Station
It’s that fucking drink.
The alcohol.
It’s inflicted so much on me.
Uncle Rodney.
Mom.
Myself.
Bryan.
It twists people in ugly ways, makes the worst parts of them fester and thrum. It has that magical way of making you think one more would be okay. Another binge isn’t going to kill you.
But it does.
It kills you in every way that counts.
Changes you.
Rewires your brain if you’re predisposed to such things. Sometimes even if you’re not.
Sitting with Gideon after all this time, all these new revelations, not a word traded between us, should’ve been nerve-wracking.
All I could think about was all the ways I’d let myself down.
Sure, it's Bryan’s fault he’s dead. It’s his fault he hurt me.
But I didn’t walk away either. I could’ve; he wouldn’t have physically harmed me if I broke things off.
He would have been annoying for a week or two, sure, between binders at least, but not violent.
His deal was that he never knew when to quit. Drinking, pushing, begging.
Just like Mom never knew when to quit feeling sorry for herself.
Uncle Rodney never knew when to quit hiding from the real world.
Dad never knew when to quit hiding from his family. Granted, his poison was never liquor but work, bottled and just as detrimental when it came before anything and anyone else. I never found out if he just didn’t want to be home that much or if he just actually enjoyed being here.
Gideon’s hand finds my lower back, slipping under my jacket as he guides me past the small, yellowing lobby.
The smell of coffee and cigarettes leaks out from behind the glass partition, Mrs. Maybelle filing her nails behind it, not bothering to look up.
Her cigarette ash is a mile long and one breath away from falling on the Post-it notes scattered around the desktop.
My mind is focused on the way his thumb makes a gentle caress along exposed flesh there where my shirt doesn’t quite reach my low-rise jeans.
He opens his mouth to speak when the phone rings.
Mrs. Maybelle, who somehow hasn’t aged a day past sixty-five since I was seven, makes pointed eye contact with Gideon before grabbing the receiver.
Her wrinkled, painted lips thin over her yellowing teeth. “Sheriff’s Department.”
A laugh escapes me, watching Gideon's jaw clench at being pointily ignored. It’s not the most appropriate time, but it feels good. Even better when Gideon’s eyes find mine, a smirk lifting his lips in only the most sardonic smile I’ve ever seen.
“Yes! Oh, my word. I was just telling your daddy he was expressly forbidden from working on the due date. I just know a call would come in right as he’s about to clock out and he’d miss the whole kit and caboodle.”
I raise my eyebrows at Gideon, mouthing the word forbidden dramatically.
His smile only deepens, and for a moment, the strangest, most welcomed, unwelcomed warmth blooms deep in my chest. His fist rises, not taking his searching eyes off me as he raps on the glass, despite everyone knowing she’s well aware we’re waiting.
Mrs. Maybelle is perhaps the only one in town with a worse disposition than Gideon.
She rolls her eyes, glaring daggers at us from beyond the glass.
The breath Gideon takes is deep enough that he may as well have punched through and inhaled her cigarette smoke from the source.
Stifling another laugh, I suck my lips behind my teeth.
It’s inappropriate… this downright, hell, giddy feeling.
It’s just… what a fucking insane few weeks it’s been.
It feels so good, so right to be at his side again, easy. Like breathing. Natural.
And he’s touching me.
He wants me.
He’s home.
An odd pressure builds behind my eyes and for once it's not the sad kind. A dangerous blooming hope, because Gideon is leaving, but he might stay. We’re grown up now; things are different. Right? There are no rules now.
Fuck, Audrey, focus. Your ex-boyfriend is dead.
“What are you thinking about?” Gideon’s voice breaks me from where my eyes had been glued to the pen on a small chain bolted to the lip of the counter. Blinking rapidly before I lift my head to—
Officer Braylon catches my eye. Grateful for the distraction and to get this over with, I lift my palm, waving at him, casting a helpless look at the older woman, who is still ignoring us.
He pinches the bridge of his nose, his large palm dragging down his face before he lifts from his seat, buzzing us through the locked door to the side.
Gideon’s warm hand doesn’t dare leave me as he steps forward, opening the door and ushering me through just as Mrs. Maybelle hangs up the receiver, scowling our way. “Impatient, disrespectful—”
“Nice to see you too, Mrs. Maybelle,” I offer, remembering how terrified I was of the old lady growing up.
How she’d offer me suckers that always tasted slightly like her perfume from the bottom of her purse, but only after I’d completed some innocuous task to earn one.
I did it every time despite not really wanting her sucker, considering we were in a building full of police officers whose desks were filled with treats that were offered to me freely.
It seems I can’t decide what in the hell to feel today, bouncing rapidly between melancholy, nervous, and downright giddy.
As we reach Officer Braylon, his palm slaps down on my head, ruffling my hair. “Thanks for coming in, kiddo. My condolences. I promise to make this short.”
Shooting him a small nod and a soft smile. “I’m not sure how much help I’ll be.” I pause for a moment, clearing my throat, trying to steel myself. “We weren’t really on the best of terms lately.”
He regards that quietly, and it makes me nervous. Why? I have no idea. I’ve done nothing wrong. Being here under these circumstances feels like being pulled into my dad’s office all over again. Those very few times he’d sat me down as Sheriff Fisher and not Dad.
“Gideon, thanks for bringing her by,” Officer Braylon offers.
Gideon’s hand leaves my back, gripping my waist and gently tugging me deeper into him. My cheeks flush as I pull away quicker than he can react.
Naturally, he doesn’t miss a beat. “Of course, but as you can imagine, it’s in Audrey’s best interest—"
“Less than two weeks back, and you’ve nailed down her best interests again?” Braylon jokes, but there’s a steely tension in the air that sets something wrong in my stomach.
“Dr. Gideon Bell, god, you’re a hard man to track down!
” A booming voice fills the station, a lanky man turning the corner, clapping his large palms together as he makes his way over.
From his perfectly groomed mustache to his snakeskin boots and large belt buckle, he’s hard to miss.
What’s also hard to miss is the way Gideon stiffens, reaching out to snag my wrist before tugging me back to him.
His grip firm but gentle, like it could turn punishing in a moment.
“Yes, when most people take leave for a loss in the family, they don’t expect to be followed,” Gideon retorts as the man comes face-to-face. Mustache man is an inch or so taller, but I think he’s cheating with his cowboy hat.
“Detective Altman decided to offer us his help with the Johnson boy while he’s in town,” Officer Braylon quips. His eyes tracking the two men, I wonder if he can feel the iciness behind their smiles. There’s little doubt these two entirely loathe one another.
“That is very kind indeed,” Gideon offers.
“Now, Dr. Bell, you didn’t say anything about having a girl back home,” Detective Altman remarks, turning his mustached smile on me. “No wonder you’ve been too busy to answer the phone.”
My cheeks flush bright. “Oh, I’m not… we’re not, uhm—"
Gideon chuckles at that, but the sound is off. “Making up for lost time.”
I blanche, half from the shock of Gideon all but claiming me in the middle of the Sheriff’s Department and half from seeing him so…
adjusted. Interacting with other people like this.
Joking. The room seems to grow tighter around me; for a second, I’m back in the viewing room of Bell Funeral Home watching Gideon pretend to cry.
Watching how easily the empty emotion slid on and off his face.
My arms are dotted with goosebumps when the detective reaches out to shake my hand, apparently realizing Gideon had no inclination to actually introduce us.
“Detective Altman, but you can call me Martin.” I reach out almost robotically halfway to his hand before Gideon’s grip tightens on my wrist painfully.
I ignore it, grasping the man’s rough hand anyway. All this fake posturing, and Gideon Bell is still rude as all can be. “Audrey Fisher, it’s nice to meet you.”
The man's eyes spark with recognition. Probably another connection of my dad’s, lord, we can only hope it wasn’t a connection of Mom's.
When I lift my eyes, Gideon is watching the detective with a new intensity.
Braylon finally cuts in, his words giving me space to squeeze in a staccato breath. “Come on, kiddo, let's get this over with so you can get home.”
“Perfect,” Detective Martin chimes in, his attention on Gideon. “I’m not sure how many of my messages you got, but we’ve hit a snag. I was hoping to comb it over with you.”
Gideon ignores him, smoothing over the reddened marks on my wrist with his thumb before releasing it. “I’ll be here when you’re out—"
“I’m afraid it might take a deal longer than that.”
I glance at Gideon and then Braylon. “I’m sure one of the officers can take me home. It’s no big deal.” I smile up at him.
Braylon motions toward a nearby door. “Of course, Auds. If I had known that old beater finally kicked it, I’d have just come by the house.”
I nearly gasp as Gideon jerks his keys from his pocket, handing them to me. “Take my car. I’ll see you at home.”
Oh, holy fucking flutterflies.
I open my mouth dumbly, snapping it shut as Gideon all but dismisses me, turning his attention to Braylon. “Is the old meeting room open?”