Chapter 6
BLAKE
The life of a small-town sheriff is boring. Absolute snooze fest. And I would know because I've been following Walker around for the last couple of days.
A few cows who escaped their corral were walking down the highway.
A bit of graffiti on the side of Harold Whitcombe’s horse trailer.
A moose on the football field at the high school.
Nothing that would indicate someone is lurking in the dark, waiting for an opportunity to send Walker to the grave.
Condensation fogs the corners of my windshield, forcing me to wipe away a clear spot every few minutes. The pencil feels stiff between my gloved fingers, refusing to glide across the paper the way it normally does.
Sitting in my warm car, I attempt to finish my sketch of Walker placing Arthur in the back seat of his truck.
The old man was stumbling around the center of town. His lack of balance and inability to put together a full sentence were more than enough for Walker to arrest him for public intoxication, but Walker, being the man he is, is taking Arthur to the drunk tank at the station.
Or at least I hope that’s the case.
Walker can be cold as hell, but he’s not a hard ass.
Evergreen Falls Police Department isn't much to look at.
The one-story brick building sits on the corner of Main Street beneath an old wooden sign with faded gold lettering.
Snowbanks line the edge of the parking lot where a handful of sheriff's trucks and well-used pickups are parked crookedly between the white lines.
From my hidden spot across the street, I watch as Walker escorts Arthur inside. He’ll probably be in there for a while.
My attention shifts to my phone in the cupholder as it buzzes, alerting me to a new text. I can’t stop my lips from curving into a smile. I couldn’t stop them if I wanted to.
I should be horrified that he texted me at all, but the picture of a happy dog is distracting.
Levi: He’s recovering quickly. When do you want to pick him up?
Me: How did you get this number?
Levi: Not important.
Levi: If you don’t take him, then he has to go to the pound, and they’ll probably put him down.
Me: You’re manipulating me. You know I would never let that happen.
Levi: Maybe…What if I just wanted to see you again? You can keep your clothes on this time.
Me: You’re lucky I was planning on keeping him anyway. You can see me when I pick him up.
Levi: He’ll be ready at the end of the week.
Levi: What would I need to do if I want to see you before then?
First, Santiago shamelessly flirts with me, and now Levi. This could just be a game to them—their only source of entertainment in this isolated small town. Or maybe all of this is completely innocent. I’m an adult, and now they’re treating me like one.
Finally.
I get why they didn’t do this when I was eighteen. I was legal, but still just a kid.
Even if this is just some innocent fun, I’ll take it. I’ll treasure their words and these memories when I leave here.
If only Walker were on the same page…
But seeing them all again makes me forget—forget the bad and horrifying memories.
Santiago’s long hair, disarming smile, and deep brown eyes, paired with his dimples, make him look like he belongs in both a country song and a cautionary tale at the same time. His skin looks as if God himself mixed the most precious dark honey hues together and painted them on.
Levi’s strong, unshaven jaw and ocean blue eyes make him appear as if he walked right out of a high-fashion magazine. The way his chiseled muscles naturally flex as he moves is mouthwatering. Scrubs have never looked so sexy to me.
Walker’s perpetually stoic expression makes him seem unapproachable—beautiful but unapproachable. And when he softens, his sly smirk is downright panty-dropping.
Describing them as “tall, dark, and handsome” is not even close to being accurate.
My soul just about leaves my body when there’s tapping on my driver’s side window. My phone flies out of my hands, landing somewhere in the car.
Gripping a freshly sharpened pencil in my hand, I turn to my left. My stomach sinks when I see a very unhappy man glaring at me like I’m the most disgusting thing he’s ever seen.
Walker’s distaste for my presence shouldn’t hurt. It reminds me of the same hurt I felt when he rejected me as a teenager all those years ago, but I gathered my pride just like any other eighteen-year-old and moved on. I'll have to manage and do the same thing now.
In reality, I know I never completely moved on from his dismissal of me.
Maybe no one ever truly moves on from their first crush. If that’s true, then I need to figure out a way to lock my heart behind reinforced steel. If I don’t, then I may not survive my time in Evergreen Falls.
“Roll down the window, Blake.” Walker’s voice is dulled by the glass separating us, but his impatience comes through loud and clear.
Doing as he says, I don my armor and bat my lashes. “What seems to be the problem, Officer?”
“Don’t do that.” His brows lower.
I shrug a shoulder, and my voice comes out a bit higher than I intend. “Do what?”
“Play dumb.” Walker sighs. His frustration is evident, but that only encourages me more.
Giving him a fake frown, I retort, “I don’t play games. It’s not fun when I win all the time.”
“Blake,” he responds curtly as he places his hands on the window.
“Glad to see you haven’t forgotten my name,” I emphasize my sarcasm by patting one of his hands.
His shoulders drop a fraction as sincerity enters his tone. “I could never forget you.”
I’m speechless. His candor is throwing me off balance. Once upon a time, I would’ve killed to have him look at me like this—like I’m important to him.
Walker’s tone goes hard again. “Why have you been following me?”
Shit. I thought I was being discreet. I can’t believe he’s known this whole time.
But…why not say anything until now?
Frowning again, I answer, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Then what’s that?” Walker nods, pointing over my shoulder and leaning down to rest his forearms on my car.
I turn my head and find my sketchbook wide open on the passenger seat. The drawing of him and the town drunk is on full display. Scrambling to close it, I respond, “Nothing.”
Walker quirks a brow and smirks. “That’s not me?”
“No. You think I have nothing better to do than follow you around?” Facing him, the rest of my argument dies in my throat. His face is inches from mine. I can feel the heat from his breath. It smells of a mix of cigarette smoke and peppermint.
“Tell me why,” he commands, and his breathing picks up.
Is he just as affected as I am?
My eyes drop to his lips, and he notices. I should be embarrassed, but with the possibility of a kiss so close, I can’t force myself to give a damn.
“Maybe I just miss you,” I admit.
It’s a half-truth, but he doesn’t need to know that.
And evidently that was the wrong thing to say. Walker’s mouth hardens, and he stands to his full height.
“Stop it,” he barks, and his knuckles turn white as he grips my windowsill. “I don’t know what you’re up to, but I promise you, I will find out.”
I nod my head and chastise him a bit more. “Sure, you will. Big, strong Sheriff Walker Maddox. Nothing gets past him.”
He slams his hands down, causing a loud boom to ring out. I’m not sure how, but I don’t flinch. Maybe it’s because I know he’d never hurt me.
“I don’t have time for your childish games. I have a job to do, and you following me around is keeping me from doing that job,” he seethes. “Whatever delusion you’re under, let it go. Stop following me and go back to the life you built far away from here.”
Walker pushes off my car door and stomps away. He heads straight for his truck, hops in, and speeds away.
My chest feels tight as I feel tears line my eyes, but I will them to stay put.
Maybe I should just tell him. Rip off the band-aid. But at this point, would he even believe me?
Resigning myself to my mission once again, I shift into drive and steer my car in the opposite direction of Walker.
I wish I could say, “fuck this,” and get the hell out of here, but I can’t leave any of them to face the threat on their own—a threat they don’t even know exists.
Staring at the off-white rusted metal door, I lift my fist for the fifth time and lower it once more. I’m not sure how long I’ve been standing here, but a good indicator is the loss of feeling in my fingers.
You can do this, Blake.
Taking a deep breath, I finally knock. Footsteps thud on the other side, and the metallic latch clicks. The hinges creak as a withered face comes into view.
She removes the cigarette from her mouth and expels the smoke from her lungs in my face. I hold my breath as I wait for the smoke to disperse.
This close, I can see the new wrinkles all over her face. Her skin looks thin and lifeless. The pink undertone she used to have isn’t there anymore.
"Hi, Mama,” I say, interrupting the silence.
“What do you want?” Her expression remains empty as she takes another puff.
Is that all she has to say? I’m her only child, and we haven’t seen each other in years, let alone spoken.
“What?” Mama’s disinterest is like a slap to the face.
“I don’t have any money,” she says.
I keep the hurt off my expression. “That’s not why I’m here.”
She rolls her eyes and walks back inside, leaving the door open. Assuming it’s the only invitation I’ll get, I follow.
The moment I step over the threshold, the smell hits me.
Cigarette smoke mixed with stale whiskey and dust.
Underneath lingers a faint scent of something floral, reminding me that Mama once tried to make this place feel like home.
But that didn’t last.
The front door opens directly into a cramped kitchen.
Yellow linoleum stretches beneath my snow boots, the pattern worn thin in places people have walked over often.
To the right, the kitchen gives way to a small living room, and to the left, a narrow hallway leads toward the bathroom and two bedrooms.
Just like the outside, not much has changed in here. The recliner is different, but everything else is the same.
A floral couch that should’ve been replaced years ago sags in the middle. An afghan blanket is draped over one armrest. The recliner sits near one end of the couch, and the TV remains at the other end.
The only difference is that everything is more worn down.
The TV has a small crack in the corner of the screen, the couch fabric is frayed in random spots, and the carpet has a black path from the edge of the tile to Mama’s chair that has a mote of glass bottles and other trash.
The coffee table in the center of the room is cluttered with remotes, pill bottles, unopened mail, and water rings from forgotten drinks.
There’s a pile of dishes in the sink that looks like they haven’t been touched for months. Maybe longer. The laminate countertops are scratched and faded. One cabinet hangs slightly crooked on its hinges. The refrigerator hums loudly in the silence, covered in old magnets and fast-food coupons.
I shuffle in closer, leaning my hip on the dirty linoleum counter. “How are you doing?”
Mama grunts.
The bags under her eyes and the grease in her hair alarm me. “When’s the last time you ate?”
This wouldn’t be the first time she chose indulgences over taking care of herself. I can’t count the number of times I had to remind her to eat and shower. But I hoped that without me here, she would see the need and take care of herself.
I guess I was wrong.
“What do you care?” she snaps without taking her eyes off the screen.
“I care, Mama.” I sigh and push off the counter. Opening the fridge, I note the abundance of beer and the lack of anything of sustenance. Brown bananas, a jar of pickles, and a ketchup bottle. I try not to cringe. “You need groceries.”
“If you’re here to judge me, there’s the door.” Her gaze still on the TV, she points to the door.
Shutting the refrigerator, I move back into the living room with my arms crossed. “Please tell me you’re doing more than just buying booze with the money I send you every month.”
She snorts. “Is that where the money comes from?”
Dropping my arms, an invisible weight settles on my shoulders. “Where did you think it came from?”
She shrugs, putting out her cigarette on the ashtray next to her. “Never bothered to ask.”
Pressing the power button on the TV, I stand in front of the screen.
“Hey!” She shouts as she sits up in her chair.
“Come on, Mama. How about I cook you some dinner while you take a shower?” I reach for her hand, but she swats it away.
“No.”
The weight increases, pushing my shoulders down further. “I’m just trying to help.”
Mama glares at me. Something she’s done countless times before. I know what comes next. I’m ready for it. But her words are like a knife, cutting open a wound I thought healed long ago. “You’re nothing but a burden. A worthless, good-for-nothing burden.”
I swallow. “You don’t mean that.”
She sharpens her weapon, aiming with precision and accuracy. “You always have been. You drove away everything good in my life, like your father. You do nothing but take.”
Widening my stance, I place my hands on my hips. “I didn’t drive him away. He was depressed, and he only saw one way out.”
Mama pounds her fists on the armrests. “Bullshit! You’re the reason! It’s always because of you!”
“Please, just let me—”
“I don’t want your charity.” Even though she’s sitting and I’m standing, she’s still able to look down her nose at me like I’m gum on the bottom of her boot. “Get out! Leave!” She gestures to the door again, and this time, I don’t argue.
But I stop in the kitchen and find a pen and paper. I jot down ten digits and hand them to her.
“Here’s my number. I’ll be in town for a bit. Call me if you need anything.”
She snatches the paper and crumbles it, adding it to the trash pile on the floor. “Don’t hold your breath.”
As I walk out, I hear her click the TV back on, and the voices of daytime soap actors fill the trailer.
Walking to my car, I can’t even feel the snowflakes landing on my face. The tears finally fall, and I let them.
I shouldn’t have come back.
I’ve never had a place in Evergreen Falls and never will.