26. Troy
August, Present Day
Maple Ridge
My phone ringsfrom the van console between Garrett and me. The men behind us are laughing at what one of them just said. Garrett is driving, so I check my phone to see who’s calling. Zara.
I’d let it go to voicemail since the men in the back should be my focus for now, but for some reason unease stirs in my gut. I answer the phone. “Hey, Zar, what’s up?”
“What’s your ETA?” There’s an urgency to her tone that has me sitting straighter.
“We’re about ten minutes from the cabins. What’s up?” Cautious curiosity rides my tone. I don’t want to draw questions from the men behind me, but I do want to know why Zara’s calling.
“Do you think you can come to Jess’s house first?” Simone’s strained voice comes through Zara’s phone. The sound of it hollows out my stomach and fear for my girl claws at my skin. “Her identity is now public knowledge. And protesters and reporters are camped out in front of the house.”
Fuck.
I glance at Garrett. He can’t hear what Simone is saying. I don’t have the phone on speaker.
Frowning, he mouths, What’s going on?
“I’ll be over as soon as we get to the cabins,” I tell Simone and Zara. “Can I talk to Jess?” I want to hear her voice. I need to know she’s all right.
“She’s kinda busy right now.” Zara’s tone is no less urgent than it was before.
Now I’m the one who’s frowning. “Busy doing what?”
“Just get here as soon as you can.”
I tighten my grip on my phone, my eyes locked on the road ahead of us. “How’s. She. Doing?” My voice is low and rigid.
“Just. Get. Here.” Zara ends the call.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. What the hell is going on?
I text Jess.
Me: Zara just told me about the reporters and everything else. I’ll be there soon. How are you doing?
No dots pop up to indicate Jess is typing a reply.
“What’s up?” Garrett asks.
“Everyone has figured out who Jess is,” I say, the volume of my voice still low, keeping the conversation between us. “Protesters and reporters are outside her house.”
“Fuuuuuck,” Garrett mutters under his breath. “Don’t worry about sticking around once we get to the cabins. Lucas, Kellan, and I will deal with everything.”
“Thanks.” A small growl of frustration vibrates in my chest, too quiet to be heard by the passengers behind us. They’re currently talking loudly among themselves. “We knew Savannah’s whereabouts would eventually come out. But protesters?”
“How many are we talking about?”
“No idea. But even if it starts with only a few people, it won’t take long before the numbers grow.” Protests tend to draw supporters of the cause as well as counter-protesters. The more vocal the protest, the more media coverage it gets, and the larger the numbers grow.
The cycle is broken when something new and shiny grabs the media’s attention away. But how long can Jess’s mental health survive if that doesn’t happen quickly? She’s seeing Robyn again, but the protesters and reporters could send her recovery into a spiral.
“I’m surprised it took this long before her old identity became known,” Garrett says, his eyes on the road. “The article came out almost two weeks ago. And I can’t imagine Cora kept the info from Olivia.”
“Olivia wouldn’t have said anything to anyone. She has no reason to. If anything, she would have told me what was going on.”
“But she knew about the article.”
“I don’t think she did,” I tell him. “Like I said, she would have told me. Olivia and I don’t keep secrets from each other.”
Garrett snort-laughs. “I’m sure you’ve kept plenty of secrets from each other. I’m your brother, and I didn’t know any of that shit Jess has gone through until recently.”
“It wasn’t my secret to tell you or anyone.”
An eerie silence, like that during the eye of a hurricane, fills the van. A moment ago, the retired Navy SEALs behind us were chatting away. Now, it’s as if all eyes and ears are turned in Garrett’s and my direction.
I inwardly groan. Just hearing the word “secret” is enough to grab anyone’s attention. Human curiosity trumps all.
I don’t want to explain to the men what’s going on with Jess, so I turn up the volume of Garrett’s playlist.
We arrive at the Warriors property, and Garrett parks in front of the building where we store the equipment. “I’ll get Kellan and Lucas up to speed,” he says as I reach for the passenger door.
“Thanks.” I bail from the van and sprint to my truck. I click the fob to unlock the door and haul ass into the driver’s seat. Then I’m racing out of here, my tires stirring up dust on the gravel driveway.
After what feels like far too long, I turn onto Jess’s street. The sidewalk outside of her house is crowded with two groups of people. One group holds up signs and is yelling at the house. Reporters make up the other group, their vans littering the street.
These are the same reporters I saw in town over a week ago reporting on the mass arrests linked to the trafficking of assault weapons. At the time, the reporters hadn’t realized the person they’d been reporting on for the past few months, ever since Savannah Townsend had been released from prison, was living here.
But now they know, and like rats after a piece of cheese, they’re scrambling to be the first ones to scoop the big story.
“Fuck!” The word is muttered out loud, but it screams in my head in repeat.
I recognize several of the protesters. One is a mother who, from what I remember hearing, is the president of the high school PTA. Skye Backlund. She’s vocal about causes she believes in, which would be great if rallying against my girlfriend living in Maple Ridge wasn’t one of her new causes. Skye’s talking to a reporter but is making sure her sign, Protect Our Children, is visible in front of her.
Jess has done nothing to make anyone believe she’s a threat to their children. If places were reversed, would they have done what she did—give away the rights to the daughter she loved to ensure the little girl was safe and happy?
I can’t park on Jess’s driveway. The crowd is blocking it, either as part of their strategy to terrorize her or by accident. I drive past her house and steer past the people spilling onto the road from the sidewalk. This protest isn’t just about the people who live in the neighborhood. It has clearly gained support from those who live in other areas of town.
I finally find an empty spot around the corner from Jess’s street and swerve my truck into it. I slam the door shut and run to her house. The sheer number of protesters on the road makes it more difficult to get there. I’m forced to waste time ducking and darting past them.
Damn the fucking protesters.
Damn their fucking ignorance.
A reporter steps in my way and shoves a microphone in my face. I don’t hear what he asks me. I clench my hands, fighting the urge to grab him and hurl him to the side. It won’t help Jess if I’m convicted for assaulting a reporter. It will only make things worse for her.
And the last thing I need is for the reporters to latch on to who I am and my role in organizing the With Hope festival. It could destroy all the hard work the festival committee members and I have been doing to make it a success.
I need to be smarter than I was when I pushed Wilson at the Fourth of July celebrations because he was staring at Jess. Too much is at stake if I step out of line…for Jess and for those who struggle with PTSD and their families.
I cut past the reporter and sprint up the path to Jess’s house.
I reach her front door. COP KILLER glares at me in red paint and turns my blood lava-hot. The offending words have been covered with white paint, but they are still highly visible.
Fuck-damn-fuck.Simone and Zara failed to mention this.
The words on Jess’s door, the lies about her, and the ignorance are the last things she needs. She’s already dealing with enough with the complex PTSD and starting her life over, as well as hoping to see her daughter.
If I find out who did write…
I don’t complete the thought and try to calm my roiling blood. Jess doesn’t need to see me ready to rip off somebody’s head. She needs me to be there for her.
I ring the doorbell. The distant barking from three dogs welcomes me from the other side of the closed door. “Jess, it’s Troy.”
The barking grows louder and closer until the dogs are right behind the door.
The front door clicks open, but the gap between it and the doorjamb doesn’t widen. “Jasper, Bailey, Butterscotch, sit!” Simone commands, her pitch higher and shakier than normal. The gap widens, and her worried expression meets mine.
I slip past the doorway, keeping the gap as narrow as possible to prevent the reporters from seeing inside the house. They have violated Jess’s privacy. No need to hand over anything more to them. I shut the door behind me.
“Where is she?” I ask as Zara walks toward us.
“She’s in the laundry room.” The usual glow in Zara’s brown eyes has dimmed. “She went in there ’cause she needed a moment and hasn’t come out since.”
I walk to the laundry room, my long legs making short work of the distance. I knock on the closed door. “Jess, I’m coming in.”
She doesn’t answer, but a soft thumping can be heard from the other side of the wall.
I turn the doorknob and cautiously push the door open. The laundry room is small, only large enough for the washer and dryer, Bailey’s crate, and the cabinets Lucas and Garrett recently installed with the sink.
Jess is on the floor, her legs stretched in front of her, and she’s gently bouncing the back of her head on the cabinet door. Tears have forged wet trails down her cheeks, but she’s not crying now. She looks lost, she looks pissed, she looks devastated. Her gaze is locked on the opposite wall above the washer and dryer, her eyes narrowed.
I shut the door behind me and lower my ass next to her on the cold tile floor.
She continues bouncing her head against the cabinet. Thump-thump-thump. The movement keeps pace with my heartbeat. A light-blue cushion that’s usually on the living room couch is on the floor beside her.
I slip my hand between her head and the cabinet. “I like your head the way it is. Preferably without any brain damage.”
She slides me a glance that seems more resigned than angry. “They’re still out there, aren’t they?”
“The reporters and protesters?” I nod that they haven’t gone anywhere. “How long have they been there?”
“The protesters—since this morning. But there weren’t anywhere near as many when I got up. Simone had to walk the dogs. I didn’t dare go near all those people.”
I let loose a stream of mental curses, keeping what I’m thinking from my face. Those assholes. They stole Jess’s sense of security—the thing she’s been fighting to reclaim.
I thread my fingers with hers, her hand on her lap.
“The news must have got out on social media,” Jess says, her voice soft, defeated. “People kept coming during the day to join the protesters. And then the reporters showed up.”
“Have you talked to anyone? The reporters or the protesters?”
“Not really. Cora had the nerve to ring the doorbell. I called her selfish and self-absorbed. Nova doesn’t deserve that woman in her life.” She sniffs. “I might have also said it was no wonder her ex cheated on her.”
I laugh, the abrupt noise erupting from deep in my chest.
A wry smile slips onto Jess’s lips, and she shrugs. “Not my finest comeback, I’ll admit.”
“Wish I’d been here for that.” My serious side slips into place once more. “Please don’t talk to the media again. We don’t want them to twist your words out of context.” Which they’ll do if they need her comments to fit the rhetoric they’re spinning.
“I’m not all that interested in talking to anyone. Especially not the media. I just want them to leave me alone. And the protesters too.”
I also want that. I want them all to go away and for them to realize how wrong they are about Jess. “Any idea who painted those words on your front door?”
“None. They were there when I got up this morning. I tried to paint over them. After I tried to scrub them off.”
I cringe at what that means. If there’d been any trace evidence, she destroyed it when she attempted to get rid of the words. “Have you reported the vandalism to the cops?”
“Zara did…but I’d already corrupted the evidence by then.” Her lips compress into a stubborn line, irritation flaring in her eyes. “Don’t worry. The officer told me off for that apparent lapse in judgment.”
Christ, nothing like making the victim feel like they’re the one who committed the crime. Jess doesn’t trust cops as it is. That careless response will only add another brick to the wall of distrust she has built against the police department. “I take it they didn’t do anything about the crowd in front of your house?”
“The officer told me there was nothing he could do about it. Not unless they violate the law.”
I release a tight breath. After everything Jess has gone through, she deserves to live her life in peace. She doesn’t deserve this clusterfuck. “I’ve got some white paint at home I can use on the front door for the time being. Will you at least stay at my house until this all blows over?”
“I think you already know the answer.” She huffs out a dry laugh. “This is my home, Troy. I don’t want to give them the satisfaction of chasing me away from it.”
I roll my eyes, a tiny smile twitching at the corners of my mouth. “Why do you have to be so stubborn?”
Jess turns her head to me. “Granny always said my stubbornness would get me far in life.” She grins, but there’s a sadness in her eyes that no amount of smiling can remove. “What she didn’t realize was that it would be the one trait that would keep me alive.”
Except that’s not true. Jess had finally given up on life when she thought she’d never see her daughter again. I tighten my hold on her hand. I came close to losing the woman I love the day she was literally stabbed in the back. Came close to her never being in my life.
“If it makes you feel better, you can stay with me tonight.” The smile on Jess’s face is brighter this time. Then it fades. “Aren’t you supposed to be with the Warriors group until later this evening? I know I haven’t been in here all that long. It can’t be that late already.”
“My brothers can handle it.” I would do the same for them if our places were reversed.
“No, you should go back. I’ll be fine until you finish there. I’ll probably just shoo Zara and Simone away so I can read the books Garrett loaned me.”
“I’m still so glad you’re attempting new things to try to find what you’re passionate about,” I say and press a gentle kiss on her forehead. “But either way, I can’t leave you here while those assholes are in front of your house.”
Jess sits a little straighter. “Yes, you can, and you will, Troy Carson.”
My mouth tugs into a wide grin at her indignant tone.
“I mean it, Troy.” The flare in her eyes matches her tone.
“Christ, I love it when you’re this stubborn.” I brush my mouth against hers. “I love you, Jess. Love you and every infuriatingly stubborn bone in your body.”
She smiles, her expression bright and so goddamn gorgeous. “Glad to hear that.”
Her reaction, her words…they send my heart rate into double time and my gut tightens in a good way. I can’t imagine life without her now that she’s part of it. And maybe one day…one day she’ll feel the same way about me.
I rise to my feet, hold my hand out to her, and pull her up. “Call me if you need anything. I won’t be too late.”