“Why the fuck are you not more upset? You were supposedly in love with her for all those years, and you’re not even upset that she’s dead! She didn’t just die from old age for fuck’s sake, someone took her away from us. In front of her son!”
“You don’t think it guts me every day to look at that little boy and see so much of her? To be so fucking grateful for him and, at the same time, watch as he gets lost inside himself. It hurts so bad I can’t breathe! The only reason I’ve made it this far is knowing I’ll still see the love of my life in that little boy upstairs. Don’t you ever tell me I didn’t love her! You have no idea how I feel.”
Sloane comes down the stairs, remaining on the bottom step, cautiously looking between Lachlan and me. I drop my head, avoiding eye contact with both of them.
“I’m out of here. Don’t follow me either.”
I make my way out of the house. Behind me, Lachlan tells Sloane to stay with Noah.
NINE
Sloane
The sensation of ice being poured down my spine knocks the breath out of me. I try to process what happened in the last ten minutes, but it’s too much information to take in at once.
Noah spoke.
Drew killed Sawyer.
My husband wants to bring a murderer to justice.
Owen left, and Lachlan went after him.
I raise my head to look upstairs, where my nephew plays on his iPad, and I’m tempted to throw him in the car and tail Lachlan and Owen. I can’t do that to Noah though. He doesn’t need any more drama in his life.
My chest heaves as the room spirals around me in swirls of gray and red. I slump on the bottom step and drop my head between my knees, breathing in and out as deeply as I can.
After a few minutes, I go back upstairs and peek at Noah. He’s lying on top of his bed, playing his games. He looks so innocent, as if he didn’t just identify a murderer. Not just any killer, the one that shot his mother in front of him. His eyelids appear heavy. It’s only a matter of minutes before he’s out for the night. I should talk to him, try to understand what exactly he saw the night of my wedding. Attempt to finally learn what happened inside of the room with Sawyer and Drew.
So many questions plagued me for a month, but now, the answers within reach, I’m terrified to ask them.
Despite Owen’s irrational thinking, the right thing to do with the new information is to call Detective Varnum. I have his business card with his contact information still in my purse. Every minute Drew walks the street, a free man, is another he could be making arrangements to flee the country. Or worse, he could be hurting someone else.
How the hell did he get inside the vineyard that night? It was a closed reception. How did he know Sawyer would be there?
It hits me with such force I stumble backwards and hit the wall.
The wedding announcement.
I begged my mom, pleaded with her, not to put a damn announcement in the local newspaper. She never understood why I didn’t want it printed, and I didn’t need to explain my reasons. She never knew the whole truth of why we fled Woodsview, and she never really questioned it once we’d made up our minds. She always supported us. Both of my parents loved Sawyer like a second daughter, and when they learned Owen and I were dating, they welcomed him into our family with open arms. My mom isn’t the type of person to judge someone based on their social standings or who they’re related to. Even still, I didn’t want to change her opinions of the people that mattered the most to me, and I definitely didn’t want her to worry about us. So I never told her about Drew or Lachlan’s aunt.
None of it.
I should have pressed Sawyer to get a restraining order against Drew the first time I found out he threatened her. Then again, a piece of paper wouldn’t have stopped him. Paper isn’t bulletproof. I should have done more, though. I never thought it would end like this.
In a haze, I make my way back downstairs, and my dry throat aches with tears threatening to spring free. Once the floodgate opens, I won’t be able to close it. Searching the fridge for a bottled water, I find one in the back. Grabbing it with a shaky hand, I take it out and hit a container of juice by accident. It tips over and falls to the floor, splashing across the linoleum.
Glancing around the small kitchen, I search for a mop, even though I didn’t notice one while we were moving stuff.
It’s hopeless. I know there isn’t a mop large enough to clean my mess.
There’s no holding back the tears now. I break into complete hysterical sobs, holding onto the counter for support. I weep for the loss of so many things and all the confusion surrounding those things.
The ache in my chest mirrors the ache in my throat.
My cell phone rings from inside my purse, and I sprint to it and answer without looking at the caller ID.
“Owen?” I gasp into the phone.
“Um, Mrs. Matthews?”
Unable to form words through my disappointment that the voice doesn’t belong to my husband, I try to at the very least make an audible noise, but incoherent blubbers slip out of my mouth instead.
“Mrs. Matthews, it’s Officer Nash Hudson. Are you okay?”
Of course, it’s him. Pressing the phone to my chest, I sniffle hard and take a breath then I bring the cell to my ear once more. “Hi, Officer Hudson. Yes, I’m fine. I’m sorry, I thought you were someone else.”
“I apologize for bothering you. You left your sweater at the pub the other day when we had lunch. I went back there today, and our waitress, Tiff, asked me to let you know.”
Oh crap, I did leave it there. I’d been looking for my sweater everywhere this morning. I thought I just left it at Revamped.
I clear my throat, not trusting my voice to stay steady. “Oh, thanks. That’s very nice of her to hang onto it for me. I’m umm, I’m just at my friend Lachlan’s house right now, helping him and his son move in. I could pick it up from her tomorrow morning at the pub.”
“Are you sure you’re okay, Mrs. Matthews? You sound really upset.”
“You can call me Sloane. And, I’m fine.” My trembling voice can’t fool anyone. I’m not even close to being fine. I can’t remember a time when I’ve been worse.
“Tell you what, I’m heading out on patrol in a few minutes. I actually have your sweater here with me, so why don’t I swing by your friend’s house, and drop it off to you. One less thing on your mind.”
“That’s really not necessary.”
“It’s no trouble at all. I insist. What’s the address?”
I hesitate, but I have a feeling if I keep making excuses for him not to bring my damn sweater, he’ll show up anyway. Aren’t all cops trained this way or something?
After I cave and tell him the address Lachlan texted me earlier today, the connection ends and I stare at the blank screen for a few seconds, trying to understand what the hell just happened. He has got to be the most persistent person I’ve ever met. He never takes no for an answer. If anyone can help us with our situation, it will be him. His tenacity will make damn sure Noah will be safe in testifying, if it comes to that, and Drew will be locked up for a long time.
I try calling Owen on his cell, but it goes right to voice mail. Then I call Lachlan, and his ringtone filters through the wall from the next room. Dammit.
The only bathroom is on the second floor, so I make my way up the stairs and stop to check on Noah first. Just as I suspected, he’s sleeping, so I turn off his iPad, cover him with a blanket, and close the bedroom door gently behind me. I’m shocked he fell asleep without clinging onto Lachlan. Maybe speaking out loud had been cathartic for him and he was able to release some of the demons weighing on him.
None of the bathroom items, besides the toilet paper, have been unpacked yet. The boxes are stacked three high right outside the door. I flick on the light switch, and my reflection in the mirror catches my attention. This morning, I’d tied my hair up into a tight bun so it wouldn’t be in my face and only applied a tiny bit of mascara. The makeu
p under my eyes has smudged, making me appear very raccoon-like, and the hair…well, that has escaped the neat bun. I look like I stuck my head out of a car window, in the rain, doing top speed. Whatever, I don’t even care. I turn the light off and head downstairs to clean my mess in the kitchen.
As I’m tying a garbage bag closed, the doorbell rings.
Officer Nash Hudson stands on the front porch, holding my sweater in his hand. Worry fills his eyes.
“You’re here,” I state stupidly, which oddly brings a smile across his lips. “I mean, I don’t know. I didn’t think you were actually coming.”
“You sounded upset on the phone. I was patrolling the area anyway so…here I am. Besides I’m here for completely selfish reasons.” He winks as he walks past me into Lachlan’s home.
“Ah yes, you and your selfishness. You really need to do something about your awful behavior.”
He turns to face me after surveying the house. “It’s a terrible habit I know. I’m trying to break it, but no luck yet. Is anyone else in the home?”
Before closing the door, I notice the patrol car in the driveway and wonder if Lachlan’s neighbors are peeking out of their windows, questioning who exactly moved in next door today.
“Noah is asleep upstairs. It’s just me and him right now. The guys…left for a little bit. They should be back soon, though.” I can’t say Owen took off and Lachlan went after him when Noah told us who murdered Sawyer. Drew killed Sawyer, and it’s slipping off my tongue. He needs to leave before it’s all the way out.
But, I should tell him everything Noah said. We’re withholding information from the police, and it has to be against the law or something. I fear I would be betraying Owen if I say anything without discussing it more with everyone first. I shouldn’t talk about it tonight. Owen needs to think it through all the way and realize what the right thing is to do. Owen’s a good man, and deep down I know he’s still the same good man I fell in love with. He’s going to see clearly one day. Hopefully, tomorrow.
“Is that why you were upset on the phone?”
“You ask a lot of really personal questions.”
“Do I?” The grin on his face tells me he already knows this. “Sorry, comes with the profession.”
He makes me nervous, and I don’t know why. He holds up my sweater, and I take it, twisting the fabric in my hands.
“Thank you for bringing this. I hadn’t realized I forgot it at the pub. Make sure you thank Tiff for me when you see her. For saving it, I mean.”
“I’ll tell her. Are you sure everything is okay, Mrs. Matthews.”
“Sloane.”
“Sloane, right. No more Officer Hudson either, then. Just Nash.”
His gaze holds mine, and my heart quickens. Seriously, who the hell is this guy?
“Okay, Just Nash.”
My cell rings from my back pocket, and this time I look at the caller ID before answering. My heat skips a beat.
It’s Owen.
I swipe at the screen so fast I nearly drop the phone on the floor then turn around for a little bit of privacy from Nash’s prying eyes and answer the call. “Owen? Where are you guys? Are you okay?”
“Sloane, hey, it’s Lachlan. We’re at a bar just outside of town. Owen’s okay. He’s safe.” Lachlan inhales deeply. “I think…I think he needs some time to cool off and think about what Noah told us. Much to his disappointment, I’m going to stay with him and make sure he doesn’t do anything stupid. He’s using the toilet, he doesn’t know I have his phone. I wasn’t sure if he was going to call you to check in or not, so I wanted to let you know he’s okay. Are you okay?”
I sigh, and my shoulders sag at the realization that, yet again, Owen would rather be anywhere other than with his wife. “Yeah Lach, I’m alright. Noah’s asleep, and there’s lots here to keep my mind busy. I’ll just tidy up and unpack a few more things for you.” My eyes automatically flicker to the ceiling then close.
“You don’t mind staying with him until I get home?”
“No, of course not. Thanks for going after Owen.”
“It’s what family does. We take care of each other.”
I end the call, placing the phone back in my pocket.
Alcohol. I need alcohol now.
In the kitchen, I tear open the cardboard flaps of a box, searching for a glass and a bottle opener. I already know there’s wine in the fridge because I put it in there during our first load. It’s my little house warming gift to Lachlan. One that I’m taking back. He’s not a big wine drinker that I know of, but I thought we could all have it with dinner one night when he’s all unpacked. I’ll buy him another bottle.
I still can’t find a damn glass after searching in the second box. I’m not opposed to drinking straight from the bottle, which will happen if I don’t find a glass in the next box.
“Everything okay?”
I startle at the sound of his deep voice and nearly drop the mug I just located. “Shit, I forgot you were still here.”
“Ouch.” Nash chuckles and rubs the scruff on his jawline.
“I’m sorry. Yeah, everything’s just peachy. Drink?” I hold up the wine bottle.
“No, thank you. I’m on duty.”
“Right, well, I’m not so...if I could find a dang corkscrew everything would be a lot peachier.”
Nash opens the flaps of another box and begins to rummage through it.
We work in silence, and it’s a comfort I crave. I don’t necessarily understand why he’s still here, yet I don’t question it. Nash is the first person to not look at me as though I’m an omen for death. For a moment, I’m like a normal girl.
I think this box has the corkscrew in it. I remember packing it along with a few mugs from Sawyer’s kitchen and…
“Oh, Jesus Christ.” I pull out a mug from the box and stare at it while my hands begin to tremble. It’s a gray mug with Noah’s picture on it. I helped Noah make it for Sawyer last Christmas.
“What’s wrong?”
“I don’t remember packing this. This isn’t supposed to be here. What do I do with it? What if Noah sees this? He can’t see it. It could ruin everything he’s overcome.” I’m holding the cup in my hand like it’s a ticking bomb that I don’t know how to disarm.
Nash closes the space between us and takes the mug from me, placing it on the counter. “It’s okay. It’s okay.” His hands firmly squeeze my upper arms. “Look at me, Sloane.”
Guardedly, I allow my eyes to focus on his.
“Look right at me, take a deep breath.”
I do as instructed, liking the feeling of someone taking control over my life.
“Now breathe out. Focus on me. There’s only me and you right now. There’s nothing else. There’s only me and you.”
Letting my surroundings slip away, I watch him take in air then release it. I mirror his actions, focusing on nothing but him and me. He takes my hand and places it over my heart, holding it with gentle pressure.
“Feel it beating?”
My heart races, pounding against my palm. I nod.
“That’s because you’re still here. You’re here because you didn’t die. You’re alive and your friend would want you to be alive. You don’t have to move on, but you need to move forward, and when you do, it’s not because you don’t care anymore, it’s because you’ve learned you have to.”
He releases me, and my breathing has returned to nearly normal. “Who have you lost?”
Taking a step back, he glances away. “Why do you ask?”
“You must have lost someone close to you. You know so much about grieving.”
He nods, finally looking at me, then takes a few more steps back, leaning against the counter. “My first year on patrol, we got a call to a motor vehicle accident. It was one of those days where it never stopped raining. Not even for a few minutes. Those days are the worst, drivers never compensate for the flooded and slippery roads. My partner and I were the first responders on scene. I can still hear the screams
. A young father and his daughter had been trapped in their car upside down on the shoulder of the highway. The dad…he uh, he already died by the time we arrived. The little girl, Sophie, she was seven years old. She wanted to be a teacher when she grew up. Her mother told me that after. I tried so hard, I tried everything I could to get to her.” He lifts the sleeve of his uniform revealing a thick scar from his bicep to his elbow. “I would have torn that car apart with my bare hands if my partner hadn’t pulled me back.”
“What happened?”
“An eighteen wheeler didn’t compensate for the wet roads.” He peeks up at me, and his eyes, bluer than the Pacific, were rimmed red. “I nearly had her free. I needed two more minutes.”
For the last few weeks, I’ve been so caught up in our own world of pain I forgot we aren’t the only victims of unspeakable pasts. Everyone has demons that try to hook their talons into you, staking claim. It’s up to you to allow the hauntings to win or lose.
When all hope is lost, do you still fight?
He pushes off the counter, running his hand across his face. “So, yeah. I know helplessness, and I understand the pain of loss. I get the uncertainly of the future because you’re drowning in the past. Trust me when I say you will be okay. You will all be okay.”
I find myself leaning into him, and he brushes my hair back, fire burning inside his irises. This is what it feels like to be cared for. To be cherished, and treated as a fragile woman. I’d almost forgotten.
Nash blinks away the lust lingering in his gaze then leans in, and, for a moment, I freeze, fearing he’s going to kiss me. But then he presses his lips to my forehead. “I should leave.”
“Yeah, you probably should. I’m sure you have patrolling to do.” My forehead tingles. “Thank you, for making sure I’m okay.”
He nods then turns away from me.
I remain a statue until the front door closes.
“Sloane.”
I stir awake at the sound of my whispered name. Opening my eyes, I try to focus on the silhouette in front of me. “Owen?”
Edges of Gone (The Gone Series Book 2) Page 7