Chapter Seventeen
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Lincoln / Present
A knock on my office door has me glancing over from the case file loaded on the computer screen to one of the newer troopers who just graduated from the academy a little over a year and a half ago. Kevin Dickers is fresh-faced and nervous, feigning confidence as he straightens to full height when I sit back in my seat and dip my chin at him in greeting.
“What’s up, Dickers?” My eyes go from him to the thick folder in his hands. “Got something for me?”
He looks over his shoulder before stepping in, gaining my full attention with an arch of my brows when he closes the door behind him. “I was hoping you had a couple minutes to talk.”
I’ve barely had more than five conversations with the kid, so this seems a little out of the ordinary. “Something on your mind?”
His fingers clench around the folder. “I don’t know if you know this, but Sergeant Broughton asked me to go through Conklin’s files and make sure there weren’t any open cases we missed in the system.”
Eyes darting to the manilla folder again, I recognize the illegible chicken scratch on the top. “I figured somebody was going to. Didn’t know who they assigned to it.”
Frankly, I didn’t want to, or I’d be pestering the person nonstop about what they might or might not have found. When I got back from my medical leave, I had more important things to focus on. Like the meetings with the senior investigator and lieutenant about what had happened that day. It was Conklin’s body cam footage that got me out of facing Internal Affairs and being questioned. I was only on the last few minutes, my body blocking the camera feed as I grabbed his body and dragged him to safety.
They decided the big focus was on remembering Conklin and healing, not sending me to face IA while I still tried recovering.
Kevin scratches his throat. “Look, I haven’t brought this to Broughton yet. When I read through it, I figured you’d want to look at it first.”
“What is it exactly?”
He extends the folder out. “Conklin wrote your badge number in the margins next to some other stuff I couldn’t quite make out. The guy’s handwriting wasn’t great.”
Conklin’s handwriting was atrocious. It was a good thing reports and tickets were all typed up and printed or else nobody would be able to figure out what he was saying.
When I open the file, I see a list of names. It extends halfway down the page, with a handful of names highlighted and a couple others underlined or circled. Arrows connect a few names to others, with addresses next to them.
My blood goes cold when I see one of the addresses listed.
123 Cover Creek Road.
Jaw grinding, I close the file.
“I wasn’t sure if you saw that already,” he says, dropping his voice in case anyone passes by the room. “It seemed like he was going to show you that eventually. Before…”
Before I told him to meet me at 123 Cover Creek Road to serve Jakob Volley with an arrest warrant where he’d inevitably breathe his last breath.
Nostrils flaring, I ask, “You said you didn’t show Broughton this?”
He shakes his head, his throat bobbing at the tone I’m using. “I didn’t think it would be a good idea. Sir.”
Sir. Christ, the kid looks like he’s about to piss himself. I lean forward, tapping the top of the folder. “I’ll buy you breakfast for the next two months if you keep this between us. Pretend you never saw it. Feel me?”
He shifts, his eyes going from the file to the door, back to me. “I wasn’t going to say anything anyway. You don’t need to buy me breakfast. I…” His throat clears. “I don’t think you remember me, but we’ve met before. Long before I was a cop. You helped my mom get out of a nasty relationship by giving her some tough love that she needed to hear. I was sixteen and didn’t know how to help her, but whatever you said made a difference. She pressed charges against her dumbass boyfriend, and you got him hauled away and helped her get a protective order against him.”
Studying him, I try picturing a pimply-faced teenage version of the cop in front of me. He does look vaguely familiar, and the case rings a bell. I wish I could say that was the only domestic I’ve ever responded to, but it was one of many. “I think I know who you’re talking about.” I rack my brain for a name before snapping my fingers when something clicks. “Is your mother Danielle?”
He smiles. “Yeah. Danielle Corwin.”
No shit. “Small world,” I murmur, glancing down at the file. “Is she doing okay?”
Dickers nods. “She’s good. Better than. She got remarried a year ago. He’s a nice dude. Better than her usual type.”
Swiping my jaw, I say, “Good for her.”
We’re quiet for a minute.
Then he says, “I look up to you. Wanted to help people because of you.”
I can’t help but laugh. It’s short and dry. Bemused, if anything. “I’m not the kind of guy you want to look up to, kid. Trust me.”
His eyes are wary. “Because of Conklin?”
My teeth grind. “I’ve hurt people. Unintentionally, but still.”
He doesn’t answer right away. “You’ve helped a hell of a lot more people than you’ve hurt, Hawk.”
He doesn’t say more on the topic. He simply opens the door and steps out, leaving me with a, “Have a good holiday.”
I stare down at the thick folder, almost afraid to open it back up.
When I do, my eyes go to one name.
Nikolas Del Rossi.
*
A hand darts out and slaps mine away from taking another pepperoni roll from the plate. “It would be nice if you saved some for the others,” Mom chides, waving me away from the kitchen with a dish towel. “Scoot. I need to finish cooking lunch before everyone else gets here.”
From the other room, I hear Dad and Hannah laugh over our family’s favorite Christmas movie— National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation . It was tradition to watch it on Christmas Day, and we haven’t done it in a while since I typically pick up Christmas shifts so my coworkers with families can have it off.
“Who else is coming? I thought Uncle Sam and Aunt Becky couldn’t make it.”
She wipes her hands off before moving over to the stove where potatoes are boiling in a pot, stirring them a few times before putting the lid back on. “They couldn’t. But our neighbors are coming by for lunch. You remember the Coleman’s, don’t you?”
Vaguely. “I didn’t know you were close with them. Didn’t Dad have beef with the husband over shrubs or something stupid?”
“That was silly man stuff they resolved years ago. They’re friends now. And I think Hannah is even friends with their daughter. Have you met her? Oh, she’s precious, Lincoln. You’ll like her.”
My eyes narrow at her chipper tone that seems far from innocent. “Since when did Hannah start hanging out with their daughter?”
Mom shrugs. “Opal is doing her master’s program at the same college as Hannah. They see each other around campus. It must have spurred a friendship.”
“And now she’s coming here.”
She looks up from what she’s doing. “Yes. Now her whole family is coming here. I asked if they had plans, they didn’t, so I invited them. Behave yourself while they’re here and try to filter your humor. Some people don’t get it the way we do.”
Since when has she cared about my dark sense of humor being a bother to people? “Is there another reason you invited them?”
“Like what?”
I don’t answer.
She sighs, putting her hands on her hips. “I’m being neighborly. It’s important to have a good rapport with the people you live by. Plus, isn’t it nice to be able to hang out with people your own age?”
People my own age. I knew it. “You’re trying to set something up between me and their daughter.”
“I am not!”
“Mom.”
“Lincoln.” She meets my eyes, but I can see right through the facade. “Okay, fine. Maybe I think it would be nice if you met Opal. She’s very pretty. And she’s in school to be a teacher, so she’ll have a stable job when she graduates.”
Unbelievable. “I don’t need you to set me up with anyone, Ma. Least of all, the neighbor’s daughter. I can find my own dates.”
“Well, you’ve been doing a terrible job so far,” she comments nonchalantly, getting back to cooking.
“Most parents would encourage their kids not to rush into relationships right after getting out of serious ones,” I point out.
She harrumphs. “Well, most parents wouldn’t have to watch their child keep going back to the old relationship even after the divorce is final.” Looking up, she meets my eyes, knowing I have no room to argue. “I thought a little push might be good for you.”
“So you thought getting me to date the neighbor’s kid was a good idea?”
“Why would it be a bad one?”
I steal another pepperoni roll and ignore her disapproving stare. “I don’t have the best track record with women, for one.”
“You were in a relationship for almost ten years, sweetie,” she answers softly. “And you’ve been out of it for a while now. Don’t you think it’s time to put yourself back out there? I’m not saying you have to marry this girl, but talking to her won’t hurt.”
There is no way Dad or Hannah were in on this because they would have talked some sense into her long before now. “You do realize this could go very badly if I do something to upset Opal, right? Then you have to live next door to her disgruntled parents, and Dad and Mr. Coleman will have a lot more to be irritated over than grass clippings or whatever the hell started their argument years ago.”
She smiles. “Don’t upset her then. Problem solved.”
I roll my eyes, wondering if she thinks it’s really that simple. “Does Hannah know about this?”
“She knows her friend is coming.”
I’m going to assume that’s a no. “She won’t be okay with you trying to set me up with her friend.”
She waves it off nonchalantly. “That’s no business of hers anyway. Plus, she used to have crushes on your friends all the time when she was in high school.”
The difference is they never went out with her because of our age difference. Opal may be older than Hannah, but that doesn’t change how I feel about Mom’s scheme.
“Mom, I really don’t want to go out with Opal,” I tell her in a last-ditch effort to stop whatever fantasy is happening in her head.
She frowns. “Then who do you want to go out with? Because I’ve got to be honest with you, honey. Sometimes, I worry about you. The last thing any of us want is to see you stuck on somebody from the past.”
But that’s the problem, isn’t it?
Because Georgia isn’t the past at all.
Opening that file from Conklin reminded me that she’s still a big part of my life. So is her father and all of the lowlife assholes he’s used his connections on to try taking me down.
He may have gotten Conklin out of the picture, but I was going to make sure he didn’t take anybody else down with him.
Mom’s hand comes down on my arm. “I don’t like that look.”
“What look?” I ask coyly.
Wariness settles into her aging face. “The same one you had when you told me you would be fine when you and Matty went to that house.”
My stomach drops, and suddenly, I don’t want the half-eaten pepperoni roll in my hand.
*
The good doctor watches me with one hand curled around the edge of the notebook she’s already written in once since I sat down ten minutes ago. “How was your holiday?”
Small talk. I haven’t been very talkative today because I’ve barely slept the last few nights. I wake up after three hours and give up when the nightmares take over. Instead, I sit in the living room with a glass of whiskey in one hand and the file Conklin put together in the other. He’d told me he needed to talk to me about something he’d found, but he never got the chance to.
The answers are in that file.
“They were…interesting,” I finally answer, mind still lingering on my nightly read. Names, addresses, and phone numbers circulate in my head, leaving me far from the therapy office.
She tilts her head. “How so?”
“My mom wanted to set me up with their neighbor’s daughter,” I explain, rolling my eyes.
I managed to talk her out of it before the Colemans got there, but it was obvious she was still trying to get me to talk to her when she conveniently decided to assign seating at the dining table and put me beside Opal rather than at my usual spot I’ve had for years next to Dad.
Thankfully, Opal was oblivious. Or maybe she chose not to notice how many times my mother would bring up my accomplishments for the sake of both our sanities. Hannah would cut in and remind her friend that I’ve had my fair share of problems too, bringing up my divorce and getting scolded by our parents.
But I didn’t mind.
I didn’t want my mother to make me sound like the golden child. Sure, I’m decent-looking. I work out. I take care of myself. But I have baggage. A lot of it. And being with me wouldn’t be any easier than it was the first time around, so I didn’t want my mom to sell it like I was a prize to be won. If anything, I’d be the defective toy someone would return after a few days of trying to make it work.
“How did that make you feel?”
“Uncomfortable.” I pause, thinking about it while stretching my legs out in front of me. “And like a loser, if I’m being honest. I don’t need my mother’s help to get dates.”
She studies me, touching the pen but not picking it up. “Have you dated since your divorce?”
I’ve had a lot of opportunities to, but I never bit the bait. “No. I haven’t gone on a date since asking Georgia on one all those years ago.”
“Why is that?”
Where do I begin? “Because I don’t want to rush it. Now isn’t a good time in my life. If I bring somebody into it, it won’t last. I can’t give anybody what they would need for a healthy relationship to work because I have to be selfish right now. I need to focus on getting better and getting back to work and—” Finishing what Conklin and I started.
I stop myself from adding that part.
“I just need to be the best version of myself before I can bring anybody into my life,” I conclude.
A thoughtful noise comes from her. “I can respect that. In fact, it’s admirable. Some people move on too quickly and find themselves in uncomfortable situations.”
I know a few people who’ve done that, but I don’t want it to be me. “I know my mom means well, but the last thing I need is somebody new coming into my life and pulling focus away from what’s important.”
“And that is…?”
I offer her the short answer. “Being normal.”
She nods slowly, thoughtfully. “Do you think you’d be ready to move on even if you were approved to return to work? To get back to whatever you deem as ‘normal’ life? Or do you feel like there would be something, or someone, holding you back?”
I know who she’s referring to without her saying Georgia’s name. “I haven’t seen her in weeks.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
“But you’re alluding to my relationship with my ex-wife,” I counter, eyebrows raised. “You’re asking if I’ll stop seeing her. Isn’t that right?”
“If that’s what you think I mean.”
My eyes narrow. “I’m not big on games, doc. I like when people tell me how it is.”
Her lips curve upward slightly. “It’s not my place to tell you how it is, Mr. Danforth. I’m here to listen, not to insert my opinion.”
“But you have one.”
“I have many,” she agrees.
“So what are they?”
She’s silent.
“Oh, come on.” I sit forward, leaning my elbows on my bent knees. “I’m sure there’s a lot you want to say. What’s one of them? I can handle it. I’m a big boy.”
For the briefest second, her eyes scale down the front of me. From my work boots to my stained work jeans to the black and white plaid shirt that I left the top two buttons undone on. But I see it, no matter how fast it happened or how quickly her gaze met mine again, as if her eyes never lingered at all.
She picks something nonexistent off her shirt. “I can see that,” is all she says, professionalism thick in her tone.
Chuckling, I can tell she’s trying not to cross any lines. I respect it, even if I wish she’d let down one of those barriers. “One free pass. Anything you want, say it. Don’t hold back.”
Indecision flickers across her face, and I wonder if she’s actually going to give in. It feels like forever before she sets her pen down and interweaves her fingers together, resting them on her lap. Her nails aren’t painted the way I was used to seeing on Georgia. They’re short and neutral, not attention-grabbing. Neither is her makeup. She wants to blend in, not stand out.
“It seems like you’re using Georgia as an excuse not to move on with your life,” she says, her voice the same even tone it always is. “Why put yourself out there and truly heal from the past if you have somebody you’re already comfortable with? I know a lot of people who choose to settle because they don’t want to start over and be vulnerable with new people. But you shouldn’t fall into that trap. You have a lot to offer somebody, Mr. Danforth.”
I smile genuinely for the first time since starting these sessions. “You sound like my mother.”
Her lips twitch before neutralizing again. “I wish I could say that’s the first time I’ve heard that, but it’s not.”
“It’s not a bad thing,” I amend. “My mom is an honest person. She wants what’s best for me. For some reason, she thinks I’m ‘stuck’ and need an extra nudge to get back into living my life again.”
“What is it about Georgia that makes it hard for you to let go?” she asks next. It’s a valid question, but not one I can answer easily.
Leaning back, I make myself comfortable on the couch again. “You can’t erase history, doc. No matter how much you may want to.”
“No,” she agrees. “But you can learn from it.”
There’s no point in arguing with the truth, so I simply nod instead. “There are many reasons why letting go completely will be impossible.”
“So, enlighten me,” she presses lightly.
Swallowing, I wet my lips and let out a deep breath. “I always thought I would do it once.”
“Do what once?”
“Marriage. Love.” I shake my head, looking up at the ceiling and remembering everything that’s happened since the day I told her I’d help her. “Our story was unique, but it was genuine. At least for me. I never thought I’d have to do it all over again.”
Maybe I settled the first time around and told myself it was good enough, like so many people have done before me.
I wanted to believe Georgia was the woman for me. That it was fate who put her in my path. I told myself a lot of things to justify my actions.
To make myself believe I was right.
Because if there’s one thing I fucking hate in life, it’s being wrong.