Chapter 36
Jessie
Ipull into my driveway, putting the car in park. Work was slow, and I couldn’t help but think about how Trey looked last night. He'd stopped shaving and looked tired. Seeing his reaction—or lack thereof—after a good ride makes me wonder if I hurt him worse than I thought.
I pause before exiting the car and look at myself in the mirror. The dark circles under my eyes show through the makeup. I’ve lost some weight, and my hair needs to be washed soon. I just can’t find the energy.
You did this to him. You did this to yourself.
No, Daryl did this to us, I argue with my conscience.
Tap, tap, tap.
A rap on my window makes me jump, pulling me out of my negative thoughts.
An average-height man in a suit and tie stands next to my car. Bryce Young, the county sheriff, is with him. I feel the blood drain from my face, and I’m immediately on edge. I open the door and climb out. I’m sure it’s only a follow up about Trey’s truck—nothing more.
“Hi, Sheriff. Sorry, Trey doesn’t live here anymore. You’ll have to call him about his truck.”
“Uh.” The man in the suit glances at Sheriff Young. “Sorry, ma’am, I’m Detective Wilson. I’m actually here to speak with you. If you have a few minutes.”
A detective? Why does he want to talk to me? I grip my purse strap with both hands, glancing between the two men, trying to steady my breathing and remain calm. Bryce and I went to school together, but we were never close.
“Miss Hawkins, Detective Wilson and I have a few questions about your father, Daryl. Can we come inside and talk?”
Shit, shit, shit.
No, no, you cannot, because if Daryl sees you here, he’ll fucking kill me. “Um, now’s not a good time. I’m kind of busy,” I say, trying not to sound rude or guilty to the police, but this can’t happen. I know they can’t force me—I’m not under arrest; they just want to ask me questions about Daryl.
Detective Wilson’s eyes track my body language; he’s trying to read me. I stop spinning the ring on my finger, my biggest nervous tick. Even then, I know what he sees; inherited guilt.
Law enforcement has always made me uncomfortable. I don’t break any laws, but we all know who does and my father taught me from a young age to steer clear of badges. I respect and appreciate them, but I’m terrified to be anywhere near them.
“It will only take a few minutes. You’re not in any trouble—we’re only here to ask a few questions,” the detective assures me.
I shake my head and step toward my house. “I’m sorry, I can’t help you.” My voice shakes.
Bryce grips Wilson’s arm, stopping him when he goes to say more.
He takes a business card out of his pocket and holds it out to me.
“We understand. If you change your mind, please reach out. You can call or text this line. If you ever need anything, don’t hesitate to reach out.
” I stare at the card before glancing around the street and surrounding houses like I’ll see Daryl watching me.
I quickly take the card, shove it in my bag and retreat to the house.
I couldn’t stay home. It’s not rational, but I felt like Daryl already knew cops showed up at my house, and he would come for me. I was crawling out of my skin in that house.
Turning onto a back road at the ranch, I head for one of my favorite spots. No one knows I come here from time to time to think and escape. It’s on the far side of the ranch, just an old pull-off for loading and unloading horses, but the view is pretty. It’s peaceful.
I’ve always felt safe here.
Sitting in my car, I breathe through my ever-growing panic. Why did they want to talk to me? What questions did they want to ask? What did Daryl do? I’ll remain unable to answer those very questions unless I call the number on the card.
I don’t fight off the tears that start to fall.
Why is this my life? I feel like I’m stuck living in a nightmare with no way to wake up.
Will it ever change? I’ve never told a soul about Daryl forcing me to give him money, his threats, or anything else.
I kept telling myself he’d get bored and stop showing up one day, but that day has never come.
I’ve lived like this for years, but I don’t know how much longer I can take it.
I got a glimpse of happiness with Trey. What it felt like to have someone in my corner, someone who cared about me, someone who didn’t judge where I came from but instead valued who I am as a person.
Then, like everything else good in my life, Daryl ruined it.
I’m sobbing, palms pressed to my face, when I hear a truck door.
Before I can react, my car door opens, and rough hands grip my wrists. “Jessie?” It’s Carson.
Fuck. He must have been driving by.
“Hi, I’m okay.” I let him pull my hands back.
“No, you’re not. What’s going on?”
I wipe the tears from my cheeks. I want to tell him, but at the mere thought, my heart pounds in my ears and my hands tremble. I shake my head no. The truth will change everything.
“Jessie, talk to me. You’re scaring me.”
I look up at Carson and my stomach drops. I can see the worry in his eyes as he scans me, looking for anything physically wrong.
“I’m not hurt. I just—I don’t think I can keep living like this.” My voice is raw from crying, and I know I’m not making any sense.
Carson pulls me up and out of the car. He wraps me in a hug. Holding tightly, he asks, “Living like what?”
I’ve never told anyone. Not everything. I don’t even know where to begin. But if there is one person who will listen, it’s Carson.
“If I tell you, you can’t do anything. I don’t want anyone involved.”
Carson pulls back. “Is this about Trey?”
I almost laugh. I wish my biggest problem in life was a cowboy. “No. This . . . This has been going on for years, but you can’t help. No one can.”
“I can try, and if I can’t, we’ll find someone who can. You need to let somebody help you with whatever this is. At least talk to me. Let’s start there.”
I decide it’s time. It’s time to tell someone. Things have gotten worse over the summer, and now the cops are showing up. I’m not sleeping, and I work more hours than my body can handle. I just drove to the middle of nowhere to have a fucking mental breakdown.
I can’t do this anymore.
“The reason I work so much is because my father makes me give him money.”
Carson goes stiff but doesn’t say a word, giving me space to talk.
“Once I started college, he began keeping tabs on me. When I got my nursing job, after a couple paychecks, he showed up demanding money. At first I refused—told him I didn’t have extra money.
I’d just bought the house, Gran needed help, and that was the truth.
But then he threatened me . . . he scared the shit out of me, so I started working an extra shift here or there.
He would take a couple hundred and disappear for a few weeks.
Then that turned into an extra shift every week, then two, and well .
. . you know.” I twist the hem of my shirt as I word vomit.
Now that I’ve started, I can’t stop. It’s like an avalanche.
Every word releases pressure from deep in my chest.
“Now he takes thousands. He takes everything, Carson. I have no savings—I can’t pay my student debt down, credit card debt is stacking up.
I’m drowning trying to just take care of Gran and myself, but I’m terrified of him.
He wanted me to get even more money from Trey, but I said no.
Trey figured out he was coming around and confronted him, telling him to leave me alone.
That’s when Daryl broke his truck windows. ”
Carson’s eyes flare. I knew Trey lied to everyone about the windows. He lied to protect me.
“After that, Daryl showed up at the hospital threatening to hurt Trey. He’s never shown up at the hospital before.
He was so angry, I got scared and—and I kicked Trey out.
I didn’t have a choice, but I had to be so horrible to him to get him to leave.
Now he’ll probably never forgive me, and I miss him so much.
” My words are coming in gasps—choked, and desperate.
The concern in Carson’s eyes has shifted to anger. His voice has an edge to it when he asks, “Trey knew about this and left anyway?”
“No,” I quickly say. “Trey didn’t know everything.
All he knew was Daryl had been bothering me.
That’s what led to their altercation, and his truck windows being broken.
But, I promise he only thought Daryl was harassing me.
He had no idea about the money, hospital, or how long this has been going on.
He never would’ve left if he did, you know that. That’s why I didn’t tell him.”
“Who have you told?”
I glance away. “You.”
“You’ve been carrying this by yourself all these years?”
“Yes,” I whisper.
He pulls me into another hug. “I’m so sorry, Jessie. I wish you would’ve told me—told anyone. You don’t have to do this alone.”
“He’s dangerous, Carson. You can’t tell anyone. Promise me you won’t tell anyone.”
He releases me. “How dangerous? I mean, I know the rumors, but . . . has he hurt you?”
I shake my head. I’m not diving into my childhood right now. “No, he just intimidates me and takes money, but I’ve seen the people he’s sent to the ER. He isn’t afraid to hurt someone to send a message.”
Carson drags his hand down his beard. “And you haven’t gone to the police because you’re afraid of what Daryl will do?”
“Yes, because this doesn’t just affect me. If I piss him off, I’m worried he’ll go for Gran or Kacey or Trey. That’s how he’s always kept me paying him. He doesn’t only threaten me, but my people.”
“I know you don’t want to hear this, but you need to go to the police, Jessie. We can make sure everyone stays safe, but this can’t continue.”
“You can’t promise that. Give me some time to process—to decide what to do. I can’t keep going like this, but he’s calmed down since Trey left. I just gave him some more money not long ago and haven’t heard from him since, so maybe it’s going to get better.”
I can see Carson thinking—literally like watching gears turn.
He doesn’t like this. I knew he wouldn’t, but I trust him to let me figure this out or at least give me a moment to breathe.
“Okay, but only for a few days. I don’t like this, Jessie, and you’re done dealing with this on your own.
If he does anything—and I mean anything, a text, a call, a fucking letter in the mail—you tell me.
You and Gran can come stay at the ranch, too, if you need to. ”
“Thank you, Carson. I need to process everything.” I tell him about the police coming to my house and show him the card they gave me. He knows Sheriff Young personally and assures me he’s a good officer.
“Think about calling Bryce. I know he’d do anything to help you,” he suggests as he heads for his truck.
I climb back into my car. “I will. Thank you for listening, Carson. I promise I’ll figure something out.”
He stops in front of the truck. “We’ll figure something out. You’re not alone in this anymore. Besides, if worse comes to worst, no one would ever find a body out here.”
I laugh, but he doesn’t. He climbs in his truck and drives off.
Yikes. I’m going to chalk that comment up to Carson’s dry humor and promptly forget he said it.