Chapter 6
Emery
Vehicles clutter the driveway next door as I roll up my own. When Annie told me about Logan’s Welcome Home party, I suggested waiting a few weeks to let him get settled. But Annie, normally a rational woman, was too excited to see reason.
I hope it doesn’t backfire on her.
Isla just arrived home and is heaving her hockey bag out of Dillon’s sedan, bowing under the weight of it.
Dillon leans against his driver-side door, arms folded across his chest. Donna is nowhere to be seen, which is usually par for the course.
She makes her best effort to not cross paths with me, and I appreciate her for it.
Forced pleasantries have never been my strong suit.
I park and climb out, desperate to shed my uniform and take a shower. “Tough game?” They lost 2–1 according to the alerts that popped up on my phone.
Isla rolls her eyes at me and then marches up the steps, her hair bound in a tight braid and matted from her helmet.
“We’re not finished our conversation!” Dillon hollers, but she ignores him, dropping her equipment on the porch, unzipping the bag, and disappearing into the house. A moment later, the lights flash on.
“At least she hasn’t left us in the dark,” Dillon notes as Duke barks once.
I take a deep, calming breath—as I always do when I’m in the same vicinity as my ex-husband.
“What’s that about?” It wouldn’t be the first time Isla’s in a huff when her father drops her off.
He likes to spend the long drive home highlighting all the mistakes she made on the ice.
I don’t blame her for getting irritated. The kid can skate circles around him.
“She took a stupid penalty, and it cost them the game.”
My body sinks with dismay. It’s a new team and the season’s just started. “For what?”
“Roughing.”
“Did she deserve it?”
He shrugs. “They didn’t need to call it.”
That’s his standard answer unless the roles are reversed and it’s his child pasted against the boards. “And her victim?”
“She was back on in the third. Laid it on thick if you ask me. Her parents were shouting for a suspension.”
I shake my head. People underestimate how physical girls’ hockey can get at this level. “She keeps it up and maybe she’ll get one soon enough.” Isla is usually good for a penalty every game.
“That’ll make it easier on me ’cause all this driving can’t be on our shoulders. Donna and I have Tanner’s schedule to think about too,” he throws back without missing a beat.
I inhale sharply. He may as well have called me a deadbeat parent.
“Remember last year when you insisted we reach out to North Bay, and I said it was going to be a challenge?” Her home ice rink is now almost two hours away, which means a four-hour commute twice a week for practice, plus out-of-town games as far south as the outskirts of Toronto.
Dillon turns to face me, his hands on his hips.
He’s always had a clean-cut, boyish look to him.
Even at thirty-nine years old, he hasn’t changed much from the version I made a huge mistake with—twice.
“I want our daughter to have the best opportunities available, which she can’t get around here.
I thought you would want the same,” he says in that overly calm, condescending tone.
My teeth grind as I resist the urge to yell. “I can’t run a police detachment around my daughter’s hockey schedule.” I have no spouse to share the burden with, and my parents are gone.
“Yeah, run the detachment. Not sub in for your platoon sergeant’s weekend shifts. And you’re not the only one with an important job around here, Em. I’m the damn mayor! On top of owning the busiest grocery store!”
“Believe me, I know exactly who you are.” Besides a cheater and compulsive liar. And his parents own the store. “Neither of my two relief officers could cover it, so what else was I supposed to do? I’m trying to protect everyone on the shoestring budget you gave me.”
“For fuck’s sake.” He tips his head back with a dramatic groan.
We’ve had this fight too many times. “I’m not out to get you.
The council votes on the budget. It’s a team effort.
What am I supposed to do? Tax residents more?
If we don’t have the money, we don’t have the money.
You have to manage accordingly. That’s part of the job.
” He shrugs. “You’re dealing all right, aren’t you? ”
“For now.” All we need is one big, messy death that could have been prevented had we gotten there in time, or a case that drains our resources. “Did you know PEC was shutting down?”
“Of course. I heard a few days ago.”
“And you didn’t think to tell me?”
“Why would I?” He scoffs. “I don’t report to you.”
“Because one of those people who lost their job is an angry, drunk giant with a history of violence, and he’s currently in my holding cell.”
Dillon falters, his bluster fading. “What happened?” Despite being a dick, he does actually care about the people in this town.
With a sigh, I fill him in on the day’s event.
“Well … it sounds like you got it under control.”
“Yes, but it could have gone an entirely different way.” I gave Matt grief, but I should have given him a hug.
“Look. I don’t have the energy to fight with you tonight.” Dillon lifts his hands. “And speaking of giving a heads-up, what about the violent, cop-killing criminal who just got released and is living right over there?” He points to the Landry ranch. “When were you going to tell me about that?”
I knew Dillon would hear about Logan’s return soon enough, and he wouldn’t be happy about it. He hasn’t been a fan since Logan punched him in high school for cheating on me—the first time.
“Why would I do that? I don’t report to you,” I parrot his earlier words. “And he didn’t kill anyone.”
“Great, you’re still defending him.” Dillon tsks. “Not a smart move.”
“I’m not defending him. I don’t want misinformation spread around.”
“You have a daughter, Emery. A beautiful teenage girl living next door to a guy who’s been locked up for how long?” His eyebrows arch with meaning. “You’re not at all worried?”
“Good God! He’s not a pedophile!” I scoff.
“A criminal’s a criminal. For someone in your position, I thought you’d know that much.”
I knew this wasn’t going to go well. “Logan’s been out for twenty-four hours. Leave the guy and his poor family alone.”
“I have nothing against Holt and Annie, or Sarah and Jon. They’re good members of the community.”
I snort. “Really? Why do you keep whining about them, then?” Who wants to buy our vegetables when Landry’s is open? I can’t tell which burns him more—the popularity of their farmer’s market or the fact that his own daughter would rather work there than at his family’s store.
Dillon’s expression hardens. “None of you have any idea who Logan is or what he’s capable of anymore.
” He climbs back into his car, pausing long enough to demand, “Keep him away from my daughter, or you and I are going to have a huge problem,” before slamming his door.
He pulls away, his tires kicking up loose stones.
“That went well.” I drag my tired body to the porch where the stench of Isla’s equipment greets me.
Duke wakes me with one of his half-assed, I-heard-something-but-I’m-not-feeling-threatened-enough-to-get-up-and-investigate barks.
I pull myself up from my sprawl on the couch.
The glass of chardonnay I poured before dozing off—my third—sits abandoned on the coffee table.
The television gave up on me, shutting off after lengthy inactivity.
I can’t remember what I was watching before I fell asleep in my poor attempt to chaperone Isla and her friends at the bonfire out back, but the clock reads just after midnight.
“Logan!”
My ears perk up at the distant sound of a female voice. Did I hear correctly? Is someone calling—
“Looooogan!”
“Oh, shit.” I drag myself up off the couch.
Shoving my feet into my rubber boots and grabbing my quilted jacket and flashlight, I charge out the back door, expecting to find a circle of teenagers sitting around the crackling firepit.
Only two forms are there, though, slouched within the Muskoka chairs, scrolling through their phones.
“Hi … uh … Mrs. McAllister.” Cody holds up a can. “It’s Coke. I’m driving.”
Marcus tries to hide his can of beer behind his thigh, which I appreciate.
I know he’s drinking, and he knows that I know he’s drinking, but we keep up appearances.
I’m not naive enough to believe my teenager and her friends aren’t getting their hands on alcohol, but I’d rather it be here, where they’re safe.
These two are the least of my worries. “Where are they?”
“Uh …” Cody falters, his gaze veering toward the Landrys’ just as Isla’s best friend Holly’s voice rings out.
“Logan, come on! We know you’re in there! Come hang with us!”
“You have got to be kidding me,” I snarl. Off I go, marching across the narrow field between our properties, my rage growing with each step. All I need now is for Dillon to find out about this. I’ll never hear the end of it.
I’m halfway between our properties when the sound of breaking glass cuts through the quiet night, followed by gasps and “Oh my God” and “Hurry, run!”
“Don’t you dare move!” I shine my flashlight on their faces as I close the distance.
The three girls freeze like deer caught in headlights.
“What do you think you’re doing out here?” I whisper-shout, acutely aware of the music blaring from the apartment above the garage.
They exchange glances, searching for an excuse in their alcohol-soaked brains.
I would bet a hundred bucks that Holly instigated this entire spectacle. She’s unfettered, facing no consequences at home, with a mother who claims she doesn’t want to crush her spirit with too much discipline and a father too busy making money to parent.
“We were just, uh …” Isla falters, stumbling over her lie.
Whatever bullshit answer she was about to feed me dies as heavy footfalls pound down the stairs inside the garage.
My pulse speeds up unexpectedly as decades of waiting for this moment collide with reality.
This is happening tonight.
Right now.
I swallow hard. “Well, now you’ve done it. You girls wanted to meet him so badly …”
A floodlight ignites overhead and then the barn-style door flies open.