Chapter 34
February slid in quietly, wrapped in gray skies and the stubborn chill of winter that clung to everything.
The days felt too short, darker, but little things kept me tethered.
Like Jackson at the kitchen table, tongue poking out of the corner of his mouth as he worked furiously on his stack of valentines for school.
The table was covered in glitter, glue and crayon shavings.
But the joy radiating off of him was a balm to my soul.
He had been remarkably resilient in the face of all the changes around him, and his pure excitement about spending time with me left me with an ache about how much of myself I was willing to give to Andrew, for Andrew. How much I missed these kinds of moments with my family when I had pulled away.
“Okay, Auntie Cass,” he shouted, brandishing a neon green Valentine like it was priceless art. “What about: You’re dino-mite with a T-Rex?”
I grinned, cutting another heart. “Genius. Any kid who gets that one is going to be lucky.”
“Do you think my teacher will laugh if I give her the one that says, I’m stuck on you with a bandaid drawn on it?” he asked, holding it up proudly, marker smudged across his cheek.
I smiled wide, passing him a glue stick. “I think she’ll love it. And the one with the pizza slice? You’ve got a pizza my heart? That one’s my favourite.”
He giggled so hard he almost knocked over his juice.
Clara walked past the table and then backtracked. She shot me a look and said, "You are responsible for the cleanup, and that includes Jackson."
He shot his little fist up in the air and pulled it back down dramatically with a, "Yesssss. She lets me use her bath stuff. The goooood stuff."
Clara snorted, a very Morgan trait, and walked away shaking her head. But the smile on her face was beautiful, and you couldn't miss the light that had returned to her eyes.
The call came mid-afternoon.
“Cass.” Adam’s voice was raspy, tired. “I’m screwed. Half my staff is sick, the other half’s stuck on the highway in this snow shitshow. People have lost power, and we haven't, and you know what that means. Is there any chance you can help me tonight? Just until close?”
I hesitated, staring at the mess of construction paper hearts and glitter across the table. The thought of being back at the pub, of being seen again, twisted something sharp in my gut. But Adam had been nothing but good to me, and he sounded desperate.
And I truly enjoyed my time working with him on New Year's.
“Yeah,” I said finally. “I’ll come.”
The pub was warm and loud, a pocket of life against the bleak night. Adam looked relieved when I walked in, immediately handing me an apron and muttering something about me being a lifesaver, but not the butterscotch kind.
For a while, it was almost easy. Pouring drinks. Carrying plates. Laughing when one of the regulars told me I was a natural behind the bar. I started to think maybe, just maybe, the whispers outside these walls didn’t matter.
And then the door opened.
The air shifted the moment he walked in.
The cop. The same man who had stood in my parents’ living room, his voice heavy with implication, telling me to let Andrew go, to keep the peace. To keep Brody and Mason out of trouble for protecting me. His eyes found me immediately. Something cold settled in my stomach.
He ordered a coffee, black, then leaned against the bar, studying me. Finally, he said, “We should talk, Ms. Morgan.”
I set the mug down harder than I meant to. “About what?”
“You know what.” His voice was low and measured, as if we were sharing a secret.
“The Brooks family doesn’t want this dragged out.
They want this to end. Dropping the charges would be best for everyone.
For you. For them. For your… friends.” His gaze flicked toward the back, where Brody was carrying in a keg. The unspoken threat hung in the air.
My first thought was to shrink back, let him win to protect my family.
But then something else emerged, something new.
Fuck that. Fuck him.
Something in me snapped.
I leaned in, my voice sharp, unshaking. “Do you have a daughter?”
He blinked, clearly not expecting that. A long pause stretched before he finally said, “Yes.”
“Then imagine this.” My throat tightened, but I pushed the words out, heartfelt, each one steadier than the last. “A man sixteen years older than her pursues her. Lies to her. Promises her the world. Makes her believe she’s the only one.
And then, when she tries to pull away, he follows her.
Threatens her. She blocks him, changes her numbers, her locks.
But he still manages to break into her apartment.
Tries to rape her because he thinks she’s his.
.." I choked on the words, I could feel the tears gathering, and on instinct, I tried to push them down, tried to swallow them.
But then I locked eyes with the man, the police officer, who was trying to silence me, trying to let a man who tried to hurt me walk free.
I let them fall. I let him see. "He almost rapes her because he thinks he has a right to her body any time he wants.”
His jaw worked, but he said nothing. But I could tell by the flare of his nostrils, the way his knuckles whitened on the edge of the bar, that my words were affecting him.
“Now imagine two men walking in on that. Men who love her. Men who would do anything to protect her. And instead of killing him on the spot, they restrained themselves. They pulled him off of her. They kept her safe. Instead of beating that man to a pulp, they merely restrain him. Tell me, officer...” my voice caught, but I didn’t look away “...what would you have done?”
Silence fell between us, heavy and unyielding. His eyes flickered, something breaking through his practiced calm. He didn't speak, but he didn't break eye contact either, as if he was searching for an answer, as if he was working through something within him.
Finally, he gave a short, almost imperceptible nod. Without another word, he turned, left money on the counter, and walked out.
My hands were trembling when I picked up the mug to clear it, but for the first time in a long time, I didn’t feel small.
I felt like I stood my ground. I spoke for myself. I didn't back down.
The night passed by in a blur after that.
And when I finally made my way to bed that night, an over-glittered Valentine Card sat on my nightstand with messy writing that said "You’ve got a pizza my heart". And after everything, I fell asleep with that card clutched to my chest and a smile on my face.