Chapter 54 Chase
The win should land better than it does.
Austin’s beating himself up for letting in those three goals during the third period. I tried to console him after the game. He just shook his head and muttered something about getting eliminated if he kept letting shit like this happen.
We’ll bounce back. We always do.
But right now, I want my girl. Preferably in my arms and in our bed.
When I get home, the living room is dim and the fire’s burning low. Erin’s curled up on the couch asleep, a book bent across her thumb and a highlighter on the floor. I crouch down and kiss her cheek. She stirs, blinks, and sits up, rubbing her eyes.
“That was a tough game,” she murmurs.
“It wasn’t our best.”
She picks up her highlighter and puts it back in her pencil case.
“How’s Austin? Pretty sure the camera caught him yelling at himself the entire third period.”
“He’ll be fine.” I stretch. “Let me shower, then we can order a pizza and watch a movie.”
“Pizza sounds perfect, but now that you’re back from your away series, we need to talk. There’s something I need to tell you.”
I tilt my head. “You finally gonna tell me what’s been eating at you these last few days?”
She stiffens. “How did you know?”
“You’re my favorite book, baby. I know you cover to cover. I know what you’re feeling, what you’re thinking, what you want to say, what you’re not saying, what you need, what you crave. I know everything about you.” I shrug, smirking.
She crosses her arms, chin raised. “Oh, yeah? Then tell me—what am I thinking right now?”
“That joining me in the shower is a fantastic idea,” I answer immediately. “But you won’t do it because you know once I get you in there, you won’t come out for hours, and then you’ll be too tired to finish your book. And you hate leaving a book unfinished.”
Her mouth drops open, but she doesn’t deny a thing.
“Smartass.”
I grin but it falters when she reaches for her pajama top buttons. At a deliberate pace, one by one, she undoes them.
Fuck, she’s not wearing anything underneath.
My brain short-circuits.
“And if I did join you,” she purrs. “Would there be any objections?”
“Not a fucking one.”
I grab her, kiss her hard, then throw her over my shoulder, smacking her ass as she squeals and laughs.
After I’ve properly worshiped her body, we’re downstairs again. We settle by the fire and order food. I rub her arms gently, warming her skin.
“It’s okay,” I tell her. “Whatever it is, you don’t have to be afraid to tell me.”
“What if it’s not, though? Okay, I mean,” she whispers.
“It might not be. But we always will be.”
I close my eyes. “I saw Laurel.”
My hands still. I take in her three words and let them settle, then I keep rubbing her arms, grounding her while she tells me everything.
Hawk. The drugs he stole from The Octopus. What he made Laurel do. The information at the lake-house. Why Laurel ran.
Relief hits first, then anger.
The drugs were never Elliot’s. He had nothing to do with them. He was clean until the accident. And Laurel? She was a pawn manipulated by Hawk. She followed instructions to protect Elliot.
Erin turns in my arms, eyes glassy and afraid. “There’s more.”
I kiss her. “Tell me.”
She reaches for her pencil case and pulls out a thumb drive. “She gave me this, but I haven’t looked at it yet. I wanted to wait for you. But…after Laurel gave it to me…” Erin pauses. “She said we can’t trust Brax.”
Everything inside of me turns to stone.
“I’ve known him my whole life, baby,” I say quietly. “Aside from you, there’s nobody I trust more.”
“I know,” she says softly. “I’m not saying I believe her. I’m sorry, I know how hard this is. I wish I could make it better. Give you answers. Make this go away.”
“You do make it better, Erin. You’re my everything.”
She holds the thumb drive out in her tiny palm.
“What do you want to do?” she asks.
Before I can answer, my phone rings.
Brax’s landline.
My gut doesn’t hesitate. I swipe to answer.
“Uncle Chasey.” Roman’s small, terrified voice punches every bone in my body.
“Roman?” Erin and I are already moving. We grab our keys, put our shoes on, and are out the front door.
It’s all a blur.
“You gots to come quick, Uncle Chasey. Someone hurt my dad. He’s bleeding, really fast. You gots to come. He said not to call the doctor.”
“Stay there, buddy. We’re coming.”
Erin takes the phone, keeping him calm while I drive like my truck’s on fire.
We fly through Brax’s door the second we’re out of the truck. Erin scoops Roman up as he sobs into her pajama top, and I drop to my knees beside Brax, who’s on the floor propped up against his kitchen island.
The blood on his upper arm is dark and the hole is obvious.
Gunshot wound.
“It went through.” His tone is nonchalant as if we’re discussing weekend plans, even though I can tell he’s in pain from the sweat dotting his forehead. “I’ll be okay. Bleeding’s finally stopped.”
Roman sobs. “D-daddy!”
“I’m okay, buddy. You were so brave.”
“Who did this?” I ask, shielding Brax from Roman so he can’t see the paleness on his dad’s face.
Brax grumbles. “I was making tacos and heard the floorboard creak. Turned around and the fucker shot me. He had a mask on and ran out the back. Lousy shot—doubt he’s ever held a gun before.”
“What the fuck!” Brodie roars through the doorway with a suitcase in his hand, staring at the scene and freezing for a moment. He drops his suitcase to the ground with a clunk and rushes to the kitchen to help.
“You know the rules, baby brother,” Brax rasps. “F-bomb costs you a fifty.”
“You literally just called the guy who shot you a fucker,” I remind him.
“I was shot. I’m excused, and he is a fucker. A dead fucker when I find out who was dumb enough to fire a gun with my son in the house.”
“Okay, just breathe,” I say, helping him up off the floor.
“I thought you weren’t flying in until tomorrow?” Brax asks Brodie.
“Bella wanted to get an earlier flight.” Brodie answers with concern etched across his face as he helps me get his brother to a chair.
“I wanted to come over and have a drink with you to celebrate your five-year detective anniversary,” he says, pulling out his phone as he dials 9-1-1.
“I just didn’t expect to do so from a hospital,” Brodie adds.
Brax smacks the phone out of Brodie’s hand before he can put the phone to his ear.
“Brax, you have a hole in your shoulder, you need a doctor,” Brodie snaps, bending to pick up his phone from the ground.
“I can close the wound myself. I don’t need anyone’s hands on me,” he answers just as Roman rushes to us, wrapping his arms around his dad’s waist as he cries.
Brax offers him a weak smile. “I’m so proud of you.”
“Come on,” Erin says. “Let’s pick out some pajamas for your dad to wear and we can have a sleepover.”
Roman walks hand in hand with Erin to Brax’s bedroom.
Brax gestures his head to the cabinet under the sink and then to the fridge.
I walk to the fridge first, grab him a beer, and then retrieve the first aid kit sitting off to the left-hand side of the pipes underneath the sink.
Brax pops some pills, takes a swig of his beer, and begins to clean the wound.
“Does somebody want to explain what the hell is going on?” Brodie asks.
“Attempted robbery,” Brax lies.
“You expect me to believe that?” Brodie fires back.
“It’s what I’m saying, so yeah.”
Brodie curses. “You’re always keeping secrets,” he says, shaking his head as he turns and storms out of the house, slamming the door behind him. We let him go, knowing he needs a minute.
An hour later, Roman is curled beside his dad, fast asleep. Brax hasn’t stopped rubbing his son’s back. Erin watches the two of them, keeping it together as best as she can.
Brodie hasn’t come back yet, and he hasn’t answered any of our calls. We called Bella to let her know what had happened. She sounded shaky on the phone, but we assured her Brax was okay. She said she’d let us know when Brodie was home and would stop by later to check in on Brax.
Roman’s little snores fill the room. I untangle myself from Erin, lift Roman from his dad’s lap, and carry him to his bed. Thankfully, he doesn’t stir.
When I return, Erin’s head is in her hands.
“He didn’t see anything,” Brax murmurs gently to her as I place my arm around her. “He just heard the shot, then came out swinging his baseball bat.” A mix between a grimace and pride traces Brax’s mouth. “My brave little man.”
“Why did you tell Roman not to call 9-1-1?” Erin asks, lifting her head. “Don’t you have to report it?”
“It’s an off-duty shooting during an off-the-books investigation. I’m not obligated to call it in. I let my sergeant know—he’s the only one who matters,” Brax explains.
“We were wrong about Laurel,” I tell him.
Brax straightens, wincing. “What do you mean?”
“She approached me,” Erin says. “She wasn’t behind the research. She didn’t send the photo to my mom. She came back recently, looking for answers about Elliot.”
Brax’s face falls. I don’t tell him Laurel warned Erin about him.
Neither does she.
“You believe her?” Brax asks quietly.
“Yes,” Erin and I say together.
“Did she tell you who made her do this?” Brax asks, looking exhausted but okay, like he’s holding himself together with tape.
Erin’s eyes flick to mine. One look between us is an entire conversation.
Brax is the kind of man who bleeds out on his kitchen floor and thinks about comforting his son before calling for help.
Watching him rub circles on Roman’s back with a shaking hand, refusing a hospital, and pushing through his pain so his kid doesn’t fall apart.
It paints a clear image. There’s no version of Brax that fits Laurel’s warning.
None.
I cover Erin’s knee in a quiet decision.
Her eyes answer in response.
We trust him.
So, we let it go. Because we know the truth when it’s right in front of us.
Erin places the thumb drive on the table.
“Hawk,” she says. “That’s the name she gave me.”
Brax pushes to his feet, pockets the drive. “Take Roman,” he says. “I don’t want him here tonight if whoever did this decides to come back for round two. I’ll call you in the morning.”
He pauses when he gets to the door of his cave, just off the side of the living room.
Without turning around, he murmurs. “Keep my son safe, Pretty Boy.”