11. Coen
Coen
“June.” I approach her from behind while she’s cleaning off a table.
She flinches, dropping the tray in her hands. A partially empty coffee mug falling to the ground and shattering. “Fuck.”
“Shit, I’m sorry.” I cower and pick up the pieces, ignoring the stares of the few patrons I can feel glancing our way.
June shuffles to get them too but I stop her.
“No, let me. It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have snuck up on you.
” I grab onto a shard and it slices at my palm.
I ignore the pain and continue to clean up the mess I made.
If only life were this easy to fix, too.
But in a way, it is, the pieces and remnants never able to go back together the way they were, often bits left behind despite the rigorous attempt to sweep them all up.
Who am I kidding though? I never once tried to repair things with June.
The single most important person to me and I couldn’t bring myself to face her.
To tell her the truth and explain why I was stolen from her and where I had gone.
I was ashamed. A large part of me thought that she wouldn’t understand, that she wouldn’t forgive me, that I wasn’t worthy of her.
So, I stayed away. I kept my distance. I told myself she was better off without me, because I truly believed that.
But seeing her again, it was like I was brought back to those days together.
The way she chiseled away at my walls and stole my heart without anything stopping her.
We were kids, but it was powerful. Real.
It was the shit they talk about in movies.
And I have never once remotely felt close to another person the way I did with her.
I’ve never even given it the chance, too afraid that it would taint what we had.
I’ve kept my relationships short, and strictly sexual, never attaching any feelings to them.
Not just on purpose, but because I couldn’t.
I’ve had nothing left to give—all my love being taken by the girl with beautiful brown eyes and jet-black hair.
The one who was patient and kind and didn’t judge me for spending time in the cemetery visiting my mom.
She was strong but broken like me. She knew loss and yet still gave me her heart.
She was reserved, selective with who she let in, but somehow she chose me, and I will forever be a better man because of the love she gifted me.
But we both broke that day we were unwillingly pulled apart.
Shattered onto the earth like pieces of a fallen glass.
Separated. Irreparable. Unfixable. Forever changed by a force we could not control.
We were young, and there was no stopping what happened.
Maybe if I had known, I could have snuck out the night before.
I could have gone to her, told her what was going on and devised a plan to stay together. We could have run away.
We didn't get that chance. Because our separation was just as much a surprise to her as it was to me.
And it transpired quicker than I could fathom, the moving parts giving us whiplash at how fast it went down.
I blinked and she was gone. A fading speck on that gravel road until we turned out of sight, my heart was left behind in the hands of a girl I thought I'd never see again.
“Co.” June steadies my hands with hers. “You’re bleeding.”
My gaze meets hers, taking me on a journey to that beautiful summer we spent together.
We had been friends since childhood, but we took things to the next level that year when a sad girl let me kiss her and changed my life forever.
The biggest change of all was when she was taken from me.
Turning me into a cold, heartless version of myself.
One that was shaped into the dark and twisted man I am today.
The reason why I'm so damn good at my job, is because of the empty pit in my chest.
“Is there a problem over here?” An older man with a broom appears above us. He steadies his attention on June.
She stands and takes the thing from him. “No. I’m just a bit jumpy. I’ve got it under control.”
He stays put, eyeing me seriously. “You sure?”
I don’t hate how protective he is of her, his reaction telling me that there is someone else in her life in tune with potential threats that might arise.
He’s not wrong to keep his stare locked on me given my history with death and violence, but little does he know, I’d rather die than lay a finger on her.
And I would kill anyone who even thought about harming her.
Bryant and Dominic included.
They might be the closest thing I have to family, but June exceeds any level of loyalty I have to them.
“Yeah, sorry Bram. You can take it out of my check.”
I reach into my pocket and pull out my money clip. I slide a fifty from the top. “Here, that should cover it.”
“That won’t be necessary, young man.” Bram pivots my extended offering toward June. “If you’d like to compensate anyone, it should be her.” The two of them make eye contact. “If you need me, I’ll be finishing up the orders. I won’t be long.”
She goes to work sweeping up the discarded fragments left behind. “I don’t want your money, Coen.”
“Please, J. I created more work for you. It’s the least I could do.”
She rolls her eyes. “Don’t get me started on the least you could do.”
I sigh and sweep my hair off my brow. “June.” I reach for the broom, slipping it out of her grasp and replacing it with the money. “I insist.” I nod to the booth. “Sit, let me do this.”
For some unknown reason, she listens to me, slipping into the cushy seat and crossing her arms over her chest. “Whatever.”
I make quick but efficient work of cleaning up the one mess I’m capable of mending, hoping like hell it isn’t the last one she lets me try to fix.
There's such a wall between us that it pains my soul, even more, to know she no longer looks at me the way she used to, all those years ago. I don't blame her, but it still hurts all the same.
I set the broom against the wall and climb in across from her. “Can we talk?”
“I’m at work, Coen. This isn’t exactly the time or place to clear whatever is on your conscience.” She flits her gaze to the few customers in the diner and at the other waitress taking care of them.
“You’re right.” It’s not often I say those words and mean them. “That’s not why I’m here.”
June raises a brow. “Then what is it? You want to place a carryout order?”
I shake my head, my inner child laughing at her smart-ass remark, reminding me of the June from so many moons ago. Reaching across the table, I hesitate, not wanting to get too close and surprise her again. “Who did this?”
She blinks in surprise, a blank but startled look on her bruised face. “What?”
I motion to the wounds, repeating my question. “Who did this?”
“I—I don’t…wait. Why?” Her expression hardens. “Why do you want to know? Why does it matter?”
It's everything I can do to not jump out of my skin and strangle any person potentially responsible for doing this to her. Sitting across from her, I can fully see the darkened marks on her face. The cut on her brow that is poorly covered by a bandage, the wound along her chin.
“It matters.” Of course it does. How could she possibly think otherwise?
She lowers her voice. “You lost the right to care about what happens to me a long time ago, Coen.”
I match her tone. “That doesn’t mean I stopped.”
“You sure have a shit way of showing it.”
"I'm sorry." Those two words leaving my mouth mean much more than they allude to.
June rocks her head back and forth slowly. “Sorry doesn’t cut it.”
The simple fact that she’s still sitting here gives me the tiniest bit of hope I need. Confirming that despite how badly I fucked up, maybe I can gather the broken pieces of us and put them back together.
All I can do is try. My first task is ending the life of whoever did this to her.
“You can be mad at me. You can hate me. You can wish whatever ill will you want on me. I accept that. I deserve that. Truthfully, I do. But I need to know, June. You have to tell me. Who hurt you?”
“You mean other than you?”
Her words slice through me, cutting me deeply. My lips part, but I come up short for what to say. I don’t fault her for treating me this way, but it won’t help me bring justice to those worthy of it.
She reaches across the table and pulls a napkin out of the holder, extending her hand and grabbing onto mine. “You’re still bleeding.”
I savor the touch, basking in how sweet it is. Temporary, fleeting, and a blaring reminder of what I lost. No matter how much time has gone by, I never cared for her less, my love for her never withering in the slightest.
I clung to it desperately. The last remaining shred of my humanity fading into memories of a time far in the past but never forgotten.
Once I had thought maybe I was crazy. That she was a figment of my imagination I created in a weak attempt to stay sane through the darker days of my life.
That maybe I idealized the perfectly imperfect girl who prefers sunsets over sunrises, could eat her weight in popcorn, and who I taught how to play pool.
But seeing her, feeling her skin against mine, looking into the same mesmerizing eyes I had peered into day after day, I realize she’s exactly what I remember—only now, she’s no longer mine.
Not that she ever was, because June can’t be captured, not really.
She’s one of those things that if you want her to stick around, you have to accept that she will remain wild, free, and completely untamed.
I gently place my palm on the top of her bandage-wrapped hand. "June, I need you to tell me."
Her gaze meets mine. Steady, interrogatory, like she’s trying to see through me.
The bell on the front door chimes, alerting us to new patrons entering the diner.
“I have to get back to work.” June pulls away and scoots out of the booth. She offers the older couple a fake customer service smile. “Have a seat wherever you’d like.”
They walk past us and take up residency at a nearby table.
June pushes me toward the door. “I don’t need your pity, Co. I’m a big girl. I’ve handled things on my own for this long, I don’t need your help now.”
But it’s not about pity. It’s about getting even. Inflicting the same or more pain on whoever thought they could touch her and get away with it.
“J…”
"No." She continues shoving me, her warmth pressing through the back of my shirt. "I can't talk about this here." June pauses. "Is that your ride?" She points to Dom's over-the-top SUV.
“Maybe.”
“Is that Magnus in the passenger seat?” She squints to take a better look. “And Dominic driving?”
“Um.”
“Go.” She grabs the handle and yanks it open. “All three of you. I’m fine, seriously. I don’t need any of your help.”
And with a final push, I’m out onto the sidewalk. Alone and with none of the questions I came here for answered, plus a fuck ton more of them piling up.
She’s still that same firecracker I remember—hellbent on waging this war called life on her own and not relying on a damn person for anything.
Magnus rolls his window down, his head hanging out of it, waiting for me to fill him in.
I walk over, careful to glance around and check out anything suspicious on my way. Climbing into the back, I sigh and run both hands through my hair.
Magnus turns to me. “Who do we get to kill?”
Dominic stays silent in anticipation of my directions on where to go.
“She wouldn’t tell me.”
“I fucking knew it.” Magnus slams his fist against the dash. “God, no one fucking listens to me.” He points at me. “You’re the reason she’s so cold and shut off.”
This grabs Dominic’s attention. “What? What did you do to her?”
I shake my head, dropping it into my hands. “Nothing.”
“You’re lying.” Magnus is certain he knows what he’s talking about, and unfortunately for me, he is.
He’s a damn good people reader, the best I’ve ever been around, but that means he can read us, too. He’s the master at calling people on their bullshit and that’s exactly what he’s doing right now.
“Enough, you two.” Dominic glances at me. “Did she say anything? Give you any clue who could have done it?”
“No. Not a word.” I recall the marks on her skin.
The discoloration. The poorly taken care of wounds, almost like she didn’t seek medical care at all.
I process all the information I was given, despite how little it was.
I’ve had less and managed to figure shit out, why would I let that stop me here? “Her chin.”
“What about it?” Dom’s interest is piqued.
“There was about a three-inch-long thin gash along it.” I focus on the details, not on the victim, because if I picture it being June, I’ll spiral out of control and not be able to follow through with solving the mystery of who did this.
“Must have been a blade of some sort. Who do we know that works with knives?”
A chill runs up my spine, a thought I hadn’t fully processed until now.
When we do interrogations, not a single person makes it out alive.
And typically, that’s how it goes in our line of business.
The casualties pile up one after another with minimal regard to the lives lost. With that being said, how the fuck did June get away with her life still intact?
Does that mean the game has only just begun?
That instead of a quick assault, this would be a long, drawn-out torture, not just for her, but for the three of us sitting here?
Is this a twisted game to distract us from the war we're trying to win? A sadistic distraction to gain the upper hand? Is her life now hanging in the balance because of us carelessly involving her? Something we can no longer stop now that it’s in motion.
“I have a few people in mind,” Dominic announces.
I center my sights on Magnus. “Get out of the car.”
“What?” His brows bunch together.
“Someone has to keep an eye on June.” And considering how upset she is with me, I’m not the best suited for the task. No, my skills are better suited for something else entirely. “Dom and I will investigate.”
AKA, slit every throat around town until someone confesses to hurting our girl.