Chapter 39 Sloane
SLOANE
He walks into the house Wednesday night, his body slow and dragging slightly. I can tell that he didn’t have a good day.
“Come here,” I say, setting my laptop down. He stares at me for a long time before he kicks his shoes off and approaches me.
I lay down on the couch and open my arms up for him. He looks at me for a few long seconds, like he’s fighting with himself over the fact if he should do it or not. He gives in, shrugging off his dress shirt, and he lies down on top of me.
“I need my Rocco,” he whispers. I try not to overreact, but my breath catches in my throat, and I just tighten my arms around him.
He sighs. “It’s a lot sometimes. The weight of the expectation to bring home everyone that goes missing, to find all the killers, and to give the families something to hope for.
It’s been a lot to be the head detective and to let everyone down, when you can’t find whoever it is that you’re looking for. ”
He goes quiet again, like he’s collecting his thoughts. I don’t speak, I just let him say what he needs to when he figures out what he’s trying to say.
“The teenager that went missing…we found him. But he didn’t make it.” His voice cracks, and I suck in a breath.
“I’m so sorry,” I whisper, and he clings to me a little tighter.
“It made me think of Mason. How I never know what he’s doing, or where he is. I’d never know he was gone until it was too late,” he whispers, taking in a shaky breath.
“He’s not missing, he’s ok. Mason is exactly where he’s supposed to be. I know it’s hard. He’s strong. He can handle himself.”
“I let the whole family down,” he whispers, and I feel him cling to me. In this moment, seventeen years of pain hit me. Every single person that he hasn’t brought home, he carries around like a personal scar, a personal failure.
“You gave them closure.”
“But their kid is gone.” The broken noise he lets out hits me like a fucking train, and I’m not sure how I hold it together.
“At least they can give him the funeral he deserves. Yes, it’s horrible.
Maybe you didn’t save him, but now his family doesn’t have to bury an empty casket.
You did what you could. You cannot control the evil things that people do.
You cannot fault yourself for giving everything you can to this job. ”
“It’s not enough,” He whispers.
“It’s enough for me.”
“How can you say that? I didn’t save them.”
“You saved me,” I whisper, my heart beating fast in my chest. I’m not sure what I’m doing, but if I want him to open up to me, I need to be open to him.
“What are you talking about?”
“Senior year, April 27th, you saved me,” I whisper.
“I don’t understand,” he whispers, pulling his face out of my neck and looking me in the eyes. I take a slow, deep breath. No one knows about this. I’ve never shared this with anyone, not even my therapist. No one knows how bad it was, how dark a place I was in.
“I was planning on taking my life that night, and your text saved my life.”
He stares at me for a few seconds like he’s struggling to process what I just said. We haven’t really talked about my situation since the incident.
“I’d driven up the canyon. I was planning on taking whatever pills were in Monica’s medicine cabinet,” I whisper as the tears begin to fall, one by one.
“I parked in a place that wasn’t supposed to have any service.
I wrote letters; they were in the backseat in my bag, along with my journal that detailed everything that had led me up to the point that I was at.
The sex tape of me losing my virginity that was posted online, screenshots of dozens of hate messages I’d received before the video was posted and after, recordings of what my parents, peers, and siblings were saying about me when they thought that I wasn’t around. ”
I have to pause to wipe my eyes. He sits up and stares at me, like he has no idea what to say or how to react. I get it, this is a lot to put on a person, at least I wouldn’t have to explain the sex tape.
Silver lining.
“Jesus Christ,” he whispers, his fingers finding mine as he holds my hands in his lap.
“I’d started taking the pills, but then your text came through.
It was a simple text, too, just you asking if I was ready for graduation.
But for whatever reason, it stopped me. I drove home and put the box with everything up in my closet.
” I take another shaky breath. “When I moved out, I threw away the tape with the videos and the evidence, because I never wanted to think about it ever again, but I still have the letters and the journals.”
“You still have them?” he whispers, and I pull my hands out of his and press my palms into my eyes.
“Yeah, they are upstairs. I keep them as a reminder of how far I’ve come. As a reminder that even in the darkest tunnels, there’s light at the end of it.”
He gently guides me into his lap.
“Oh my God, I’m so sorry this was supposed to be about you, and your feelings, I’m so sorry,” I whisper, burying my face into his chest and feeling selfish.
“Hey, no, it’s ok. Thank you for telling me, can I…” He trails off, and I lift my eyes to find his.
“What?”
“Can I see them?” he whispers.
“See what?”
“The journals and letters?”
“You want to read them?”
“No…well, only if you’re ok with that. But I just want to see them.”
“Why?”
“Because I need to know how many times you needed someone and you didn’t have anyone.”
I bite my lip as more tears start to form. I get off his lap and slowly make my way upstairs into my room. He doesn’t follow me. I take my time getting myself together, grabbing the shoebox from my closet, and taking the whole thing with me when I go back downstairs.
“Welcome to high school, Sloane,” I whisper, setting the box down in front of him.
He looks at the box for a few long moments before opening it. Inside are four journals, one for each year, and six letters, one for Monica, Briar, Lottie, Kaden, Mason, and Beckett.
He picks up the letter that has his name on it.
“You wrote one for me.”
“Yeah, you’ve always been someone who’s been important to me. My friend, when I never really had one,” I whisper, wiping away my eyes. “I know it’s stupid—”
He cuts me off and sets the letters back into the box. “Nothing about this is stupid, baby.” He pulls me back into his lap.
Mocha comes over and jumps into my lap. I hold onto him as Beckett picks up each journal, flipping them over before setting them back into the box, looking through the other little things inside the box as well.
“You can read them if you want.”
“I might, but right now I just want to hold you,” he whispers. kissing the side of my head. His fingers push up the hem of my shorts, his fingers moving with purpose. He gently brushes them against the scars that paint my thighs, both new and old.
“These don’t define you; you are beautiful inside and out. Maybe in another life, we find each other in our youth and live a happy life together.”
“I just want to live the rest of this one with you.”
“Baby, there’s so much that I can never give you,” he whispers, kissing my head.
“I don’t care.”
“Well, maybe you should. I don’t know if I can give you any kids,” he whispers.
“We could foster or adopt.”
“I’m closer to retirement than you are to being my age.”
“I’ll come visit you in the retirement home.”
“You little brat…” he says with a laugh. “I can’t go with you to Georgia, and I can’t ask you to stay here.”
“Then don’t, we’ll make it work.”
“I want what’s best for you.”
“Did you ever stop to think that maybe that you’re what’s best for me?” He lets out a sigh. He cups my cheeks and wipes away what tears remain.
“I don’t deserve you.” He brings our foreheads together.
“We were always supposed to find each other; it was only a matter of time.”
“God, I hope you’re right.”
“I’m never wrong,” I whisper, and it causes us both to smile softly.
“It’s going to be messy and complicated. People aren’t going to understand, they’ll probably judge us.”
“Welcome to the life of Sloane Monroe.”
“That’s not funny,” he whispers.
“I wasn’t making a joke.”
He blinks once, really slow. “Thank you for being here.”
“Thank you for texting me.”
“I’m so fucking glad I did.”
“I am too.”