Chapter 40
Sawyer
Now
The alarm goes off at five-thirty AM, but I’m already awake.
I’ve been staring at the ceiling for the past hour, going over procedures and policies in my head.
Leadership hierarchies. Budget allocation formulas.
Disciplinary protocol steps. Today’s the day I’ve been working toward for months. The sergeant exam.
I shower and get dressed in my best uniform, the one I save for court appearances and formal occasions.
In the kitchen, I make hot chocolate instead of my usual morning routine—need the comfort today and force down some toast even though my stomach feels like it’s tied in knots.
My hands shake slightly as I butter the toast.
My phone buzzes with a text from Alice.
Alice: Good luck today! You’re going to do amazing. I believe in you.
The message makes me smile despite my nerves. Three weeks ago, I wasn’t sure I’d even get to take this exam with Tracy’s complaint hanging over my head. Now, with her complaint withdrawn and the investigation turning in our favor, I actually have a shot at this promotion.
Me: Thank you. That means everything.
Alice: Can’t wait to celebrate with you later.
The heart emoji makes my chest warm. She’s really mine. This is real. We’ve been officially together for three weeks now, keeping things discreet around town but growing closer every day. Having her support means more than I can put into words.
Don’t screw this up. The exam or the relationship.
I grab my study materials and head to the car. The drive to Creeksprings takes thirty minutes, giving me time to review key concepts one more time. Leadership principles, budget management, personnel policies. Thirteen years of experience distilled into a four-hour exam.
You know this stuff. You’ve lived it.
The testing center is a sterile government building with fluorescent lights and beige walls. I check in with the proctor, show my ID, and get assigned to a computer station in a room with twelve other officers from various departments.
I recognize a few faces—cops from neighboring towns, some county deputies. We nod at each other but don’t talk. Everyone’s focused, nervous energy filling the room like static electricity.
“You’ll have four hours to complete the exam,” the proctor announces. “No talking, no phones, no materials. Good luck.”
The screen loads, and I take a deep breath. My palms are sweating. Here we go.
Question one: A subordinate officer has been arriving late to shifts consistently. As a sergeant, what is your first course of action?
I know this one. Document the pattern, have a private conversation with the officer to understand any underlying issues, set clear expectations moving forward. Talk to them like a person first, not just a problem to solve. I click through the multiple choice options and move on.
The questions cover everything I’ve studied. Budget scenarios, disciplinary procedures, emergency response protocols. Some are straightforward, others require me to think through complex situations with multiple right answers. The kind where there’s no perfect choice, just the least bad one.
Two hours in, I’m feeling confident. The studying paid off, and my experience gives me context for the theoretical scenarios. I think about Chief Martinez, about the leadership style I want to model if I get this promotion. Lead by example. Listen before acting. Protect your people.
Hour three brings the essay questions. “Describe how you would handle a situation where a veteran officer under your supervision disagrees with a department policy change.”
I think about my own resistance to certain changes over the years, about what kind of leadership would have helped me adapt better. Someone who explained the why, not just the what. Someone who respected my experience while pushing me to grow.
The final hour is case studies. Complex scenarios that require balancing multiple priorities—officer safety, community relations, department policy, budget constraints. I draw on everything I’ve learned, both from books and from real experience on the streets of Pine Hollows.
When time is called, I feel drained but good. I gave it everything I had. That’s all I can do.
Outside the testing center, I check my phone. A text from Chris asking how it went, one from my mother wishing me luck, and another from Alice.
Alice: How did it go?? I’ve been thinking about you all morning.
Me: Good, I think. Definitely did the best that I could.
Alice: I’m proud of you no matter what. Want to meet up later?
Me: Yes around 6?
Alice: Perfect. I’ll make dinner.
The drive home feels different than the drive there. Lighter. Whether I passed or not, I did everything I could. And for the first time in years, I have someone to share this moment with. Someone who cares whether I succeed or fail.
Don’t compare her to Lila. She’s not Lila.
But the thought creeps in anyway. Lila never cared much about my career goals.
Always thought being a cop was beneath me, that I should have gone into something “more respectable.” Alice asks questions, remembers details, actually listens when I talk about work.
Different. Better.
I stop by the station to check in with Chief Martinez.
“How’d it go?” he asks, looking up from his paperwork.
“I think it went okay. When will we know the results?”
“Two to three weeks. But Sawyer, regardless of the outcome, I want you to know how proud I am of how you’ve handled everything lately. The investigation, the pressure, staying professional through all of it.”
“Thank you, Chief. That means a lot.”
“Speaking of which, you got a call this morning from Detective Morrison with the state police. She wants to meet with you tomorrow morning.”
My stomach drops. I grip the edge of his desk. “About what?”
“She wouldn’t say over the phone, but she mentioned it was about new developments in your case.” Chief's expression shifts slightly—something that might be relief. “She said it's procedural, but she didn't sound hostile. Actually sounded almost... apologetic.”
Almost apologetic. That could mean the investigation is shifting away from me. Or it could be a trap. “What time tomorrow?”
“Nine in the morning sharp. Same conference room where you had your interview.”
I spend the drive home wondering what this could mean. Detective Morrison was convinced I was corrupt when she interviewed me. What changed? Did they find something? Did someone talk?
My phone rings as I’m pulling into my driveway. Chris.
“You hear about Sarah Martinez and Rebecca Foster?” he asks without preamble.
“No? What about them?”
“They came forward yesterday. Walked into the state police station with evidence against Lance. Said they heard about his arrest and couldn't stay silent anymore.”
Relief floods through me so suddenly I have to sit down.
“That's incredible.”
“Gets better. When I heard, I took all that evidence I compiled and drove it straight to Detective Morrison this morning. Didn't want to wait.”
“You gave it to the state police?”
“Figured it would help. And it did—Jennifer Walsh came forward this afternoon. Mayor's daughter. Brought three years' worth of evidence—phone recordings, text messages, financial records of the money Tracy offered her to stay quiet. Everything.”
“Jennifer Walsh came forward too?”
“Said she'd been keeping everything, hoping someone else would speak up first. When she heard about Sarah and Rebecca, she knew it was time. She didn't want to be the only one—didn't want to deal with her father's political fallout alone. But with three victims? Tracy can't intimidate all of them.”
“So the investigation…”
“Is shifting focus. They're not looking at you anymore, Sawyer. The state police are building a case against Tracy and the Carlston family for witness tampering, conspiracy, and obstruction of justice.”
It’s really happening. They’re finally going down. “That’s why Morrison wants to see me tomorrow.”
“Probably to officially clear you and get your statement about Tracy.”
"Thanks, man. For everything."
"Of course. Let me know if you need anything else, old man."
After I hang up, I sit in my truck for a few minutes, processing everything.
Sarah Martinez and Rebecca Foster found the courage to come forward first. Jennifer Walsh followed their lead.
Chris already gave the state police everything they need.
And tomorrow, I give my statement as a witness, not a suspect.
Alice is safe. Really safe. They can’t touch her anymore.
At six o’clock, I’m standing on Alice’s front porch with a bottle of wine and a cautious sense of optimism. She opens the door wearing jeans and a soft blue sweater that makes her golden-brown eyes look even warmer, her hair pulled back in a messy bun.
My breath catches. God, she’s beautiful. How did I get this lucky?
“Hey,” she says, smiling. “How’s my future sergeant?”
“Ask me in three weeks and we’ll see if I even made sergeant.”
She kisses me softly, and I taste mint chapstick. “I’m proud of you anyway.”
Inside, her kitchen smells like garlic and herbs. The warmth from the oven makes the whole house feel cozy. She’s made pasta with homemade sauce, a simple salad, and bread that’s still warm from the oven.
“This is amazing,” I say, settling at her kitchen table. “You didn’t have to go to all this trouble.”
“I wanted to. Besides, you deserve to be celebrated.” She adjusts her glasses and I realize she’s more anxious about the exam results than I am.
“Hey.” I catch her hand. “It’s okay. Whatever happens, it’s okay.”
“I know. I just… I want this for you.”
She cares. She really cares. “I know you do.”
Over dinner, I tell her about the exam, about the questions that stumped me and the ones I felt confident about. Then I tell her about the call from Detective Morrison, about Jennifer Walsh coming forward, about how the investigation is shifting.
“Three women came forward?” Alice looks amazed, her eyes wide behind her glasses. “Really?”
“Sarah Martinez and Rebecca Foster went first. Then Jennifer Walsh followed. Brought recordings, texts, financial records—everything. Tracy can't make this disappear. Not with three victims and a paper trail.”
“So this could actually be over soon.”
“The part about me being under investigation is probably over. They might want to interview you. As a victim, not as someone they suspect of lying.”
She nods slowly, and I watch her process this. She’s scared. But she’s not running. “I can handle that. Especially knowing I won’t be alone this time.”
“You were never alone.”
“I know that now.” She squeezes my hand.
“What does being a sergeant even mean?” she asks, genuine curiosity in her voice. “Like day-to-day?”
“More responsibility, better pay, a chance to actually influence how things are done instead of just following orders,” I explain. “I’ve been a patrol officer for thirteen years. I’m ready for the next step. Ready to stop just surviving and actually build something.”
Like I’m trying to build something with you.
“You’ll be a good leader.”
“How do you know?”
“Because you lead with your heart. You protect people who need protecting, even when it’s hard. Even when it might cost you something.” She reaches across the table and takes my hand. “Like you protected me.”
“Ali—”
“I’m serious. You could have walked away when things got complicated. Lots of people would have. But you didn’t. I don’t think you realize how much that means to me.”
Because I couldn’t. Because you got under my skin and I couldn’t walk away even if I wanted to. “Because even with everything going on, it was worth it. You are worth it.”
“So are you. So is this.” She gestures between us. “Whatever happens with the exam results, we'll figure it out together.”
Together. My chest tightens in a good way. When did that become a thing we say? And why does it feel so right?
After dinner, we sit on her couch with the rest of the wine, talking about the future. Where we might live if I get promoted, whether she’d consider moving or not, what kind of life we want to build together.
Slow down. It’s been three weeks. Don’t scare her off by planning the next five years.
But she’s the one bringing it up, asking questions about neighborhoods and commute times, talking about her job like it’s flexible, like moving is actually an option she’d consider.
“I never thought I’d have this again,” I admit, the wine loosening my tongue. “Someone to share good news with, someone who actually cares about my career goals. Someone who doesn’t think my career is a dead end street.”
Lila made you feel like you weren’t enough. Alice makes you feel like you’re exactly right.
“Well, you do now.”
“Yeah. I do.”
Don’t compare them. They’re different people. Ali chose you knowing everything. Lila chose you and then changed her mind.
For the first time since Lila died, I can picture a future that doesn't just involve going through the motions. A future with purpose, with partnership, with someone who chooses to be honest even when it's hard.
Someone who chooses me, knowing everything.
Whatever the exam results bring, I'm already winning.