Chapter 22
Chapter Twenty-Two
Jackson
Allison’s face turned white and she leaned up against the counter, nervously rubbing the coffee mug in her hands. I answered the phone and listened to what Greg had to say, keeping my responses brief.
My stomach was in knots by the time Greg finished catching me up to speed. I felt a thousand emotions at once—anger, fear, grief. Emptiness.
I closed my eyes and took a moment to try to wrap my mind around it all before turning to Allison. “They got him.”
“Russell?”
“Yes.”
“Thank God,” she said. Her whole body sagged with relief..
I swallowed hard, still not fully believing the words I was about to speak. “He’s dead.”
“What?” She instantly straightened.
I gripped the counter, needing something to hold on to.
Allison grabbed my arm and led me to the couch, forcing me to sit. “You need water,” she said. She went back to the kitchen and opened the cabinet doors until she found a cup. Then she filled it with water and came back, forcing it into my hands. “Drink.”
I did as she’d said.
“What happened?” she asked, sitting beside me.
I felt sick now, knowing I had to tell her the whole story. “You know that empty lot just down from your house? The one they’re clearing to be a new subdivision?”
“Yeah,” she said, nodding. “I know what you’re talking about.”
“Last night, they got a call about an unresponsive man sitting in a truck on that lot. Went to do a welfare check and it was him. He was parked within easy walking distance from your place. And he was dead.”
“Cause of death?”
“Officially, still to be determined.”
“Unofficially?” Allison seemed to know we’d at least have an idea.
“Suspected accidental overdose. He apparently had lung cancer. I didn’t know…” I trailed off, feeling so detached from my words. How was it possible to feel so much and so little at the same time? “He was on a lot of pain meds. Some legit scripts, some not. All that on top of his normal habit. We don’t know yet if it was an overdose, the cancer, or something else that got him in the end.”
“I’m sorry, Jackson,” she said, rubbing my arm. Thinking only of me, when I was the one who should have been apologizing to her.
“There’s more.” More I hated to tell her.
“What is it?”
I blew out a breath, then told her the rest. No matter how it might change her feelings for me, she deserved to know the full truth. “He had a loaded gun in the vehicle. A photograph of me and you leaving the clinic together. And a note in the driver’s seat with your address on it.”
Her jaw dropped. “I don’t even know what to say to that.”
I clenched my jaw. “I’m sorry, Allison. I’m so sorry. It’s all my fault he wanted to hurt you.” I wanted to crawl into a hole forever, knowing that his darkness had come so close to touching her.
Fury flashed in her eyes as she stood. “Do not. Jackson, nothing that man did is your fault, do you understand?”
“But—”
“No buts. You are not him. You are not responsible for his actions. He wanted to hurt me because he was a hateful, miserable person who couldn’t stand to see you happy. But that is not your fault, and I won’t listen to you apologizing for it.”
I just stared at her. Her angry outburst was so unlike her that it brought a smile to my face, something that had felt impossible moments before. “You know who you remind me of?”
“Who?”
“My mom. My adoptive mom, that is. She has your same passion. And she’s always telling me I’m not responsible for Russell.”
A smile teased at Allison’s lips. “Smart woman,” she said. “You should listen to her.”
Knowing Russell was no longer a threat, I felt safe leaving Allison. I dropped her off at her house with a promise that I’d come back for dinner. She had insisted, and I thought I knew why—she wanted to make sure I wasn’t going to pull away now that our friendship was no longer a danger to her.
It was still a danger to me, though. To my heart, anyway.
Even so, I promised her I would come back, then headed straight to the morgue. I wasn’t needed for official identification, but I wanted to do it anyway. Needed to see it for myself.
I pulled up and saw Greg standing outside, waiting.
“Hey, Sheriff,” I said, stepping out of my truck and heading his way.
“Jackson,” he said, nodding.
“What are you doing here?”
“I knew this is where you’d come. And I sure as hell wasn’t going to have you face it alone.”
My throat tightened. “Thanks,” I said, my voice oddly gruff. I reached out and shook his hand, unshed tears stinging my eyes.
“How are you holding up?” He put his hand on my shoulder.
“I don’t know,” I said weakly. “It’s been a hell of a week.”
“Doesn’t feel right to say I’m sorry for your loss, but just know that I’m here for you. Whatever you need.”
I nodded, unable to speak.
We headed inside and walked down the long hallway to where the bodies were kept. As a detective, I’d done this before. But it had never been personal.
When I saw Russell’s body, I expected to feel relief, and it was there—but so was grief. Even after all these years, part of me had still hoped he would change. That he would actually have some small desire to be a decent member of society. To do the right thing for once. Even to patch things up with me and actually have a role in my life as something other than a villain. I’d always held on to this little bit of hope that somewhere, deep inside him, there was some good left.
He had died without showing a bit of that goodness. In the end, he had been just as horrible as he had in the beginning. Maybe even worse.
The Sharp blood. It was poison.
“This isn’t what I wanted,” I said, staring at him. “Even after everything. I wanted—” My voice broke.
“I know,” Greg said quietly, reaching out to put a hand on my shoulder. “I know.”
Two hours later, I found myself down at the old creek, not entirely sure how I had gotten there. It was more habit than anything, an old childhood ritual that had lain dormant but apparently never died. Russell did something awful; I ran away to the creek. It’s just how it was.
I picked up a stone, flipping it over in my hand and rubbing my thumb against the smooth surface before skipping it across the water. Five skips. Not bad at all.
“Bet I can still beat you.” The voice came from behind me, startling and soothing me all at once.
“How’d you know I’d be here?” I asked, not even bothering to turn around.
Allison walked forward, her tennis shoes squeaking on the rocky bank, until she plopped down beside me. “I just knew. You okay?”
“Yeah.” I picked up another rock. Flipped it. Rubbed it. Skipped it. Six skips this time.
“Nice,” she said before picking up one of her own. She rubbed it in between her palms, then brought it to her lips for a kiss before letting it fly. Seven skips.
“Damn,” I said. “You can still beat me.”
“It’s all in the kiss,” she said, laughing.
“That’s what you always said.” I just shook my head.
She put her arm through mine and laid her head on my shoulder, bringing back a million memories. This place had been our refuge from the world, a private oasis where adults never seemed to bother us or spoil our fun.
“It’s okay to have mixed feelings,” she whispered, squeezing my arm.
“How did you know?”
“He was your dad,” she said. “Trust me. I get it.”
“Did you stay in touch with your dad after you and your mom left?” I had always wondered, but it was a topic we hadn’t spoken about since her return.
She let out a deep, shaky sigh. “No. Not really. He fought for shared custody—briefly—but in the end, he chose alcohol instead. Ruined every chance the judge gave him. He never even showed up for visitation. Mama ended up with sole custody. He sent letters on my birthday for a few years. That was it.”
“So you didn’t see him before…”
“Before he died?”
“Right.”
She shook her head, then laid it back on my shoulder. I reached up and stroked her hair as we shared our grief together.
“When he passed, Grandmother wrote to Mama and let her know. She told me casually, like she didn’t expect it to affect me at all because I hadn’t seen him in years. But it broke my heart, even though I rarely even thought of him anymore.”
“Of course it did,” I said. “He was your dad.”
“Mixed feelings,” she repeated.
“Yep.”
“He chose alcohol, and in the end, it killed him. Your dad chose…” She trailed off, as if realizing she might offend me by stating the truth.
“He chose hate,” I said, filling in the blank. “In the end, he always chose hate.”
She snuggled into me, her voice impossibly small as she asked, “Do you ever wonder why they didn’t choose us?”
“Every damn day.”
We spent the afternoon at the creek. We skipped rocks, walked along the bank, and waded ankle-deep in the warm water as the sun sank lower in the sky, rays of light cutting a path through the trees to sparkle on the dark surface. Neither of us spoke much. It was clear we were both deep in thought, reliving some of the best—and worst—moments of our lives. But we didn’t have to talk much to get something out of it. We were together and that was enough.
When we finally decided to leave, Allison pulled her car beside mine. “Dinner?” she asked through the open window.
“You still want to hang out tonight, after I moped around feeling sorry for myself all afternoon?” I chuckled, even though I was genuinely asking. I knew I wasn’t the best company right now.
“I do.” She nodded. “I’m picking up takeout. I don’t know about you, but I’m starved. Pizza?”
“Pizza sounds great,” I said.
“And wine,” she said, eyebrows raised. “Red probably. That goes with pizza, right?”
“Pizza and wine? What happened to setting an example of healthy eating?” I grinned, enjoying the ease that had somehow come back in our friendship, at least a little.
“We need comfort food tonight.”
“Alright, well, you get the pizza and I’ll pick up a bottle. Do you have a preference on type?”
She shrugged. “Not really. Something smooth and easy to drink. Not too dry, but not too sweet. You probably know more about them than I do.”
“Got it.”
After a day of grieving together, we both avoided any talk of Russell or the past at Allison’s that night. We shared a pizza and a bottle of pinot noir and swapped stories about crazy things that had happened in our jobs. It was a fun night, one where the ease between us seemed to return, even though there was an unspoken tension under the surface I was sure we both felt. Things had changed for so many reasons. But we both seemed determined to get back to normal somehow.
I was getting ready to head out for the night when the house practically shook.
“Was that thunder?” Allison asked, her eyes wide.
“Sounds like it,” I said before my voice was nearly drowned out by the roar of heavy rain pounding the metal roof.
Allison got up and opened the front door. Then she stepped out on the porch and closed her eyes, filling her lungs with the scent of the rain falling on the forest. “It’s beautiful,” she said, her tone wistful.
“What’s beautiful?” I asked, moving out onto the porch with her, even though I agreed completely. It almost didn’t matter what her answer was. The sight of the rain was beautiful. The scent of it was incredible. And when her own scent—delicate and rich at the same time, like lilacs—combined with the familiar smell of a Tennessee rainstorm in the summer, I thought I could just about get drunk on the combo.
“This,” she said, turning toward me and opening her eyes. There was an earnest look in them, a longing I recognized. “I had almost forgotten this.”
“Almost forgotten what?” I moved toward her without realizing it, standing so close we nearly touched. There was a good two inches between our bodies, but I could almost feel her just the same.
She gave me a long look, one that was filled with a complicated mix of emotions I couldn’t fully identify. “This. How the world works differently here. Life doesn’t just continue on at the same fast pace, come rain or high water. A rainstorm like this, here, is almost magic. It can slow everything down. Stop life in its tracks. Force you to just experience it for once—to step outside onto your porch to listen to the rain and watch it dripping from the roof.” She held out a cupped hand and let the water hit her palm, filling it, like she was collecting a precious gift.
“That’s true,” I said. “The weather dictates life here on the mountain, whether we like it or not.”
“It’s such a gift to slow down,” she said quietly, still letting the raindrops bounce off the palm of her hand. She finally turned her hand upside down, letting the water inside fall to the earth with the rest, then turned back to me. Her face was still that mix of emotion, somehow full of trouble and peace at the same time.
“It is,” I agreed, wishing time would slow down completely. I could stand out here with her listening to the rain for the rest of my life if the world would just let us.
“I had forgotten,” she said again, almost in a whisper.
“Forgotten what?”
She looked up at me, and her expression finally changed, like she had somehow let go of the trouble that was clouding it and grabbed on to the peace with both hands. “I had almost forgotten what it feels like to be free.”
I wasn’t sure how it happened—whether she reached for me or I reached for her—but suddenly her head was on my chest and my arms wrapped tightly around her waist, holding her like I never wanted to let go.
It felt right. But it was wrong. We had already agreed to just be friends. Nothing could happen between us.
Without meaning to, I had broken our pact. I had fallen in love with my best friend.