leadership after long nights doing shit we’re not supposed to.
Here we go again.
His fist connects with my chin. Stumbling over my feet, I’m taken aback by the pain.
“Don’t point my own gun at me again,” he scolds. Everyone around us stops walking, their luggage slowly wheeling behind. Laughing, I suck in a deep breath before I cock my hand back and strike his face. He stumbles back, gripping and rubbing his cheek. A bright red mark reflects.
“I can’t promise you that.”
I got him good, but so did he. The strong taste of blood seeps through my tongue. I run my hand through my hair as two airport security make their way toward us. As soon as they get close, their tense body language fades away.
“Matt.” One of them extends their arm for a handshake. Both of them smile as they greet Matt, but when they turn my way, it’s that same apprehensive expression I get from everyone in Sleepy Coldwater.
Fear.
They just give me a silent nod, pressing their lips together.
As soon as I take one step forward, they scatter backward.
My shadow swallows them as I get close since I’m taller than both of them.
My father’s reputation as a serial killer will always bleed onto me.
It doesn’t matter that I served fifteen years as a SEAL.
It doesn’t matter that I do everything I can to stay out of everyone’s way and live a quiet life.
I’ll always be known to them as a walking time bomb.
Huffing, I walk past them and head back to Matt’s car, with a soulless body that echoes and yearns for one woman who made me feel like a normal man.
“Shit.” I groan in the passenger seat of Matt’s police car. Shifting in my seat, I lean forward, eyeing my cabin in the distance.
“What is it?” he asks, keeping his eyes on the road.
“I left the gate open.”
Matt squints as he drives down the dirt road to the house.
I already know something is wrong. I feel it in my bones.
Sure enough, as we pull up to the front of the house, there is something different and horribly wrong.
The first thing that stands out is the shattered windows.
All of them are broken; the shattered glass floods the wrap-around porch.
“Fuck,” Matt murmurs, his eyes growing wide in shock. His hands rub against the wheel as he grips it tight. Tension rolls off of me and onto him. As soon as he parks, I bolt out of the car and amble as fast as I can to my house. Matt turns off the engine and follows right behind.
The sound of our boots crunching through the grass overpowers the rage in my chest. I can’t hear the sound of my heart beating erratically. The front door is already ajar. Pressing my palms against its center, it creaks as it springs wide.
“Let me go first,” Matt offers, his weapon already drawn.
“No,” I insist. “I don’t think anyone is here anymore.”
“I’ll make sure of that,” he says as he pushes past me.
He surveys the kitchen first, then heads into the living room as I stay planted at the front door.
I wait and watch, breathing hard and slow.
All of the furniture has been ripped to shreds, most likely done by a knife.
There’s cotton everywhere. All of my mother’s decorations are broken.
The Christmas wreaths are cut into pieces.
The twinkling lights are unplugged and stomped on.
I can tell by the way they’re crushed. My entire cabin smells of gasoline.
“Whoever did this was going to burn the house to the ground,” Matt states, clearly just as pissed as I am. He heads down the hallways, leaving me alone. “Even with the Sleepy Coldwater Serial Killer copycat locked up, this town still wants to torture you.” He shakes his head, pissed off.
Whoever was in my house tore it apart and made sure to remind me of why I live alone up in these mountains, far away from everyone. The massive portrait I have of a deployment overseas, standing with my team, has been written on with red paint or marker. I’m not sure.
Murderer.
Someone from Sleepy Coldwater did this. Maya is dead. So, the only suspects are the civilians who live here. This town will never forget what my father did, and they will never let me live in peace.