“There was no monetary settlement for Jackson’s death,” Denny says, voice calm and confident. “The kid’s insurance was voided because he was drunk. I guess we could have sued his family, his estate or whatever, but the kid was an out-of-work pizza delivery boy. He was living in a studio apartment and two months behind on rent according to his family, who looked like they subsisted on food stamps. So I mean, where would this settlement have come from? I don’t know who put this idea in your head, but no one is keeping money from you.”
“The other person who was in the car that day,” I say flatly.
His expression doesn’t move, not a flicker of guilt or a knowing glint in his eye. “I would know if there was someone else in that car, and they’d be dead too, I’m sure.”
“They aren’t dead. They’re alive and living in this fucking house,” I reply.
“Chloe…I don’t understand what you’re talking about,” Denny says quietly. “You are freaking me out. I feel like you’re having a breakdown or something.”
I drop to the couch and point to the chair beside it. “Sit. You’re going to need to sit.”
I tell him everything Logan told me. As I talk, sharing all the vicious twist-of-fate details, Denny’s expression slowly transforms from confusion to disbelief. “This can’t be true.”
“I wish it wasn’t,” I say.
“He rented your apartment?” Denny repeats, not asking for my confirmation but just repeating it in order to absorb the news. His eyes find mine. “But he didn’t know about you and this horrible connection either?”
“He didn’t,” I reply. “It’s insane, I know.”
Denny runs his hands into his hair and kind of holds the sides of his head as he exhales loudly. It’s such a Jackson mannerism, it almost takes my breath away. “And his family gave two hundred grand to…Paul?”
“Logan says they gave it to Jackson’s family to help with medical and funeral costs,” I confirm. “Since it wasn’t you, then it must be Paul. Your parents were in Oregon when it happened, and you were in New Hampshire. This family member signed a non-disclosure agreement to keep Logan’s name out everything so the family business wouldn’t suffer.”
“I know Paul is…I mean he’s a jerk but if this is true…” Denny looks truly heart broken. “Then he’s a monster.”
I feel bad for Denny. He lost Jackson, and now his relationship with Paul will be irrevocably broken. He stands up, adjusting his belt, which is still heavy with all his police equipment minus his gun, which he must have left locked up at the station. “Let’s go pay Paul a visit.”
I know Paul lives in Maine, but I honestly don’t know where. I’m surprised Denny does because they haven’t been face-to-face since Jackson’s funeral. That I know of. It turns out he lives in a very affluent beach community called Ogunquit. Way more upper class than Ocean Pines. He’s in a newly built low-rise condo building three blocks from the beach. Denny buzzes him from the intercom downstairs. He tells him that they need to talk about me. He sounds shocked but unlocks the door. Denny leads me into the elevator and up to the top floor. When Paul swings open his front door, I see straight through his small but immaculate apartment to the balcony with ocean views.
I had to negotiate a payment plan of a thousand and fourteen dollars a month for nine years to pay off my medical bills, and he has ocean views. Paul’s face darkens like an impending thunderstorm when he sees me next to his only living brother. “What the hell is she doing here, Denny?” he asks and then turns to me with and a compassionless stare. “Are you finally here to sell me the house?”
“I’m here to talk about the two hundred grand the Hawkins family paid for medical and funeral expenses,” I reply, and the superiority and confidence is sucked from his face so quickly that it’s almost comical.
“It’s fucking true,” Denny hisses because he too sees the admission of guilt on Paul’s now trite features. “Jesus Christ, Paul, you’re a disgusting human being.”
“I don’t know what she’s told you, but you should hear me out,” Paul says.
“Did you take money and not give any of it to Chloe?” Denny asks. “Did you make that decision for the family?”
“Yes. And I would do it again,” Paul says, his face hard. He would look a lot like Jackson with his shock of dark hair and light green eyes, but his cruel personality has permanently twisted his features into harsher, uglier angles than Jackson ever had. “That money paid for Mom and Dad’s down payment on their retirement condo in Florida. It paid for Jackson’s funeral.”
He told us he paid for it. Looking back, I should have questioned that because Paul was barely working. That silly fake college he was working at had already tanked, and he’d gone into business for himself, opened his own accounting practice but hardly had any clients according to Jackson.
“Do your parents know?” I ask.
Paul shakes his head. “No. I told them I was paying their down payment but I didn’t tell them how. They lost their son and I wanted to ease their pain.”
“I lost my husband and a year of my life to rehab,” I scream.
“Shut up or my neighbors will call the cops,” he hisses at me without a single solitary ounce of remorse.
“I am the police, asshole,” Denny reminds him and then gestures beyond Paul. “And you used that money to pay for this apartment, didn’t you?”
“Yeah, well, I needed somewhere to live since she refused to give back the house,” Paul replies.
“You’re a fucking bastard,” I say and turn and storm back toward the elevators.
“I’m done with you,” I hear Denny say. “Done. Forever. And if you so much as say her name, let alone contact her, I will call my police buddies here and make your life a living hell.”
I hold the elevator for Denny, who is storming away from his brother toward me. Paul steps out into the hall. “You can’t do a thing about it. I signed paperwork. They did too. It never said I had to give you any of the money.”
We both ignore him, and as the elevator doors close, I say the final thing I ever intend to say to Paul. “Rot in hell.”
Outside, we both try to take deep breaths of the cool ocean air to calm ourselves. It isn’t working for me, and I doubt it’s working for Denny. “I am so sorry.”
I shake my head. “You didn’t know. You don’t have to apologize.”
“You need to sue him for the money.”
“No. I don’t,” I reply as he unlocks his car and we get inside. “What’s done is done. He spent it. It’s over.”
“You deserve that money. All of it,” Denny says as we pull out of the parking lot.
“Money is the least of my problems right now,” I reply and close my eyes.
“What are you going to do?” he asks after we drive in silence for over ten minutes.
“I don’t know. I don’t think there’s a How-To YouTube tutorial for this situation,” I say, and the brevity of my words falls flat because of the seriousness of my tone. “I just want to curl up in a ball and hide from the world.”
He’s turning off the turnpike now. Up ahead, where the pine forest lines the street, is the sign for Ocean Pines. Denny glances over at me. “Do you want me to evict him for you? I can knock on his door today and give him sixty days. I doubt you’ll be able to give him thirty, legally, but sixty is fair.”
“I’m not going to evict him,” I reply quietly.
“What?”
“I don’t know if he even wants to stay now,” I explain and stare out the window as the town I’ve grown to love—despite the fact that right now I feel like everything about Maine has done nothing but beat me down—blurs by.
Denny turns to stare at me. He has on his mirrored aviators because the sun is glinting off the snow banks everywhere, so I can’t see his eyes, but it’s clear from his tone he’s stunned he has to spell this out for me. “You’re going to let him continue to live there? Under your roof? And…date him?”
“I’m overwhelmed, D
enny. I don’t know.” I feel so guilty admitting that. But it’s the truth. I don’t know how to keep dating Logan, but I don’t know how to let him go either. “Like I said, I don’t want to do anything but curl up in a ball and hide from all of this. From everything.”
“Damnit I wish I had been closer when it happened,” he says and pounds the dash with his fist, which has me jumping. “If I’d been closer, I could have taken control of the situation instead of Paul. If I’d already graduated the police academy, I would have had contacts who could have informed me about all of this. I would have known about his involvement. I could have told you.”
“But it didn’t happen that way,” I reply and unlock my seatbelt because he’s pulled into my driveway. Logan’s car isn’t in the driveway. I saw him load up Chewie and a bag after our conversation while I was on the phone with Denny, and I’m guessing he’s going to stay somewhere else. “We need to let that go and find a way to move on.”
“Your way is to get him out of your life, Chloe,” Denny says, his voice resolute.
“For who? It won’t bring Jackson back,” I whisper hoarsely. “Denny, I know you’re upset but I can’t do this right now. Just like I told Logan, I need time to think.”
I get out of the car and close the passenger door. I can’t. I won’t make any promises to anyone right now. I just can’t. My life is ripped apart at the seams, and I truly have no idea what parts to sew back together. I don’t know if I have the willpower to do it at all.
I hear him swear in frustration at my non-answer, and he drives away before I have my key in the door. Inside, I lock the door, leave my boots and coat in a heap on the floor, and pick up the dogs from where they lay in their beds by the fireplace. I climb the stairs and crawl into bed.
I don’t sleep. I just cry.
28
Logan
I hate calls like this. When I’m in a good head space they’re almost too much to handle but tonight…it’s the first time in my career I honestly hesitate as we jump out of the rig. The frame of the gray car is so mangled you can’t even tell what make or type it is.
“Caroline is in there! Help her! I couldn’t. Please!” a distraught man is screaming from beside the wreck. One of his shoulders is hanging desperately wrong. Dislocation at best. More likely shattered.
Glass crunches under my feet as I approach. My partner Mason catches my eye. “You take her. I’ll take him.”
I nod, but fuck, my whole body wants to run away. I can’t do this. Not now when I’ve been reliving my own trauma for two days straight. This is unbearable. But I have to bear it.
This is making amends, I remind myself. That’s why you picked this career. To save people because you didn’t save Bryan or Jackson. Or Chloe. Sure Chloe lived, but she lost so much because of the crash I didn’t stop. I drop my gear as I reach what’s left of the passenger window. Caroline is a blonde, probably about mid-forties, and her face and hair are covered in bright red blood. But her chest is moving. She’s breathing.
“Caroline?” I say her name firmly and slowly. Nothing. I use a flashlight to assess the situation. Her legs are pinned under the collapsed dash and her whole body is wrenched forward pressed against it. The back door and the front passenger door are crushed into each other. I will definitely need the jaws. “Talk to me Caroline. If you can hear me, you have to try and talk to me.”
Silence. Is this what it was like for the paramedics who rescued Chloe? Our co-worker Dan Keribo is at the other car, and as he turns away from the driver’s door, his eyes meet mine and he shakes his head. Probably the same thing the firefighters and paramedics who attended the wreck I was in would have done when they got to Bryan.
“We need the jaws!” I call out gruffly to the firefighters on scene. Once they cut off the door, it’s easy to get her out. And although her legs are both broken and she has a few nasty cuts on her forehead, her breathing stays steady, and her vitals are good as I get her in a collar and on a backboard with Mason’s help.
As we roll her back to our rig, her husband says, “Is she going to be okay? Oh my God. Please, say she’ll be okay?”
That’s what Chloe would have asked about Jackson if she had been conscious. It was probably her first question when she woke up. Where is my husband? How is he?
“We are doing everything we can for her, sir,” I promise.
He has his arm in a sling now, and Mason helps him into the back of the ambulance. “He was weaving all over the place behind us. Caroline asked me to pull over and let him pass so we could get his license plate and call the cops. But then…I don’t know. He hit us instead of passing us.”
I grit my teeth but nod then look at Mason. “I’m driving.”
I can’t stay in the back and listen to this guy. He needs to get it out. He needs to share. It’s too close to home. Normally, I do well with this no matter how close to home it feels. I encourage them to talk, to share, to lean on me emotionally because I want to help ease their pain and my conscience. But I can’t do it tonight. I will break.
Later, as we pull back into the fire station, I’m still shaking. Jake’s engine didn’t come out on the call, another engine did, but he’s standing in the bay when we return. As soon as he sees my face, his own goes ashen. He walks over and leans again the back of the rig. “Was it bad?”
“Drunk driver,” Mason answers for me. “The couple will live. The drunk did the world a favor and died.”
Jake tenses immediately. “Dude, chill. That’s not the right attitude.”
“It’s the truth though,” I say, and Jake’s coal-colored eyes widen with shock. I keep going. “Fuck him. He’s a murderer.”
“Logan, we need to talk,” Jake says firmly. He looks up at Mason. “You can handle this, right?”
“If I have to, yeah. But he owes me a beer,” Mason says. “I hate cleaning the rig alone.”
“I’m fine, Jake,” I snap but he ignores me and crosses his arms.
“If you want me to say Lieutenant Maverick is requesting a meeting, I can word it that way,” Jake says, and I clench my fists. He’s my boss and will be captain soon, so I have to respect that. Fact is, I need a minute away from the rig and Mason anyway.
I follow along beside Jake as he heads up the stairs and into the kitchen area of the firehall. It’s almost four in the afternoon. The guys will come in here in about an hour and start making dinner, but right now it’s empty and private.
“So you’re hanging by a thread, huh?” Jake pulls himself up to sit on the counter by the sink.
I grab a stool at the island in the middle and sit. I feel like I’ve been standing for seven years. I haven’t. In fact, we’ve had a pretty light shift up until this call. I scratch the back of my neck. “I’m fine. I have to be. All good.”
“You can’t play a player, Logan,” Jake replies and frowns. “This Chloe thing is heavy and fucking horrible, so you don’t have to pretend everything is fucking fine and dandy. You’re not very good at it anyway.”
“No. I’m fine. I mean…I’m not. At all. But work is keeping me grounded and focused,” I reply. “And your place is giving me the space I need from everyone. So long as you’re not driving Terra nuts.”
I’ve been staying at Jake’s apartment, and he has been staying at Terra’s so I can wallow in my misery in privacy. Jake smirks at my sister’s name. “Of course I’m not driving her nuts. Your sister loves me, dude. Like madly, truly, deeply. And anyway, I basically lived with her even before you needed a place to stay.”
“You guys gonna make that official? Then maybe I can rent your place,” I say. “Although it only has one bedroom and I need two. The social worker says River needs his own room.”
Jake pops off the counter, his lean six-foot four frame making the floor boards rattle when he lands. “Shit. That reminds me. Cap said someone called here looking for you. Manuel Jimenez.”
“Fuck, really? When?” I feel dread. “That’s River’s case worker.”
Jake’s
face grows serious. “He didn’t say.”
I dig my cell out of my uniform pocket and find Manuel’s number in my contacts. He picks up on the third ring. “Hi Manuel. It’s Logan Hawkins.”
“Logan…you are a hard man to find.”
“Well, you know my shifts can be crazy.”
“And you aren’t living at your apartment,” Manuel says. “I’ve been by more than once.”
“Sorry.” Fuck. I’m busted. “I’ve been at my friend’s for a couple days. Is something wrong?”
“You tell me,” he replies. “Did you walk out on River in the middle of the night and leave him with some strange woman?”
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
“No. I left him with my landlord for ten minutes because the house across the street was in flames, and I wanted to make sure the owner didn’t need medical attention,” I say calmly but I want to direct every cuss word I know at my ex, because it was clearly Bethany who called Manuel.
“Logan, I’ll be honest with you,” he sighs like a disappointed parent. “Bethany is filing for an injunction to change the custody arrangement and take away your overnights.”
“Because the landlord babysat him for ten minutes?” I ask furious. “Are you kidding me?”
“She says she also found out that you were involved in a car crash that killed someone,” Manuel replies, his voice low and filled with concerned.
“I…how the hell does she know that?” I realize it’s an admission as well as question, but I am not running from that.
Manuel’s tone is oozing with disappointment. “Logan, your entire legal history was supposed to be shared with me. This is a big lie. One of the biggest.”
“I was never charged with a crime. I wasn’t driving. I wasn’t a conscious participant,” I argue but I know, without a shadow of a doubt, it’s useless.
The Winter We Collided: A Small Town Single Dad Romance (Ocean Pines Series Book 2) Page 26