32. Hold The Pieces Together
HOLD THE PIECES TOGETHER
“Go get her,” his mother said.
“I will. In a minute,” Ash said. “She needs space.”
What he didn’t need was his balls shoved down his throat for the second time tonight.
If there was one thing he knew about Skye, it was this: she hated attention. Hated being the center of anything. Yet there she was, boxed in by his family, answering questions, deflecting accusations that weren’t quite accusations, but felt close enough.
Worse, he could see her doubting herself.
He saw it. He felt it. And he knew he was part of the problem.
The frustration weighed down his gut that she hadn’t told him everything about Kyle. But that didn’t cancel out the guilt. If anything, it made it worse.
“If you give her too much space, she’ll start walking home,” Clay said, already opening his laptop. His fingers flew across the keys. “And she’ll need to be here if I find something. I’ll want her to confirm it’s the right guy if I pull up a photo.”
Ash snorted. “Don’t give me that shit. You don’t need her for that.”
His father didn’t even look up. “He’s politely telling you to go get her. Now.”
That was that.
He pushed to his feet and left the family room, cutting through the kitchen and out onto the back porch. Skye sat on the old wooden porch swing, arms wrapped tight around herself like she was trying to hold the pieces together. The night air had turned sharp, biting, slapping him in the face.
He stopped short, then turned back inside long enough to grab one of his mother’s fleeces. When he returned, he draped it over Skye’s shoulders without a word.
“I’m sorry,” he said quietly.
She looked up at him, her eyes tired. “For what exactly?”
“For making you feel like everyone’s ganging up on you.”
Her gaze dropped to her hands. “It does feel that way.” Her voice was softer now. Thinner. Like she was worn down to the bone.
It landed like a hard punch to the jaw.
That was the last thing he wanted. To push her away.
To make her feel alone. Especially here, with him, when he was supposed to be the one person she didn’t have to brace herself around.
He wasn’t going to let that happen again.
He stepped closer, sat next to her, careful not to crowd her, and rested his forearms on his knees so they were on the same level. No towering. No pressure. Just there.
“You don’t owe anyone answers tonight,” he said. “Not my family. Not the police. Not me.” His mouth tightened on that last part. “We’ll get through this, Skye. I promise.”
She studied his face like she was trying to decide if she could afford to believe him. Finally, she nodded once. Small. Cautious. But still holding strong.
Still not walking away from him like she’d done in the past.
And maybe at the root of it all, that was part of his fear.
That she’d say she had enough and vanish from his life.
For him not to see her. Hold her. Protect her.
That he’d be blamed by her family for forcing her out.
“I’m tired,” she admitted. “Of feeling like I’m the problem.”
“You’re not,” he said immediately. Too fast. Too sure. “You’re the one standing in the middle of a mess someone else made. You got pulled in and don’t deserve it, but you’re here and we’ll face it together.”
Her shoulders sagged beneath the fleece, some of the fight leaking out of her. He reached for her hand, slow enough that she could pull away if she wanted to. She didn’t. Her fingers curled around his like it was instinct.
That small act nearly undid him.
They sat there in silence for a minute, the porch swing creaking softly as the night wrapped around them. Inside, he could hear the muffled sounds of his family moving around, voices low and tense. The world was still spinning, still dangerous, but for the moment, it felt contained.
He could do this. Be steady. Be solid. Be what she needed.
Even if it cost him.
Because the unspoken truth was rooted in his heart: he was already in deeper than she was. He had been for a long time. Long before she came back to town. Long before she kissed him. Long before she crawled into his bed and made him believe, just for a few hours, that wanting her didn’t hurt.
He loved her.
There. He’d admitted it to himself, at least.
But loving Skye meant protecting her, not weighing her down with feelings she might not be ready for. It meant standing beside her without asking for more. It meant swallowing the fear that one day she’d look at him and realize whatever she felt wasn’t the same thing.
So he locked it down and buried it deep.
For now, it was enough that she leaned into him, her head finding his shoulder like it belonged there. Enough that she let out a slow breath and stayed.
They would get through this.
And if he had to love her quietly, silently, until she was safe enough to breathe again, then that was a price he’d pay without hesitation.
“We can’t stay out here all night, even if I want to.”
“We can stay as long as you need. If anyone understands, it’s my family.”
She laughed. A forced sound. “It seems like trouble follows you guys around.”
“And we stick together. We’ll go in when you’re ready.”
He turned when the door opened, his mother standing there with two cups of something warm in her hands.
That was what support felt like.
Skye turned to look. “We’re coming now. Thanks.”
“I’ll leave it on the counter if you want it,” his mother said.
“She’s so much like my mother. Like Carrie. Carrie is my mother now. My real mother. The one who birthed me—she never would have brought me anything. Never would have asked either.”
They didn’t talk about her biological parents much. He didn’t want to bring up something that could trigger her.
But it seemed to him she had enough triggers in her life already.
He didn’t know why that hadn’t occurred to him until she let everyone know moments ago the weight she was carrying.
“Do you want to talk about her?”
She snuggled in closer. “There isn’t much to say. I’ve lived with so much guilt in my life. Do you know how hard it is to grieve the people who raised you and at the same time be thankful that you ended up in a better place? That shit messes with your mind.”
No, he hadn’t known.
Hadn’t thought of it.
Wasn’t even sure if it would have ever crossed his mind.
“I’m sorry you went through that.”
“So am I. But I wouldn’t be who I am today if I hadn’t. And again, the guilt. It makes me feel like a worthless piece of trash that I have these thoughts of how much better my life turned out by my parents being dead.”
He put his finger under her chin, lifted her face to his. “You’re not worthless. You’re not a bad person. You’re human. Just remember that.”
It was on the tip of his tongue to say she was the woman who held his heart in her hands.
But the last thing she needed was to feel that burden. Not if she didn’t feel the same.
And that was it right there.
He didn’t really know what she felt.
But she was opening up to him. She was letting him in.
He had to let that be enough for now.
“We can go in,” she said. “I’m sure your family is making many speculations in there. I’m embarrassed now.”
“Don’t be.” He shook his head and put his lips to hers briefly. “They understand.”
She pushed herself up. “Might as well get this over with. The longer I sit out here and pout—”
“You’re not pouting,” he interrupted. “Stop. I mean it.”
She reached her hand for his, he slapped his palm in it and she yanked him up. “I kind of am. But I could use the coffee. I’m cold now.”
He wrapped her up in his arms, gave her some of his body heat, then let her go, opening the door and holding it for her to return.
They stopped at the counter, she fixed her coffee. He didn’t drink much of it, which could be why his mother had a cup of tea there for him. Brooke Ridgeway knew her kids well.
“What did you find out, Clay?” he said, walking in.
It was better to just start with that rather than give any gap for someone to ask if Skye was okay.
“Nothing you’re going to like.”
His shoulders dropped while he sat on the floor in the big bean bag, Skye right next to him.
“So nothing on the guy,” he said.
“Oh, I’ve got a lot,” Clay said.
Ash looked around the room at the stone faces. “Like, suspect type things?”
“You’re kidding me,” Skye said. “Please tell me no. Tell me he doesn’t have some history of fires or something. I’m not sure I can handle knowing this is right under my nose and I’ve been an idiot.”
“He doesn’t,” Clay said. “But he’s only been at this job for about two years. Prior to that he was with a bigger paper in New Jersey and it looks like he got canned.”
“For what?” she asked. “How can you know those things?”
Ash put his hand on her thigh. “Don’t ask. We don’t.”
“From what I can see,” Clay said, “he has some unethical practices. He likes big stories and doesn’t care how he gets them. It’s about press for him.”
“That’s a far cry from him starting fires,” Ford said.
“The Boy Scout has spoken,” Clay said. “But it’s more than what is on Alan and we know it.” Clay was still typing.
“Anything else?”
“He’s got an arrest after he was fired. Seems he’s got somewhat of a temper and took a swing at his old boss. Threatened he’d, quote ‘burn in hell’ for firing the best thing they’d had in years.”
“Still doesn’t make him guilty,” Ford said.
“But it’s damning,” Ash said. “Right? It at least should be brought up to Detective Brown and my chief. Do you know if he’s been to any of the fires?”
“I would have noticed him there,” Skye said. “And if he was, why does he need me to write about them? He’s never disputed anything in my articles.”
“Which means nothing,” Clay said. “Here is another piece that, on a job prior, he was pressured to reveal sources to his employers and refused. It had to do with a crime spree in the area that he had firsthand knowledge of.”
“Most won’t reveal their sources,” Rory said. “We all know that in this room.”
“Exactly,” Gale said. “That’s weaker than Ash’s coffee.”
He rolled his eyes. “Not everyone needs to live off of it like some people in this room.”
“Let’s not get off topic,” his father said. “Anything else, Clay?”
“A few small things, similar. Seems he can’t really hold on to a job for long. At least in bigger cities. He has a habit of pissing someone off. I can make some calls if you want.”
“I’ll pass this to Tate,” Skye said.
“I’ll pass it to the detective,” Ford said. “You two need to stay out of it. Already Alan came after you for something you didn’t do, Ash.”
“I still got blamed for it,” he said.
“Me too,” she said.
“It doesn’t matter. I can do it officially. I’ll do it in the morning. For now, I say we just enjoy Mom’s desserts.”
“I can get on board with that,” Skye said.
Ash dropped his arm around her shoulder. “Do you feel a little better?”
“I’m not sure it’s possible to feel better, but I don’t feel as bad.”
“That’s something then.”