Chapter 62
RIGGS
Iwake up with a cat head the size of a bowling ball shoved into my armpit and no Gemma beside me.
Not the way I’ve gotten used to starting my day.
Tossing the covers back, I’m rewarded with a plaintive yowl from my bedmate when I reclaim my arm and use it to push myself out of bed.
Pushing my legs over the side of the mattress, I use my walker for stability and balance while I struggle to my feet, the static popping and fizzing against my leg muscles doing more to wake me up than a cup of coffee ever could.
Checking my phone, I see that it’s a little before seven and I start to worry because I should be hearing Gemma moving around on the other side of the wall.
Taking myself to the door, I slide it open to reveal an empty kitchen.
Everything neat and tidy. On the counter is a plastic container of blueberry muffins that wasn’t there when I went to bed and a plate next to the coffee pot.
On it is a plastic wrapped brownie with a post-it note stuck on top.
For Riggs
Laughing a little, I set about making coffee, scooping grounds into the basket and pouring water into the tank before switching it on.
Making my way to the fridge, I do a quick check.
Scarlett’s birthday cake is frosted and so are her cupcakes, which means wherever Gemma is, she’s barely closed her eyes.
Closing the fridge, I abandon my walker and make my way to the back stairs to start climbing.
It only takes me half the time it did yesterday and I only almost pitch myself over the side of the switchback once.
Making my way down the hallway toward Gem’s open bedroom door, I feel my chest loosen when I see them sleeping in Gem’s bed, huddled around each other like they fell asleep talking, an empty pan of brownies between them.
It wasn’t jealousy that brought me up here this time. It was worry. My Grandma Wheeler always used to say that nothing good happens at 3AM—moving closer to the bed, I can see that she was right.
Shuffling over to the night stand, I find Gem’s phone and send a quick text before I leave them to sleep off their brownie binge, shutting the door behind me.
I’m on the front stairs, not even halfway down, when the front door is thrown open and Colt strides in, looking like he’s ready to start swinging.
“Gem’s fine,” I tell him before he can start hollering for her. “I’m the one who texted you.”
Chest heaving like he ran here, Colt shakes his head, gaze aimed up at me and narrowed down to a glare. “Why the fuck?—”
“Not here” Still moving slowly down the stairs, I tilt my chin to the left. “Coffee’s ready. I’ll be there in a minute.”
Still glaring at me like he wants to grab me and drag me down the stairs, Colt shakes his head and stomps his way into the kitchen, leaving me to struggle the rest of the way down on my own. By the time I get to the kitchen, Colt is drinking his coffee and is already two muffins deep.
“Want to tell me why you’re texted me 911 from Gemma’s phone at seven-fucking-AM on a Saturday morning, dickhead?”
The last time we really spoke didn’t go very well.
Matter of fact I’m still confused on how both of us survived the conversation.
Putting it away for later, I head for the coffee pot.
“Because Emily Ackerman showed up last night out of nowhere,” I tell him in a companionable tone while I pull a mug from the cabinet. “Cade was here when she did.”
“Oh shit.”
“Yeah.” Looking at him, I give him flat, humorless grin.
“Oh shit.” I still don’t know what happened between them.
What brought her running across Gemma’s backyard the night Colt took her to prom but the look he’s giving me says he does and that whatever happed that night, it has everything to do with his brother.
Dispensing coffee into my cup, I take my brownie and start moving toward the table.
“But that’s not the reason for the 911.”
“Okay…” Frowning at me, Colt crosses his arms over his chest. Putting his impulsive, homicidal twin brother and the problem that Gemma’s house guest might represent for him on the back burner, he gives me a shrug. “So why am I here?”
I hesitate but only for a second before I answer him.
“Because you’re the sheriff and because Emily is covered in bruises,” I tell him quietly, thinking about the patchwork of black and blue I saw wrapped around Emily’s ribcage when I went upstairs to check on them.
It’s not my story to tell. I know that—but I do it anyway and with little to no remorse because it isn’t just Emily’s safety that’s at stake.
It’s Gemma’s and that changes everything. “It’s bad. Real bad.”
Dropping his arms away from his chest, he stares at me, for the space of a breath, before his jaw tightens and he looks away. “Son of a bitch.” Lifting a hand, he scrubs it over his face. “She’s married, isn’t she?”
“Yeah.” I bob my head, swallowing back a surge of what feels like battery acid, gurgling against the back of my throat. “And I’d guess he’s the reason she showed up on Gem’s doorstep at 3AM.”
“Did Cade see them?” he asks, suddenly looking like he might throw up. “Emily’s bruises—did he see them?”
“No.” I shake my head, confused by the question. “Porch light was off and she was wearing long sleeves.”
“Okay.” Gaze aimed at his boots, Colt lifts a hand to his forehead and rubs at it like he can feel a headache coming on. “Fuck… alright.”
“I’ve seen more than my fair share of it in the military,” I tell him, because I have to make sure he understands.
That we’re on the same page, no matter how much we don’t like each other.
“Men who can’t take the pressure. Can’t handle their booze.
Can’t hear the word no. Can’t abide by a woman being happy without him…
the kind of man who can do that to a woman doesn’t just let her go. Whoever he is—he’ll be coming for her.