5. Jessica
August, Present Day
Maple Ridge
I slice a red pepper,slowly, methodically. Bailey and Butterscotch are peering up at me from near my feet and flashing me hopeful expressions. A not-so-subtle hint they want a snack.
The garage door clicks open. The two dogs race into the hallway leading to the laundry room, barking excitedly. Troy’s home.
I grin at their enthusiasm.
Then I imagine a little girl and boy racing to the hallway and their cries of “Daddy!”
An emotion I can’t label clutches at my heart. Joy? Peace? Surprise? Grief? Grief for the life I once dreamed of—the life I almost had until it twisted into something ugly and feared.
I’m not sure after everything I’ve been through I can risk having another child. Anything could happen to them. They could get cancer. They could be in a car accident. They could wind up with a rare genetic disease I didn’t know I was a carrier of. I wasn’t worried about any of these things while pregnant with Amelia. I was just filled with hope and love for my unborn child.
Tears blur my vision at how much I miss my daughter. I place my hands on the counter, steadying myself.
Troy walks into the kitchen, the two dogs trailing him. “Hey.” He smiles at me, his love for me unmistakable in the curve of his lips and the warm glow in his eyes.
Guilt slithers in and wraps around my stomach. He deserves so much more than me and the mess that currently defines who I am.
But for now, I bottle up my thoughts, toss them into the ocean of regret, and smile. The smile is fueled by so many emotions, except the one I know Troy is waiting for me to feel for him: love.
And knowing that increases the guilt another two notches.
“How was work?” I ask. The domesticity of the question doesn’t skip my notice, what with me standing in his kitchen, the food I’ve prepared for tonight sitting on the counters.
Troy pulls me into his arms. “Good. Busy. I missed you.” He gives me a chaste kiss.
“You missed me because you had to answer your own phone calls?” I grin and tease him with a kiss of my own. “It’s a good thing I’m returning to work Monday.”
“Are you sure about that? Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to have another week off? So your throat is a hundred-percent better.”
I somehow manage not to roll my eyes. “It’s already better. It’s had three days to get better. And it has the weekend to recover too.” I put my hands on his shoulders. “I promise, I’m fine. I need to go back to work. I need to be doing something other than sitting around.”
His lips smooth into a line; his brow furrows. It’s his thinking expression. His I-don’t-exactly-agree-with-you face. “You have been doing something. You’ve been writing the articles about the PTSD survivors you interviewed and their families. That’s extremely important for the festival.”
I lean my hip against the counter. The coolness of the granite seeps through the cotton of my sundress. “I know. And that’s been great. I’ve loved writing them. But you hired me when your previous assistant quit and you needed someone to replace her. You can’t do everything, Troy. You’re already stretched thin with your regular work responsibilities, Wilderness Warriors, volunteering, and organizing the festival. You can’t do all of that and my job too.”
He grunts, and I have a feeling he believes the opposite. He thinks he’s Superman—invincible. But his injured shoulder proves he isn’t. It’s just as well he can’t help me with my renovations right now; otherwise, he’d push his body to the brink.
“If you’re not careful,” I warn, “you’ll be the one having a mental health crisis. I’m just trying to avoid that.” I kiss him again. “I care about you, Troy. A lot.” I give him another kiss—one that is less sweet than the other kisses but no more demanding.
Troy groans, and his lips gently coax me to let him in. Not that I need much coaxing. I deepen the kiss, my hands shifting from his shoulders to cup his face.
I vaguely hear the clicking of nails across the floor as the dogs give up on us and return to the living room. Troy and I keep kissing. Part of my brain nudges me to ask him what’s driving him to overextend himself, but the rest of my brain is enjoying the kiss too much to formulate the question.
“I saw your bike in the garage. Did Simone drive you to your house?” He strokes his thumb across my kiss-swollen lips.
“No, Bailey and I walked there. I wanted my bike for while you’re away this weekend.”
“I could have picked it up after work.”
I shrug, the movement a quick jerk. “I know, but I wanted the exercise. And I wanted to see if Violet had come home yet.”
“Any luck?”
I shake my head and move my hip away from the kitchen counter.
“Maybe ask Noah when he comes over.” Troy’s eyes search my face. “Are you still okay with him joining us tonight?”
I nod. “Avery and I talked about my fear of cops. She understood and told me I have nothing to worry about with Noah. She’s never fully trusted cops, but she trusts him.” Her distrust of them isn’t as strong as mine, but her words did give me some comfort when it comes to her boyfriend. And after my conversation with her when Violet was hiding in my house—the conversation about Avery’s father being an abusive husband—Avery’s words mean a lot to me.
Troy’s gaze searches my face once again, the furrow back on his brow. “Okay.” He doesn’t seem entirely convinced. The mist of doubt colors his tone.
“I can always step outside for a few minutes to catch my breath if it becomes too much.” I reach up and attempt to smooth away Troy’s frown. I don’t think I’ve met anyone who worries about me as much as he does. And that surprisingly turns my insides gooey.
I press my mouth to his.
The kiss isn’t meant to be a quick peck on the lips—nor does Troy take it as one. He welcomes my tongue into the depths of his mouth, and with my blood simmering, our conversation is swiftly forgotten.
Troy and I eventually come up for air, and he glances at the microwave clock. “Looks like we have time for a shower before everyone gets here. You in?” He flashes me a smile that turns my simmering blood to a full-out boil.
“I’m in,” I say, my still-slightly-rough voice now husky and low.
* * *
I’m puttingthe food on the coffee table when Avery and Noah arrive, their voices coming from the foyer.
Zara puts a plate of samosas next to the baked cheese dip. “How’re you doing?” she asks me. Her gaze cuts to the foyer, and I know what she’s really getting at.
“I’ll be fine. He’s not my late husband, and he’s not the cop who tried to strangle me or the one who assaulted me.”
Avery and Noah enter the living room. Avery comes over and hugs me.
Noah and Troy join our little group. Troy takes my hand, his grip warm and supportive. “Noah wants to talk to you for a moment.”
My breath stutters in my chest and my muscles go twitchy. “Okay?” I hadn’t meant for it to come out as a question.
“Troy can come too,” Noah says. “This also involves him.”
I nod, my curiosity overcoming my nervousness of being around Noah. Baby steps. I’ll eventually get there with him; it will just take time.
We go into the kitchen. Zara and Avery stay in the living room, though I’m sure they can overhear our conversation, if they really want to, from where they are sitting. The open concept design doesn’t give much privacy.
“Troy told me Cole Dunbar made a false police report about what happened Sunday night. It wasn’t a break and enter that caused your injuries.” Noah’s tone is warm and friendly, but the name causes my stomach to twist and churn.
“That’s right,” I reply.
“Troy also said the former chief of police assaulted you.” Noah’s voice doesn’t suggest he thinks I’m lying. He believes me.
“That’s right. He figured out Violet and Sophie were hiding in my house and confronted me.” I’d done a crappy job hiding evidence they were there. He’d found an empty box of toddler diapers in my recycle bin. “When I wouldn’t tell him where they were, he started punching and kicking me. He had Officer Dunbar fill in the police report and told me nothing would come of it.”
“I took her to the hospital to see Dr. Samuel Thompson,” Troy says, still holding my hand. “Samuel documented the injuries in case we need it for evidence later on.”
“That was smart thinking,” Noah replies. “Jess, I think you should go to the station and request to refile the report.”
The thought of stepping into the police station sends my heart pounding. My grip on Troy’s hand tightens. “Won’t I be charged for falsifying a police report?”
“Not when you were coerced by the former chief of police and a former police officer. And not when both have been charged with multiple counts related to the trafficking of assault rifles. Were there any witnesses who saw what happened or could collaborate your story?”
My grip slackens a tiny amount, but I keep holding Troy’s hand like it’s a lifeline. “Violet Wilson. She told her husband she wouldn’t leave him if he stopped hurting me. At that point, she was too scared to tell anyone what really happened. And now…and now, I can’t get a hold of her. It’s like she’s vanished.”
Noah glances at Avery and Zara on the couch, talking. “The FBI put her in witness protection. I don’t know much more beyond that.”
So, in the end, Violet’s in the same situation she would’ve been in if we had succeeded with the plan to get her and Sophie out of Oregon. She’s starting her life over again—pretty much like me. But this way she won’t be charged with kidnapping her daughter.
It also means I’ve lost a friend. A friend who partially understands what I’ve been through.
The doorbell rings. Zara looks over at us. Troy nods, and she heads for the foyer.
“I won’t be able to contact her, will I?” I ask Noah, suspecting I already know the answer.
“Unfortunately, no.” He leans back on the island. The dark-gray granite counter gleams in the overhead lighting. “I’m sorry for everything that happened to you, Jess. And for how the justice system failed you so many times. I can understand why being around cops makes you uneasy.”
My mouth curves into a wry smile. “You noticed that, huh?”
“It was hard to miss. But hey, if you ever need to talk to someone in the police department, let me know. If I can’t help you directly, I’ll still be there to help you one way or another.”
“Thanks,” I say softly, relieved to have an officer on my side for once. I don’t remember the last time that happened. If it has ever happened.
Kellan, Garrett, and Emily enter the living room. Jasper rushes in after them, signaling that Simone and Lucas are also here.
“I should probably let the dogs out so they have more room to play.” Troy glances at the two large energetic dogs and his small Cavapoo.
I laugh, the sound low in my throat. “Good idea. There’s too much puppy energy to contain in the living room. It’s nice out. Maybe we should play charades outside.” The sky is cloud free, the warm breeze light.
“Sounds like a solid plan.” Troy pulls me to him and kisses me on the brow. “You good?” he murmurs against the shell of my ear, his voice a sexy rumble that sends a wave of tingling skipping across my skin.
I swallow a moan. “I am. Now.”
He goes to the fridge to grab the beer and drinks. I collect the plates from the coffee table. Everyone helps to take the food outside and places it on the short table on the patio.
Troy sits on the sectional and pulls me onto his lap, making more room for everyone else.
I give Bailey the signal to play with her friends. She doesn’t need to be by my side while I’m hanging out with these people. They’re my safe zone. The people I trust.
It’s the world beyond the fence I have little faith in, especially now that the photo Cora took of me is in the public domain.
And there’s nothing I can do about it.