W here did I even start?
Everyone at home knew what had happened at the gas station, even my family. Not because I’d told them myself. No, they’d been like every other person in Coeur d’Alene. They’d read about the shooting in the newspaper.
Tiff included. She’d been pissed as hell at me for not telling her myself. But the only people I’d spoken to were in the sheriff’s department: the captain and the deputy he’d put in charge of the investigation.
The idea of explaining it all made my gut churn. Part of me wanted to sweep Lyla off this counter, load her into my truck and drive her home, spend the rest of the night worshiping her body. But she deserved to know the whole truth. She deserved to know why I had to go home and face whatever fate was waiting.
She deserved to know why I was walking away.
“You asked me a while ago if I’ve ever shot someone.” Lyla nodded. “Twice, you said.”
“I’ll tell you about it. But I also know what happened at the hotel. With Eloise. With Winn. If you’d rather—”
“I’d like to know.”
So she’d know. She’d hear it from my lips.
“About two weeks before I came to Quincy, I was out on a run one morning. It was probably five. Dark. Quiet. On days when I’m not working, I try to go for a run or hit the gym.”
“To stay in shape for work?”
I lifted a shoulder. “Partly. And if I’m being totally honest, the early morning workouts were a good excuse to avoid Tiff.”
“Tiff is your ex?”
“Yeah. She’s a good woman. But things between us have been rough for a while.” Rather than talk, it had been easier to just avoid her. There’d been no urgent need to just be in her company, not like there was with Lyla.
So I’d find excuses to avoid the house. I’d take extra shifts. I’d go fishing or hiking. And the mornings when I wasn’t working, I’d go for a long run, making sure to stay gone long enough that she’d have already left for work by the time I returned home.
It wasn’t shocking that Tiff had left.
What surprised me most was how long she’d stayed.
Though maybe if I hadn’t been such a fucking coward, avoiding my girlfriend, I wouldn’t have been at that gas station.
“How long were you together?” Lyla asked. “Three years.”
“Oh.” Lyla stiffened. Maybe from jealousy. Maybe from fear that I was using her to get over an ex.
“I cared for Tiff, like I said, she’s a good woman. But I never loved her, not the way she loved me. And I should have called it off sooner. We weren’t good together.”
Tiff had moved in with me a year ago, and I’d known within two months that it had been a mistake.
“She doesn’t understand why I’d rather spend my days in the mountains than working in an office job with the department so I could keep an eight-to-five schedule. She loves getting dressed up and going out on Friday nights while I’m content to stay home and read a book. We are just very different people. And she hates that I’ve kept trying to find Cormac after all these years. She thinks I should let it go.”
Lyla looked up, waiting until our eyes locked. Then she gave me a small smile. No words, just a smile. She understood. She knew why I needed to find Cormac.
Closure. Vengeance. Justice.
Lyla would never ask me to stop, would she? “So you were out for a run,” she said.
“I was out for a run.” Maybe I should quit running. Sex with Lyla seemed like a much better alternative for cardio.
“There’s a gas station about five miles from my place. It’s small. So old that the pumps don’t have credit card readers. It’s not in the best area of town, but I met the owner years ago. He had an older model Ford Ranger for sale. Cormac bought it for his oldest when she turned sixteen. I went with him to pick it up so he could surprise her for her birthday.”
I’d never forget the way she’d shrieked for joy when Cormac had given her the keys to that old truck.
After she’d died, I’d been the person to sell that pickup. It had been one of the worst days of my life.
“The man haggled with Cormac for twenty minutes before they agreed on a price. Meanwhile, I spent those twenty minutes inside the gas station, picking out candy for the twins.”
Elsie had been all about the chocolate. Hadley, anything cinnamon.
“I met the guy’s wife while I was shopping. She was working the cash register. Never in my life have I met a person who could fill five minutes with so many words. She and her husband had owned the gas station for fifteen years. Their daughter had just dropped out of college and was working there too. She was a Scorpio, and an only child to parents who’d moved to Idaho from Atlanta. She was allergic to shellfish and had a thyroid condition. By the time I walked out the door, I had her whole life story.”
Lyla leaned her head on my shoulder again. She fit so perfectly against me it made talking easier. Not easy, but easier. “You liked her.”
“Immediately. A few days later, when I got up early for a run, I headed that direction. It’s been my route for years now. Some mornings, she’s working. Other times, it’s her husband or her daughter, Celeste.”
Celeste wasn’t chatty like her mother. She wasn’t as cheerful either, especially at five in the morning. But she was a nice person. And after years of running to that gas station, I’d learned plenty about her too. Like the reason why she’d dropped out of college.
It wasn’t that Celeste hadn’t enjoyed school. She’d quit to help her parents run the business after her father’s second heart attack.
“She’d been working more often than not. Her dad’s health was on the decline. Normally, that time of day, I was the only person in the store. The day of the shooting, I was against the back wall, hidden from the front door by display shelves. I’d just picked out a bottle of water from the cooler when I heard the door open. Then this guy started screaming at Celeste to give him the money from the cash register.”
“She got robbed?” “That was the plan.” “You stopped him?”
The way she spoke made me seem like a hero. But I was no hero—just a guy out for a run who happened to know how to handle a gun.
“I sneaked up behind him. He was young, too young to be holding a gun. He had it pointed right at Celeste’s face. She was trembling, trying to take the money from the register while he kept yelling at her. Every time he screamed, she flinched and dropped more money on the floor.”
His shouting was the only reason I managed to get close. He was cursing and calling her names every time she dropped something. When she bent down to pick up the cash, he yelled even louder for her to keep her hands up.
“Celeste saw me coming. She glanced over his shoulder, and when he followed her gaze, he spun around. By then, I was close enough to tackle him. The gun went off, but the bullet only hit a wall.”
Lyla exhaled deeply. “And Celeste?”
“Unharmed,” I replied. “Physically.”
Emotionally and financially, who knew how she’d recover? Before I came to Montana, I’d heard the gas station had closed down. According to Google, it was listed for sale. I wasn’t sure if anyone would buy it, especially not in that neighborhood. But for Celeste and her parents’ sake, I hoped it would sell.
“I took the gun from him and tucked it into the waistband of my pants. Then I told Celeste to call 9-1-1.”
Every time I replay that morning in my mind, I still can’t figure out when things went so wrong. How I missed the shout from outside until it was too late.
“The guy wasn’t alone,” I told Lyla. “There were two of them. One to come inside. The other to drive. I was still on a knee, holding the first guy down, when the door flew open. His friend from outside must have noticed something was wrong, and he came in with his own gun, aimed for Celeste. I just . . . reacted.”
One moment, that guy’s gun was tucked against my spine. The next, it was in my hands.
“I shot the other guy in the chest, and he just dropped”—I snapped my fingers—“like that. The gun he had wasn’t even loaded.”
“But you couldn’t have known that. You did what you thought was best.”
No, I’d reacted solely on training and instinct. Not a lot of thought had gone into my reaction. “He’s alive.”
Lyla sat straight. “He lived?”
“I missed his heart. It was an odd angle from where I was on the floor. The bullet went through his chest and into his spine. He’ll spend the rest of his life in a wheelchair as a quadriplegic.”
Paralyzed from the neck down.
“He’s sixteen, Lyla. He was the other guy’s younger brother. And I stole any chance he has at a normal life.”
“You made the right choice,” she said.
“Did I?” If it had been right, everything else had gone wrong. “The kids’ parents have a lawyer. They’re planning on suing me or the sheriff’s department or Celeste. Hell, maybe they’ll sue us all. It’s a fucking cluster.”
Lyla scoffed. “They want to sue you? That’s bullshit. What were you supposed to do? Let them rob Celeste? Shoot her? Shoot you?”
“I don’t know.” I sighed. “But I’m being investigated.”
“What?” Lyla jumped off the counter, turning to face me with her eyes wide and jaw slackened. “You’re kidding.”
“Wish I was, Blue.”
“I don’t understand. How is this your fault?” She began pacing, her path the same as mine earlier.
“My boss is a captain who wants to become undersheriff.” “Okay,” she drawled. “What does that mean?”
“He needs deputies who don’t make waves.” And I did nothing but churn the waters.
“The captain loved Cormac. It’s the reason I didn’t lose my badge after all that shit that happened with Brandon. Cormac went to bat for me and the captain helped smooth it out.”
“But then Cormac . . .” Lyla didn’t need to finish that sentence.
Cormac went off the goddamn rails. “Things between me and the captain have been strained ever since. When he looks at me, he sees Cormac’s best friend. Cormac’s partner. He sees the trust he shouldn’t have given. It’s strange. We both hate Cormac for what he did. You’d think that would bring us together. But it’s been the opposite.”
With Cormac gone, I was the only guy for the captain to blame.
“I haven’t exactly been the most reliable deputy,” I admitted. “If I got wind of a lead on Cormac, I’d drop everything and take off, usually without giving any notice. I’ve used every minute of vacation time. I’ve got no sick
days left. So I wasn’t on great terms to begin with. Then the shooting happened.”
“He can’t blame you for that, Vance.”
“No, he blames me for the trouble that came afterward.” The media attention. The potential lawsuits.
My temper.
“When I got the news that the kid was paralyzed, I didn’t exactly take it well. I was at the station. Captain called me into his office. Told me to take a few days off. So I went to grab a few things from my locker. Another deputy was in there. Made a comment about me being trigger happy.”
“Asshole,” Lyla muttered.
“That’s what I said. Then I broke his nose.”
“Ooh.” She winced. “I’m guessing that didn’t go over well with your boss.”
“Instead of a few days off, he told me to take a break until the investigation for the shooting is over. I’m not officially fired. I still have my badge. But I’m not welcome either.”
Lyla stopped pacing, planting her hands on her hips. “You did what you had to do.”
Any other cop would have done the same thing, regardless if they were on duty or out for a run. There’d been no way to know that the kid’s gun had been empty. “But I still regret pulling the trigger.”
“So what happens now?”
“I wait for the outcome of the investigation,” I said. “More than likely, I’ll be cleared. But if the captain wants me gone, he’ll find a way to make that happen. Either by sitting me at a desk, knowing I’d hate every minute of it. Or by making some excuse to let me go, like he’s downsizing the department.”
“Then he’s an asshole too,” she muttered. She wasn’t wrong. “What if that family sues you?”
“With any luck, that won’t happen. But if it does, I hire a lawyer. Go from there.”
I’d fight for my reputation. For my name.
Lyla’s molars ground together so hard I could hear them clenching.
Then with a huff, she started pacing again. “This is a fucking mess.” Yes. Yes, it was.
And now she knew why I had to go back to Idaho.
“It’s not fair.” She threw an arm in the air, her anger palpable. Fuck, but I liked that. That she’d get wound up on my behalf.
Tiff hadn’t. Not once. She’d been upset, worried. But never angry. Lyla had a right to be angry. And goddamn it, so did I.
For weeks, I’d kept it hidden. I’d lashed out once, in that locker room, and it had basically cost me my job. So I’d kept it in. I’d tucked those feelings away. I’d refused to talk about the shooting because I was angry.
Or I had been. Something about the fury on Lyla’s face, her seething, made a lot of my frustration fade. She gave me the outlet I hadn’t realized I’d desperately needed.
“Come here, Blue.”
She kept pacing. “Your captain should be standing behind you. Singing your praises.”
“To be fair, the asshole I punched, the other deputy? It’s his son.” Lyla giggled. It came so freely she slapped a hand over her mouth.
I chuckled. How was it we could finish this conversation in laughter? Fuck, but I was going to miss her.
“Thank you.”
She dropped her hand from her mouth and shrugged. “I didn’t do anything.”
“You did.”
She didn’t even realize how much she meant to me, did she? How much I appreciated her standing in my corner?
“I hate how this happened, Lyla. I hate that Cormac hurt you and that’s why I came to Quincy. But I’m also glad I came here. I needed to come here.”
To find her.
Lyla changed course, walking over to stand between my knees. Then she rose up on her toes, taking my face in her hands to kiss my lower lip. “I’m glad you came too. You’ll find him. I know it.”
I wasn’t talking about Cormac, but I didn’t correct her. Because that felt too much like a goodbye.
So I kissed her instead.
And tomorrow, I’d say goodbye.
Tomorrow, I’d tell her it was time for me to go home.
