Chapter 51 #2
"What's our next move?" I point to Sommers without looking away from Beta Chad. "If I'm being honest, I think Sommers is just as useless as Weis. He doesn't know anything we haven't heard."
"Still," Beta Chad replies, "this can't go unpunished." He turns to Officer Peters. "Handle the paperwork and oversee his transfer into the Council's custody by morning. Also, email me a soft copy of the police report when you've filed it."
Officer Peters pauses writing and filling out the paperwork he's juggling. He raises an eyebrow. "You're handing him over to the Council for a break in that never actually happened?"
"No," Beta Chad clarifies. "He's issued a threat to a Councilman and his family. That puts him on our watchlist. Plus, what guarantee do we have that he's shared all that he knows?"
That's rough. His stay with the Council isn't going to be pleasant.
Beta Chad finishes his coffee and tosses the empty cup into the waste basket at the foot of the desk. He stands and rolls his neck, fighting a yawn. "Need a ride back?" he asks, looking at me.
"Sure. That'd be great."
I follow him out of the precinct and out the parking lot. He's busy typing on his phone and a brief glance at the screen – not that I'm minding his business – shows his open email and a draft message. I manage to catch the subject line which reads: Witness Protection Order Request for Kevin Sommers.
Beta Chad must feel me peering over because he slides his gaze to me. "It's for your new friend."
"You really think Jessop will send someone after Sommers?"
"It's likely. We've managed to relocate Weis and have plain clothes monitoring him, but we haven't been able to transfer Melvin Briggs. Until we can, we've stationed S.W.A.T at the hospital."
"He still hasn't woken up?"
Now I just feel awful. I didn't think I beat him so badly that he'd be comatose for nearly a week. He's a werewolf, too. And as far as I know, he's not been in contact with aconite. So, unless he has a medical condition that slows his healing ability, he should have been out already.
"He has. But he's being kept under observation for another day."
I give him a sheepish grin, scratching my ear when we reach his Mercedes. He unlocks the doors and I get into the front passenger's seat. He slips behind the wheel.
"I went way overboard, didn't I?"
"No one blames you. That reminds me, your community service starts next Monday," he says, peeling out of the parking lot and we hit the main road at a turn. "There's been a change of plans, though. You won't be assisting Ezra with his conservation efforts."
"What will I be doing instead?" I ask, turning to look at him.
"There's a housing development going up north of Marcana territory. Construction starts next week and I've put your name down."
"Sounds fun. I've always wanted to do construction."
"Then everything works out."
As we hit the highway, street and car lights flying by in a blur, a silence falls over the car ride and the night's events all roll into one. The longer I dwell on it, the rising need to keep Jace safe deepens. These past days, it's been a roll of one thing after the next.
I've barely been sleeping a full night. My appetite isn't what it should be.
Nightmares steal my sleep and even wide awake, there are moments when I envision a horrific death befalling Jace and his parents that it freezes me into place and it takes a full minute to find my grounding and return to reality.
The last time I actually slept was Thursday night when I'd snuck into Jace's room.
Knowing he was safe in my arms allowed me to finally evade those awful dreams for once and it was the most peaceful I have slept since the break-in.
If it hadn't been for my bladder, I would have slept for as long as he stayed next to me.
But the nightmares are getting worse.
They're becoming more vivid.
With what happened tonight, I'm not sure how long it will be before I lose my mind either because I'm unable to tell reality from dream or because Jessop manages to succeed.
He wants the end of my family's bloodline but knowing how sadistic the motherfucker is, it won't be a cut and dry murder.
That won't satisfy Jessop because he thrives knowing that every day since my mother's death, my father and I have lived in agony, tortured by our inability to keep her safe.
Tortured by the fact that she was so easily stolen from us.
"Dale's birthday trip is this weekend, right?" Beta Chad suddenly asks, his voice smashing through the thoughts threatening to drive me mad. He glances over and I realize that though he's focused on the road, he's been observing me too.
"Yeah, you're right."
"You should take Jace. Get out of Jasper Falls," he advises. It's not a suggestion and it certainly isn't one made because he thinks it will be good for Jace to acquaint himself with the future leaders of Marcana.
He's telling me what to do. For my sanity and for Jace's safety.
"Wouldn't that be unfair to Dale? It's his birthday getaway."
"Dale requested it," he replies, turning onto the street where the Conners live. "He's on patrol tonight and saw me leaving. Asked me to mention it."
"Why?"
The car strolls to a stop in front of the Conner's residence. For a second, my heart jolts because I can see a faint glow of light emanating through the curtains. Someone is awake.
Beta Chad shifts the gear into neutral. "You haven't been right since the break-in. You try to hide it, act like everything is fine. You've thrown yourself into the duties of your rank and wearing yourself thin about Jace. But you're beginning to crack."
"Are you implying that I'm wrong for prioritizing him?"
"I'm saying that whatever you're fighting, it's beginning to take a toll. Dale told me about your...panic attack. It's been a while since you've gotten those. Does Steven know you're having them again?"
This would be the downside to having a parent with close friends who are actively involved in one's upbringing. Whatever Dad doesn't know, one of the others know about it.
And Dale too. That snitch.
"No, he doesn't." I pick at my palms. There's a reason why I didn't tell my father about the panic attack. It was a one-off incident, but I don't want to worry him.
The last time I got panic attacks was following my mother's murder.
Panic attacks, episodic flashbacks, and nightmares often plagued me.
I couldn't eat or be left to my own for long.
I'd been temporarily relocated to Dad's room and even then, I rarely slept.
Socializing was a problem because those episodes would hit out of nowhere and I'd be rendered a screaming mess.
It took almost three years of therapy to work through the post-traumatic stress until I could socialize normally again. Three years of never missing a session to learn grounding techniques for my triggers.
It was another year before I could finally sleep blissfully without drugs.
And one more year before I felt like a kid again – or as close to one as I could feel.
Five years of healing and surviving a mental hell.
Five years of working my damn hardest to get better because I hated seeing the look on Dad's face – the worry that he was losing me too. Like he wasn't doing enough.
I hated seeing the fear I felt so perfectly mirrored back at me whenever I looked at him. I hated seeing his despair over witnessing my inner turmoil breaking and fracturing my mind every day for five years straight.
The years following my mother's death were incredibly bleak. They were filled with some of the blackest days and it's a personal hell I never wish to revisit.
"Don't tell him," I plead. "Please. He'll worry."
"He should know, Sky. Don't you think he's noticed you're not doing okay?"
"I can't put him through that again. I'll figure it out."
He's quiet for a long time. I can tell he doesn't agree because he's closer to my Dad than Alpha or Commander Rick. He doesn't like the idea of keeping things from his closest friend, but he should be able to understand my reasons.
Him more than anyone else.
When Dad was struggling with his own grief, Beta Chad and his mate were heavily involved in helping us.
They watched over me when Dad couldn't, helped him get into grief counseling meetings.
They were there to pick us up each time we stumbled and while I'm certain there were moments that overwhelmed them too, their support never wavered.
It's part of the reason I'm closest to Carter as well and I don't think he's aware of how great a friend he is because he was dealing with his issues regarding his animal instincts, but he managed to keep a level head during some extremely high-tension moments when I would get those episodes.
To be that young, prone to tantrums and fits of unreasonable rage, Carter was surprisingly calm throughout my episodes and panic attacks.
Even during sleepovers when I would wake up screaming, he was there – the total opposite of me.
Surely, Beta Chad could understand.
"All right," he says finally letting up. "I won't say anything. But take Jace on the trip this weekend. It'll be good. Maybe some distance from this town is exactly what you need."
"Thank you."
Unclasping the seatbelt, I get out of the car and walk around to the Conner's driveway. Before I get too far, Beta Chad calls on me again.
"Try to get some sleep. You're beginning to look like the walking dead."
"Ha. Funny." I shake my head. "If you see my dad, tell him I'll be back in the morning."
He pulls off only when I'm at the front door and then it's me and the silent night. I allow myself a few seconds to prepare for whoever is awake and waiting on the other side. Take my sweet time walking around the side of the house to the back door since it's the one I left open when I slipped out.
The kitchen light is on. The curtain is translucent so that I can see a familiar silhouette moving around by the island counter.
Sliding the door open, I step inside and the person seated at the island counter shifts, turning to look at me.
"Where did you go?"