D ear Nash,

Nash

This feels awkward. Writing you a letter. But I guess most things have been awkward between us for a good portion. Why stop now?

Things here are pretty good. Three squares a day, which means I’m putting on weight. I have my own room for the first time in two decades.

The group therapist looks like he’s twelve years old, but he’s assured us he graduated from medical school.

Anyway, he was the one who suggested we write letters to our families or the people we’ve let down the most. Looks like you and your brother are both. Lucky you. This is an exercise in apologizing and taking responsibility. You know, getting the words out and putting them down on paper. We don’t have to send it. I probably won’t send it.

And since I’m not gonna send it, I might as well be fucking honest for once.

I don’t know if I can kick this habit or addiction or disease. I don’t know if I can survive in the world without something to numb the pain of existence. Even after all these years, I still don’t know how to “be” in this world without your mom.

But I am still here. And so are you. And I think I owe it to the both of us to give it a real shot. Maybe there’s something else on the other side of all

that pain. Maybe I can find it. Whether I do or don’t, I want you to know my brokenness was never yours to fix. Just like it wasn’t your mom’s job to hold me together while she was here.

We’re each responsible for our own damn mess. And we’re each responsible for doing what it takes to be better. I’m starting to understand that maybe life isn’t something to get through with the least amount of discomfort possible. Maybe it’s about experiencing it all. The good, the bad, and everything in between.

Hope you’re well. Not that it should mean anything to you, not that it’s my place to say it. I’m damn proud of the man you’ve become. I’ve worried over the years that you and your brother would follow the piss-poor example I set. Hiding from the light. But that’s not who you are. You stand up for what’s right every damn day and people respect you for it. I respect you for it.

Keep being braver than me.

Yeah. I’m definitely not sending this. I sound like that Dr. Phil guy your mom used to love watching.

Love, Dad

 

 

“This blows,” Stef announced from his bar stool.

“I’d rather be home with Daze and Way,” my brother grumbled.

“You’re not getting married without a bachelor party,” Lucian said. “Even if you wouldn’t let me hire any strippers or flash mobs.”

“Or flash mobs of strippers,” Nolan added.

We were bellied up to the bar at Honky Tonk, drinking beer and bourbon in what really was the lamest bachelor party in Knockemout history. I’d once had to arrest half of the Presbyterian congregation when Henry Veedle’s bachelor party fight club got too rowdy and spilled out onto the streets.

Lou, Knox’s soon-to-be father-in-law, harrumphed. “In my day, we didn’t need bachelor parties or ice sculptures or engagement brunches. We showed up at the church on a Saturday, said ‘I do,’ someone fed us some

ham salad sandwiches, and then we went the hell home. What the hell ever happened to that?”

“Women,” Lucian said dryly.

We raised our glasses in a silent toast.

I’d had a long day, and going the hell home to Lina sounded a hell of a lot better than anything else. That morning, I’d formally fired Dilton after making sure every t was crossed and every i dotted. It had been ugly, as predicted, but there hadn’t been time to celebrate the win thanks to a tractor trailer losing its load of Alfredo sauce on Route 317.

I’d spent the afternoon helping with the cleanup and had just enough time to squeeze in a shower before showing up at the rehearsal only a few minutes late. There had barely been time to drag Lina into my brother’s dining room and kiss the hell out of her before it was time to head out for drinks.

I wanted time with her. I wanted normal with her. I wanted to make up for the near disaster I’d caused. But the wedding was tomorrow. I still didn’t know who’d thrown that rock through Lina’s window. And the clock was ticking down with the “hometown hero” article set to run on Monday.

“After” was nearly here. The only thing standing between us and “after” was Duncan fucking Hugo. I’d end this. I’d put him behind bars. And I would do whatever it took to convince Lina that I deserved a place in her future.

I thought about my father’s letter that I’d read after Dilton’s official firing.

“Did Dad send you a letter?” I asked Knox. “Yeah. You?”

“Yeah.”

“This open family communication is so touching,” Stef quipped, pretending to wipe away fake tears.

“He might come tomorrow,” Knox said. I blinked. “Really?”

“Yep.”

“And you’re okay with that?” We’d both had our own version of a strained relationship with our father over the years. Knox cut his hair every few months and gave him cash. I checked in on him and supplied him with essentials he couldn’t trade for oxy.

He shrugged. “It’s not like he’s ever showed up for anything before.”

Silver appeared with another round of drinks. She frowned and wrinkled her nose. “Does anyone else smell garlic and cheese?”

“That’s probably me,” I said.

Everyone leaned in closer to sniff me.

“I’m suddenly craving Italian,” Lucian mused.

“It’s Alfredo sauce. A rig full of it tipped on the highway.”

“Sorry I’m late.” Jeremiah strolled up, shoving a hand through his dark, curling hair. “Why are we smelling Nash?”

“He smells like Alfredo sauce,” Stef supplied.

Jeremiah dropped a kiss on Stef’s cheek and they both smiled shyly. “Whoa. When did that happen?” Knox demanded, pointing back and

forth between the two of them.

“Why? Are you gonna give them shit too?” I asked my brother. Knox shrugged. “Maybe.”

“Why don’t you want anyone to be happy?” Stef teased.

“I don’t give a shit if you’re happy. I just don’t want to deal with you if you’re fucking miserable,” Knox clarified. “Take this dumbass. He looks at Lina with wedding rings in his eyeballs, and she’s gonna rip his heart out and accidentally stomp on it with those stilettos when she walks out the door.”

“I might walk out the door with her. As long as she doesn’t hold my dumbassery against me.”

The silence was deafening as seven pairs of eyes landed on me. “What?” Jeremiah asked, recovering first.

I picked up my beer. “I fucked up after a shit day.” “How did you fuck up?” Knox demanded.

“I tried to break things off,” I admitted. “You’re an idiot,” Nolan said helpfully. “No. He’s a fucking idiot,” Knox said.

Lucian merely closed his eyes and shook his head. “That’s an interesting approach,” Jeremiah volunteered.

“I thought he was the dumbass in the family,” Silver said, dropping a drink in front of Jeremiah and nodding her head at Knox.

“Need I remind you who signs your paychecks?” “Apparently dumbass number one of two,” she quipped.

“But you had your tongue down Lina’s throat after the rehearsal dinner,” Stef pointed out.

“She didn’t let me push her away. She stuck. And then she made me jump out of a plane.”

“Jesus. Why in the hell would you jump out of a perfectly good plane?” Knox asked, looking bewildered.

“Because when the woman you’re going to marry asks you to do something, you fucking do it.”

Lucian was rubbing his temples now. “You barely know her.” “I know her. She’s too good for you,” Nolan said.

“I agree with porn ’stache,” my brother said.

“Lina’s a peach. You planning on having more shit days?” Lou demanded.

“No, sir,” I assured him.

He nodded. “Good. Back in my day, shit days happened and we didn’t try to give our ladies the boot. We just drank too much, passed out on the couch watching Jeopardy, and woke up the next day trying to suck less.”

“God bless America,” Stef said into his drink. “She’s the one,” I said to no one in particular.

“You can’t possibly know that,” Lucian argued. “I’ll admit, she’s a pretty package. But better men than us are fooled by pretty packages every day.”

“Don’t talk about my girl unless you’re prepared to face the consequences, Rollins,” I warned. “Besides, Knox is the one getting married. Why aren’t you heaping shit on him?”

My brother frowned. “Hang on. Why aren’t you?”

“Besides the fact that Naomi is perfect in every way and you’re the luckiest man on earth to have found her,” Stef prompted.

“Hear, hear,” Lou agreed.

Lucian rolled his eyes. “It’s not Lina. It’s you.”

“What the fuck is wrong with him?” Knox demanded with an irate kind of brotherly loyalty.

“He’s in a dark place. When a man is in the dark like that, he can’t trust himself, let alone someone he barely knows. You put your trust in the wrong place, and those betrayals are nearly impossible to come back from.” “No offense, Lucy, but this sounds kind of like you’re applying your

shitty past to your friend’s happy present,” Jeremiah said.

“Listen to the hot barber. He’s practically a psychologist,” Stef said. “You know nothing about my past,” Lucian said darkly.

“Maybe we should change topics before this turns into Henry Veedle’s bachelor party,” I suggested.

“She really stuck?” Knox asked me.

I nodded. “Yeah. And as soon as I can get her warmed up to the idea of forever, I’ll need that jeweler’s phone number.”

“Christ,” Lucian muttered under his breath, signaling for another bourbon.

“What’s standing in the way of warming her up?” Jeremiah asked.

“Besides barely knowing each other and coming from an emotionally damaged place?” Lucian said to his fresh bourbon.

“I fucked up less than forty-eight hours ago. I need to figure out some kind of grand gesture to make her believe in me. In us.”

She’s yours. Make it official. Lina’s words echoed in my head. “Are you serious enough?” Stef prompted.

“Serious enough to make Bannerjee show me how to use Pinterest so I could save a few dozen ring designs.”

Lucian dragged his hands over his face in horror but said nothing. “Sounds serious to me,” Lou decided.

“So what qualifies as a grand gesture?” Jeremiah asked. “Flowers?” Knox guessed.

Stef snorted. “That’s the opposite of grand. That’s a petite gesture. You busting in to Duncan Hugo’s warehouse to save the damsels in distress was a grand gesture.”

My brother nodded smugly. “That was pretty epic.”

“Me surprising Mandy with a three-week cruise was a grand gesture,” Lou said.

“That’s a good one. Take her on vacation,” Nolan suggested. “My wife loved it when we got away just the two of us.”

“Didn’t your wife divorce you?” Lucian pointed out.

“A, fuck you. And B, maybe she wouldn’t have if I’d taken her on more vacations instead of working all the fucking time.”

“That’s good, but I need something I can do now. Even before we settle this thing with Hugo.”

“Get the oil changed in her car?” Jeremiah suggested. “Too small,” I said.

“Fly her family in to surprise her?” “Overstepping.”

“Buy her one of those purses that cost a fucking fortune,” Knox suggested.

“Not everyone has lottery winnings to throw around.”

“You would have if you kept what I gave you instead of putting my fucking name on a goddamn police station, dumbass.”

“Point taken.”

“Why not just get a tattoo of her name on your ass?” Lucian said dryly. Knox and I shared a look.

“Well, it is a family tradition,” my brother mused.

 

 

And that was how I ended up pantsless and ass up in the chair at

Spark Plug Tattoo. Knox was in the chair next to me shirtless, getting his wedding date tattooed over his heart.

“You do realize I was being sarcastic,” Lucian muttered from the corner where he lurked like a pissed-off vampire.

“That was not lost on me. But it was still a damn good idea.”

“You’re going to feel like a fool when she leaves and you’ve got a permanent reminder on your ass.”

But even Lucian’s pessimism couldn’t dampen my spirits.

Nolan was paging through a design album with Lou at the counter while Stef and Jeremiah cracked open another round of beers for everyone.

“I’ve been waiting years to get my hands on this ass,” the tattoo artist said gleefully. Her name was Sally. She was inked from neck to knees and had been a nationally ranked equestrian champion in her early twenties.

“Oh, honey, you and every other woman in this town,” Stef said. “Be gentle with me. It’s my first time,” I said.

She had just started when I heard the click of a camera shutter and turned to glare at Nolan. “What? I’m just documenting the evening.”

“Maybe you should trade the trash ’stache for a tat,” Knox suggested.

“You think?” Nolan asked. I could practically hear him stroking his mustache like it was a pet cat.

“I think you could pull off something cool. Maybe a wolf, or how about a hatchet?” Lou suggested.

“You guys can get a group rate if you decide to get one,” Sally said over the buzzing and sharp sting of the tattoo gun.

As I listened to the hum of the tattoo machines, Stef let out a yelp.

“Shit. Oh shit,” he muttered. “What?” I asked urgently.

“Stop clenching,” Sally instructed.

I made an effort to relax my muscles.

“You know that article that wasn’t supposed to go out until Monday?” Stef said, still staring at his phone.

“What article?” Jeremiah and Lou asked in unison. A knot of dread formed in my stomach. “What’s up with it?”

Stef turned his phone to show me the screen. There I was, standing next to the American flag in my office, looking furious under the headline Small Town Hero’s Comeback.

“It went live early,” he said. “Apparently, they lost the feature meant for today and posted this instead two hours ago.”

“Give me my phone. Now,” I snapped. “Sal, we’ll have to finish this later.”

“Got it, Chief. I won’t mind getting to see this masterpiece again.”

I waited impatiently while she covered the tattoo in progress with gauze.

“Holy shit. It already has fifty thousand likes,” Stef commented. He looked at me. “You’re America’s sweetheart.”

My phone started ringing just as Lucian retrieved it from my pants pocket.

It was Special Agent Idler.

“This isn’t what I meant by laying low,” she snapped when I answered. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Special Agent,” I said pointedly as I jumped out of the chair and grabbed my pants.

Nolan made the universal “I’m not here” motion with his hand.

“Police chief recovers from gunshot wounds and memory loss to clean up his force,” she read aloud. “I distinctly remember asking you to inform me if and when you regained your memory. And where the hell is your protection detail?”

I shoved my leg into my jeans. “You know what I don’t remember? You mentioning anything about cutting a deal with the criminal who tried to kill me, my niece, and my sister-in-law.”

“Who said anything about a deal?” she countered.

“The FBI has more leaks than the Titanic. You’re willing to overlook attempted murder and kidnapping charges to get the bigger fish. Well, newsflash, Special Agent. I’m not putting my family at risk because you can’t build a case the old-fashioned way.”

“Listen here, Morgan. If you do anything to jeopardize this case, I’ll make sure you end up behind bars.”

I zipped up my jeans. “Good luck with that. I’m America’s sweetheart right now.” I hung up before she could respond and dialed Lina. It went to voicemail.

Knox was on his phone, probably calling Naomi. “She’s not picking up,” he said, his voice tense.

“I’ll call Mandy,” Lou offered.

Lucian checked his phone. “According to the trackers, Naomi is at home. Waylay and Lina are in the grocery store parking lot.”

I had a missed call from Lina and a new voicemail.

I hit the Play button and headed for the door, with the rest of the wedding party trailing behind.

Lina’s voice came through the speaker. “Nash, it’s me. Burner Phone Guy is Cereal Aisle Guy. Mrs. Tweedy was with me when we met him at the grocery store. He was buying the same kind of candy that Waylay said is Duncan Hugo’s favorite. There were candy wrappers all over the warehouse floor in the crime scene photos. I saw him again at Honky Tonk the night Tate Dilton caused a scene. I know it’s not much, but I have a gut feeling. Call me back!”

Candy wrappers.

And just like that, I was back on the side of the road that hot August night.

Bang.

Bang.

Two gunshots echoed in my ears as a strange stinging sensation began in my shoulder and torso. I was going down…or the ground was rushing up. I sprawled out on the asphalt as the driver’s door swung open.

Something thin and transparent floated to the ground, glinting in the headlights of my cruiser. And then it was gone. The crinkle of a plastic wrapper rang in my head as a black boot crushed it underfoot.

“Been waiting for this a long time,” said the man in the hoodie, his mustache twitching as he sneered.

A fucking candy wrapper. That was what had haunted my dreams for weeks. Not Duncan Hugo. A candy wrapper and Tate Dilton’s finger on the trigger.

“Call her back,” Knox growled, pulling me out of my thoughts. “What do you think I’m doing?” I dialed again.

“I need a status update, now,” Lucian barked into his phone.

“Someone want to tell me what’s going on?” Lou asked. Lina’s phone was ringing.

“Come on. Pick up, Angel,” I murmured. Something was seriously wrong, and I needed to hear her voice.

The ringing stopped, and instead of her voicemail, someone answered.

“Nash?”

But it wasn’t Lina. It was Liza J. “He got her, Nash. He took her.”