3. The Things I Couldn’t Save #3
She reaches out, puts her hand on my bicep. I look at her and can’t help but notice the expression. The bat of her eyelids. The slight pout.
Two years ago, that look might've meant something. Back then, Carter dragged me in here with my hand split open after I put it through a wall hard enough to feel bone shift. Knuckles torn wide. Blood everywhere. I told him I was fine. He didn't listen.
Summer had gone on a date with some little prick from town. That's all it took. It didn't matter that I had no claim to her. Didn't matter that she didn't even know what she was to me yet. I pictured her laughing with him. Letting him stand too close. His hands on her. Something inside me snapped.
I’d tried to stop it. Tried to tell Michael that his daughter shouldn’t be going on dates with fuckboys and staying out ‘til late at night. But he let her go anyway. I’d lost myself in bourbon. Riled myself up so much that I had to hit something. It was me versus the brick wall. The wall won.
Carter came by to collect some files and saw the damage, then the fucker dragged me here.
Tamara had been the one to stitch me up.
"Calm down," she'd said.
"Make me," I'd answered. Needing to feel something—anything—other than the rage of jealousy.
She stepped closer, her hand settling around my wrist. Her voice softened, her eyes dropping briefly to my mouth as though she thought she understood what she was looking at.
She didn't. She leaned in and I kissed her back. Hard. Messy. Wrong.
A stupid attempt to replace the image of Summer in my head with something else.
I thought it might work. Then it didn't. Because she wasn't her.
No one else was ever going to be her.
I pulled back. Pushed her away and walked out still bleeding. Left her standing there with my blood on her hands and something unreadable in her expression.
She's tried again since then but she still doesn't get it. It was never about her. Or any other woman for that matter. It was always Summer. Always. The woman who has my heart. Hell, the woman who is my heart.
"You didn't see us," I say now, voice flat. "You don't know his name."
Her expression tightens. Just enough to show her frustration.
"You always come back bleeding, Sheriff."
"Occupational hazard."
I don't soften it. Don't give her anything else. I turn before she can try.
Mason stays by the doors. "Boss—I'd like to stay… I'd like to—"
I cut him off, hand on his shoulder, nodding once.
"Stay."
He doesn't know Reyes. Not really. But he wants to. Or maybe he just doesn't want to walk away from another man he couldn't save.
I get it.
Carter's already outside, leaning against the truck, rain hammering down, cigarette burning fast between his fingers.
He glances up. "You good, boss? She still think you're redeemable?"
I yank the passenger door open. "Wasn't her I wanted then," I say. "Sure as hell isn't her I want now."
Not even close.
He huffs a quiet laugh, then flicks the cigarette into a puddle. It dies instantly. He gets in and starts the engine. For a beat, neither of us moves.
"You heard from Hayes?" I ask.
"Yeah." Carter grips the wheel. "Calder's dealt with. Family'll know within the hour."
Dealt with.
That's how we say it when we don't have space for anything else. I stare straight ahead through the windshield. He deserved better than that phrase. Better than the version of events his family would be handed. I owe him a bullet for the man who caused this. I intend to pay it.
"We owe them," I say.
Carter nods. Once. Enough.
Reyes—if he doesn't make it. Calder. And Summer. Because she's out there paying for something that was never hers to carry.
"What's the plan?" Carter asks.
Plan.
Right. Because if I don't have one—I go after him blind, and that's exactly what he wants.
I let the silence sit for a moment.
"We go to the station," I say. "Pull everything—anything you can find on Rivers Ridge."
Carter nods. "We'll check old case files. See if there's any info."
"Patterns matter," I say. "Men like him don't improvise as much as they think they do."
Because that helicopter—that wasn't random. That was planned. Timed. Prepared. I know if I make a hasty decision he’ll have another plan, and another.
"We'll check flight logs too. Private landings."
"Chase the FAA," I add. "Follow it until something breaks." Because every second we sit here—he's taking her further away.
"And Benny. Whoever the fuck he is." Carter asks.
"I want my face to be the first thing he sees when he wakes up."
A grim smile pulls at his mouth. The truck turns back onto the road. The town sleeps around us. Somewhere out there—Summer is still breathing. I hold onto that like it's the only thing keeping me upright.
She's alive. She's waiting. She's fighting.
And every second she's away from me cuts deeper into my soul.
My teeth grind hard enough to ache. Let him believe he has time because while he's sitting there thinking he's in control—I'm already taking it back piece by piece, and when I get to him—I won't just take her back.
I'll make him understand exactly what it cost him to touch what's mine.