Chapter 24
RIGGS
Now
It’s after midnight.
Gem’s been gone for hours now.
I unpacked my duffle and ate leftover casserole with a spoon because try as I might, I couldn’t find a fork to save my fucking life.
I watched four episodes of Snapped that were cued up on Netflix.
I used the bathroom twice—more to prove to myself that I could, than because I actually needed to go.
Like hauling myself out of the car, it took more time for my legs to respond to what I was telling them to do than I would like.
In my head, I’m moving the way I used to, while my body wants to take its sweet jesus time getting where I want it to go.
It’s like being stuck in a traffic jam of slow, shuffling limbs.
My frustration peaks within seconds and I’m ready to tear the sink out of the wall because all I need for that are my hands and arms and at least they’re following directions.
Bored with Netflix and stuffed full of casserole, I’m not sure what to do with myself.
Gem never told me what time she gets off but she’s a waitress in a bar so I figure it’s going to be late.
In an effort to distract myself, I take about a hundred laps around the first floor.
Orbiting through rooms I spent nearly my entire childhood roaming.
The living room we used to watch movies in.
The dining room where we used to eat homemade birthday cake.
The kitchen where Dent used to make breakfast every Sunday.
The sunroom where Gemma and I used to sit together in the quiet and watch the sun rise over the river.
Beck and Reese are both there. They’re in those memories. Laughing and talking. Taking up space.
But all I see is her.
The way she’d shine with pride when Dent told her how good her chocolate frosting tasted.
The way she’d tirelessly campaign for The Rocky Horror Picture Show or Clue on movie nights, even though she knew no one wanted to watch either one of them.
The way she’d challenge me to a pancake eating contests, nearly every time we sat down for breakfast. The look on her face, every time she watched the sun break through the trees and glimmer its way across the water.
Like it was the first time she’d ever seen it—every single time.
The way it all stopped because I was too goddamned selfish to stay away from her and too much of a fucking coward to admit that the thing I wanted most was the thing I could never let myself have.
And now here I am.
Back where I started.
Wheeling myself into the sunroom, I’m staring at the bed, trying to work out the logistics of getting myself into on my own when I hear the front door open.
“Gemma?”
A man.
A man just walked into Gemma’s house, like he owns the place, and called for her by name.
The fuck?
Wheeling around, I push myself into the wide, open doorway that connects the sunroom to the living room to find him standing in the foyer, the front door wide open.
Not just a man.
Colt Montgomery.
A version of Colt Montgomery I’ve never met before—older. Maybe a bit taller. Frame definitely more filled out. Half sleeve tattoo covering his bicep—but it’s him, just the same. Wearing nothing but a pair of loose basketball shorts, carrying what looks like a long range walkie talkie in his hand.
What. The. Fuck.
“Riggs.” The way he says my name makes it obvious Reese filled him in on what happened to me. What’s happening now. “Uhhh…” He shoots a quick look at the staircase before he refocuses on me. “Is Gemma home?”
“No.” The back of my neck starts to burn when he says her name while something tight and heavy settles in my chest. “She’s not home from work yet.” Wheeling myself closer, I glare at him. “What the fuck are you doing here?”
When I ask it, Colt’s spine snaps tight like I accused him of something. “I live across the street.”
“Mmmm…” I give him a head bob. “And living across the street gives you the right to just walk in here in the middle of the goddamned night?”
He’s right. I’m definitely accusing him of something—I’m just not accusing him of what he thinks.
“No.” He looks momentarily taken aback before the expression melts into an amused, what the fuck are you gonna do about it, asshole?
Run over my toes with your wheelchair? kind of look.
“Janet came through my bedroom window and—” Behind him, a massive shadow slinks up the porch steps.
Stopping next to him, she rubs her giant head against his thigh before winding herself between his legs in a lazy figure-eight.
Continuing her way into the house, Gem’s giant, asshole cat disappears into the dining room.
“Gemma usually closes the doggy door before she leaves. I just wanted to make sure everything was okay.”
From the kitchen, Gemma’s recorded voice repeats over and over.
Colt
Colt
Colt
“Everything’s fine,” I tell him, the hinge on my jaw so tight I can barely get the words out. “We were talking before she left. She must’ve forgotten.”
Talking.
We weren’t talking.
I was being a dick and she was telling me to mind my own fucking business.
“Right…” Shooting me that amused look again, Colt, bobs his head. “I’ll text her. I’m sure she’s been worried about her all night.”
I make that ugly sound again. “Worried about the fifty pound apex predator she calls a house cat?”
From the kitchen Janet changes her tune.
Sad… bitch
Sad… bitch
Sad… bitch
Colt gives me a flat smile. “With Dent gone, Janet’s just about all she has left that isn’t trying to bleed her dry.”
Before I can ask him what the fuck that’s supposed to mean, the walkie in his hand crackles to life.
We’ve got a 10-15 at the Mill…
“Shit.” Muttering it under his breath, Colt lifts the walkie to his mouth. “I got it, show me responding.”
“You’re a cop?” It makes sense. His father was the sheriff when we were kids—one of his son’s was bound to follow in his footsteps and it sure as fuck wasn’t going to be Cade.
You sure? I can?—
“Show me responding, deputy,” Colt growls into the walkie before flicking me a quick look. “No, I’m not a cop.” Grabbing the door, he starts to pull it closed. “I’m the sheriff.”
Not the answer I expected.
“What’s a 10-15?” When he doesn’t answer me right away, I push myself forward. “What the fuck is a 10-15?”
“Civil disturbance.” He gives me that fucking look again. “I’m sure everything is fine,” he tells me, his tone at total odds with his words. “Thursdays can get a little rowdy but Jen usually keeps a tight lid on things.”
It was an open secret that Tank ran unsanctioned, bare-knuckles prize fights out of the Mill’s basement every Thursday.
One of those things everyone in town knew about but no one talked about.
Tank was a Barrett. That gave him a certain amount of latitude when it came to the law, even more when you factor in that his brother-in-law, Cal Montgomery, was the sheriff.
I don’t give a fuck what Tank Barrett did or didn’t do in the basement of his bar fifteen years ago. But I give all the fucks that Jensen is keeping with traditions, considering Gemma’s seen fit to plant herself in the fucking middle of it. “He’s still running fights? And you’re just letting him?”
“Good to see you, Riggs.” Lifting his chin, Colt calls out toward the kitchen. “Bye, Janet.”
Bye… Colt.
He slams the door closed and leaves me sitting here before I can ask him what the hell is going on.
Wheeling myself around, I backtrack through the sunroom and into the kitchen, heading straight for the fridge.
Sad… bitch
“Fuck you, Janet,” I mutter under my breath while I scan the front of the fridge, picking my way through a sea of receipts and recipes until I find what I’m looking for.
Reaching out, I snag the phone number Gemma left for me in case of emergencies.
Colt… Gemma… friend
Yeah. I bet.
Number in hand, I turn myself around to glare at the massive cat hunched over her instruments of torture on my way back to the sunroom. There, I retrieve my cellphone from the nightstand and dial the number.
Unsurprisingly, Gem doesn’t answer.
I try again.
Still no answer.
Frustration mounting, I punch out a text.
Me: Is everything okay?
Nothing. I wait a few minutes before I try again.
Me: Colt was here. He said something is going on at the Mill.
A few more minutes. Nothing.
Me: Goddamn it, Gem. I’ll fucking wheel myself there if I have to.
Thirty seconds later, she responds.
Gem: Everything is fine. Don’t come down here.
So relieved, I feel lightheaded, I text back.
Me: What’s going on?
Gem: Nothing. Colt’s here now. Everything is fine.
Oh, good.
Shirtless Sheriff Colt is there—I feel so much better.
Fuck.
Feeling ridiculous and completely useless, I sit here, waffling between mind-melting relief and homicidal rage when she texts me again.
Gem: I’m on my way home. Where’s Janet?
Seriously?
She’s practically given me a goddamned coronary and she’s worried about her cat?
Me: She’s fine. Are you?
Staring at my phone, waiting for a response, it takes me a few minutes to realize she’s not going to answer me.