by Kelly Moran
Five minutes later, recipe box that wasn’t recipes under his arm, he opened his apartment door. Parker was already inside the living room, standing in front of the TV tuned to the pregame, beer in his hand.
“Excellent.” Jason swiped the longneck. “I decided just this evening to take up drinking. Thanks.”
Parker offered a droll expression. “You’re welcome. Adding more troubles like alcoholism is such a brilliant plan.”
“I agree.” Jason took a chug and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He waited a couple beats, but nothing happened. He downed the rest of the bottle. “Nope.”
“Gonna take more than that to get shitfaced, you half-assed drunk.”
Jason eyed the beer. “It’s not helping. I’m still empty.”
“Uh-huh. Maybe some pizza?”
“Tried that.”
“Chinese?”
“Tried that.”
“Seafood?”
“Tried that.”
“Calling Ella?”
“Tried…” Jason narrowed his eyes. “Don’t start.” He moved to the couch and dropped onto the cushion, putting the box on the end table. His legs were tired. His everything was tired.
Parker sat on the other sofa, facing Jason, forearms braced on his thighs. “I was hoping actually leaving your apartment today for the first time in a week would help. Obviously not.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Your shirt is on inside out.”
Jason glanced down. He hadn’t noticed. “Oh well.”
“And it’s on backwards.”
“More oh well.” Interesting his mama hadn’t said anything. Or Lou.
“Birds are nesting in your facial hair.”
“Shaving is hard.”
Parker opened his mouth, but Storm came pouncing out of the spare room and ran up to Jason’s feet.
Mew.
“Hi, sweet girl.” This female never lied to him. He bent and picked up the white furball, nuzzling her. “Who’s a good kitty? You are. Who’s a pretty kitty? You are.”
Parker stood and headed toward the hallway.
“Where are you going?”
“To the bathroom.” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “Figured I’d get the manicure set so we can paint our toenails. After that, perhaps we could braid each other’s hair.”
Mew.
“You’re right, Storm,” Jason cooed. “Uncle Parker is being a big meanie jerk. Plus, his hair isn’t long enough to braid, is it?”
Mew.
“Okay, that’s it.” Parker set his hands on his hips. “You’re miserable. You know it. I know it. The damn cat knows it. Call Ella.”
“Shh. I’m watching the game.”
“This is a commercial for lawn care equipment.”
Huh. It was. “It has a baseball player in it.”
Parker growled, then followed it with a sound of aggravation that lasted longer than Jason’s gym socks.
Storm launched a hundred feet in the air and jumped to the floor.
“Look, you scared my cat.”
Parker glanced at Storm by the sofa he’d vacated, then Jason, hands still on his hips. “She’s licking her asshole. I think she’s fine. Call Ella. Now. Right now.”
“I don’t want to.” Damn it. Yes, he did. He’d wanted to call her walking out of the cemetery, tomorrow, and every second in between. But… “She lied to me. In fact, you all lied to me.”
“Oh, boo-hoo. She lied. Yet, you’re still talking to me. You’re still talking to Lou. You’re still talking to your mom.” Parker’s brows hit his hairline. “Why not Ella? Because you’re afraid, that’s why. You found something real and you’re scared.” He sighed, crossing his arms. “She told you the truth when she thought you were ready to hear it. You heard it from her mouth, not ours. It ate at her, man, keeping that secret.”
Knowing her, Jason had zero doubt his buddy was right. Ella wore guilt like armor, ninety-nine point nine percent of which wasn’t her fault. If he were being truthful with himself, as an emotionally crippled human being, he hadn’t made it easy for her.
“She never lied or misled you about anything else. She was brutally honest with you about every single thing. Best part? So were you. You didn’t lie to yourself when you were with her. Did it ever dawn on you that the three people you love the most, that you trust, all want nothing more than for you to forgive her? For you to be with her?”
Jason pinched the bridge of his nose, having had it up to here with advice and input.
“Do me a favor,” Parker said, his tone entirely too flat. “Think about her. Not the lie, not the way it came out, but her. You don’t even have to tell me. Just think about her. What’s the first thing that comes into your head?”
Sunshine, unicorns, lollipops, and rainbows.
Sarcasm aside, that was the answer. Sunshine because, despite all the darkness and pain she’d been surrounded by, she saw or focused on only the light. Hell, she was light. Unicorns because she had a rare innocent quality about her that still believed there were mysteries to the world and good in people. Lollipops because she was erringly sweet. Her smile, her scent, her personality. And rainbows because she brought color to his life and beauty like hers was hard to find.
Shit. And there was the aching behind his eyes, the burning in his gut, and the prickling in his sinuses he’d been battling all week.
He missed her. Damn, did he miss her.
“That night at the bar when she told me about her connection to your dad, you know what she asked me?”
Jason eyed his friend, shaking his head.
“She asked if I thought you could get past it or if she would be a constant reminder of the worst day of your life.”
Ah, no. Sucker punch. Right in the solar plexus. The air wheezed from his lungs and he stood on shaking legs.
Parker nodded, head lowered. “I didn’t know how to respond.”
Anger. Yes, anger was so much better than desolation. Jason let the fury build until his temples throbbed.
“Didn’t know how to respond? Are you kidding me?” His voice rose until it reverberated off the walls. “You should’ve said she was the accumulation of my best days, that the worst one was not her fault. You should’ve said there was nothing to get past or forgive. You should’ve said that she makes me happy. You should’ve said that I love her and…”
He pulled himself up straight until rigid was too yielding a term for the way his muscles atrophied around concrete, exactly where his bones used to be. He tried to breathe, but his lungs had collapsed on him, too.
Red hot rage drained to white cold clarity.
“Oh, shit.” He pressed a hand to his stomach as it flipped upside down and back again. “Oh, shit. Do I? Do I love her? Yes. Oh, shit, yes I do.”
Parker threw his arms up, face tilted heavenward. “Praise Baby Jesus in the manger, the Three Wise Men, and all the patron saints. I thought I was going to have to beat the obvious into you before the end of the night.”
“I have to sit.” Jason plopped on the couch. “No, I need to stand.” He gestured to the door. “I need to…”
“To what, man? Go?”
“Yes, that.” That right there. Go.
“Where? To see her?”
“Yes.” Mercy, yes. He needed to see his Ella. Only she could make sense of this. Calm his crazy. Look at him with those amazing eyes and hold him with her comforting touch and smile at him like everything really would be okay.
“The hell you do. Park it.”
“No. I need to—”
“Sit your ass down before I arrest you for stupidity with annoying me as secondary charges.” Parker pointed. “Going to tell the woman you’re dating that you love her while in this state of mind is like drunk-dialing your ex. As your more handsome, wiser best friend, you will listen to me.”
Jason sat.
Parker eyed him warily as if waiting to see if Jason would stay compliant, then took a seat
on the opposite couch.
“What do I do?” Jason looked at his best friend since the age of diapers. It kinda felt like he was back in that early development phase again.
“What do you want to do?”
“I dunno.”
“And that’s why we’re not leaving. We’ve got three hours of a ballgame and all night if that’s what it takes to figure it out.” Parker turned his head to the screen. “Need something stronger than beer?”
“No.”
He watched a few seconds of the game until he spotted the box his mama had given him in his peripheral. Reaching for it, he set it in his lap and removed the lid.
“What’s that?”
“Something my mom gave me,” Jason said, distracted.
Photos. Not Ella’s medical records or files, but photos. About thirty in all.
Confused, he took the stack. The first one was of her in a hospital bed at eight years old. Her legs were heavily bandaged and propped up on elevation slings. She had an oxygen mask, IVs, and tubes everywhere. Her eyes were closed, and he assumed this shot was taken after her surgeries when they’d had her in a coma.
Debilitating shock slammed into him, and he made a noise of distress. How many times since she’d told him about the fire had he pictured a younger version of her in that condition? Hundreds? Thousands? His imagination, and that had been pretty graphic, didn’t hold a candle to actually witnessing it.
So frail. So small. So alone.
“What’s wrong?” Parker rose and shifted next to Jason.
He handed over the picture.
“Jesus,” Parker muttered. “It’s amazing she survived.”
That was her. A survivor.
Throat constricted, Jason leafed through the others. Her in rehab, going from a wheelchair in some to struggling on her feet between parallel bars in others to a walker, then finally without assistance. There was a shot of her waving next to bouquets of flowers, which he assumed was her discharge from rehab.
After those, pictures of her were candid. Reading in a chair. Playing with dolls. Sitting on top of a slide. She aged in them, and he grew up with her for a small fraction of time. Her as a teenager, playing piano, graduating high school. Going off to college and another graduation. The last photo was her in a Redwood Ridge classroom, kids surrounding her. The smile on her face was blinding.
He handed Parker the box. “I know what I want to do.”
Chapter 20
“Want a margarita, sugar plum?”
Ella glanced at Brent sitting on her couch next to Miles. They’d come over to have “girls’ night” to cheer her up, along with her cousin Gerta. So far, she wasn’t cheered. Grateful for new friends, but not cheered.
“No, but thank you.”
“Daiquiri?”
She laughed. “I’m good, thanks.”
She wasn’t good. Her stomach hurt. Her head hurt. Her heart hurt.
It had been only a week since Jason had walked out of the cemetery. It took time to get over heartbreak and loss. If anyone knew that horrible fact, it was her. But she’d never been in love before. It was wonderful and magical and devastating. She was crawling out of her skin, climbing the walls. She’d cleaned every square inch of her apartment so many times, the place was sterile. She’d done her lesson plans to finish out the year and the next.
The kids had noticed her despondence, too. They’d caught her pausing mid-sentence and not finishing her thoughts. Standing in front of the chalkboard, arm raised, but not writing.
She couldn’t go on like this or someone was going to lock her in an institution. Then again, a padded cell sounded nice. No reminders.
“Start drinking, chica.” Gerta sipped some kind of concoction Brent had mixed for her. “This is really good.”
“Why, thank you.” Brent took a bow. “What shall we do now? Rom-com?”
“Yesss.” Gerta sat up straighter. “That British one with Colin Firth and Renee Zellweger.” She snapped her fingers as if trying to recall the title. “Bridget Jones’ Diary.”
“Oh, I love that one.” Brent clapped his hands excitedly. “I like you, just as you are. Best movie line evah.”
“Totally.”
While they were going back and forth on good romantic lines, Miles glanced at Ella and mouthed, You okay?
She nodded. For someone who hated being untruthful, she was getting good at lying.
Hands in her lap, she thought about what Jason was doing right now. Was he at Shooters with Parker? Zip-lining? At the station cooking lunch for the crew?
Was he half as miserable as her?
Part of her hoped so, the selfish part that wanted him to pine for her with unabashed longing and miss her as much or more as she did him. She’d replayed their relationship start to finish, and though there had been many opportunities to tell him the truth before that moment in the cemetery, she figured his mom had been right. Any sooner, and there wouldn’t have been a relationship. Parker had been correct, as well. She’d had to wait for the perfect opportunity.
All the advice and worrying had been for nothing. He was still gone and she was still here, wishing for something that could never be.
A knock came from the door, and she frowned. “We’re expecting someone else?” Perhaps one of the guys’ friends?
Everyone shook their heads.
Ella rose and walked to the door, opening it. “Parker?”
“Hey, Ella.” He shoved his hands in the pockets of his jeans. He wasn’t in uniform, but it was rare he wore one on duty. “How are you doing?”
“Fine.” Panic tripped her heartbeat. “Is Jason okay?” If anything had happened to him on a call, she doubted she’d be a person to notify.
“He’s…well, he’s Jason.” Parker shrugged. “Nothing’s wrong.”
She pressed a hand to her chest. “Oh, good.”
The posse came up behind her.
Greta raised her brows and cocked a hip. “Damn, you’re one fine specimen. Who are you?”
“This is Parker. He’s the sheriff and Jason’s best friend.” Ella gave her cousin the stink eye, which went ignored.
“Are all emergency personnel in this town hot as hell?”
Parker grinned. “It’s a prerequisite, ma’am. But thank you for the compliment.”
“You’re married, Gerta. Happily,” Ella added.
“Doesn’t mean I can’t look.”
“We’re still hoping Parker will jump to our side,” Brent said, fanning his face. “Alas, he’s straighter than an iron arrow. Pity.”
Parker ran his tongue across his teeth, grin still present in good fun. “Haven’t met the right woman yet.”
“See?” Brent held out his hand, palm up. “Crying shame, I tell you.”
“Oh, please.” Gerta flipped her long, dark brown curly hair over her shoulder. “All the attractive attentive men are gay. Exhibit A and B, you two.” She pointed to Brent and Miles.
“Aww. I like your cousin, Ella. She needs to visit more often.”
They fist-bumped.
Parker shook his head. “Ella, could you come for a ride with me?”
A gasp, and Gerta pulled her phone from her pocket. “Is she being arrested? I totally need to film it. We’ll use it for this year’s family Christmas card.”
“No arrest.” He pointedly looked at Ella. “She didn’t do anything wrong. Would you mind taking a ride?”
Confused, she shook her head. “I don’t mind. Where are we going?” And why? Until she’d started dating Jason or unless it involved a school thing with his niece, Ella hadn’t had much contact with him.
“Privileged information.”
Er, okay. What did that mean?
Brent clapped his hands like an excited child. “Can we go for a ride in the police car, too? Can we?”
“Uh…” Parker ran his hands through his short black hair. “I guess, sure.”
“Awesome-sauce.” Brent jumped up and down. “I always wanted to sit in the back of a cruise
r.”
“I’ll get my things.” Ella walked to the kitchen and retrieved her purse, checking to make sure her keys and phone were inside. “Can Gerta go?”
“Of course.” Parker smiled and gestured for them to precede him.
She locked the door and followed the trio, Parker next to her. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing to worry about. I promise.”
Brent glanced over his shoulder at Parker. “Can we use the flashing lights?”
“No.”
“The siren?”
“No.”
“Handcuffs?”
“No, but you do have the right to remain silent.”
“Ooh.” Brent’s eyes lit with mischief. “If I refuse, can and will it be used against me?”
Parker glared at the ceiling. “I give up.”
They made their way outside to Parker’s PD-issued blue Charger. On his insistence, Ella climbed in the passenger seat, her cousin and the guys in back.
Parker started the car and picked up the mic to his radio. “We’re in route.” He glanced in his rearview. “With company.”
No one responded, and as he pulled away and headed north, Ella’s confusion amped to critical. What the heck was going on? He’d said Jason was fine and nothing was wrong, so why on Earth was he wanting her to go for a ride? And who had he radioed that they were on the way?
As if picking up on her concern, Parker glanced over. “He’s okay. Honest. Nothing’s wrong. You’ll understand when we get there.”
She nodded, but her anxiety wasn’t alleviated. Nervousness roiled in her belly and she bit her thumbnail, staring out the window.
He drove through the center of town, and patrons stopped in their tasks to watch them go by. Awnings paused in the process of being raised outside storefronts. Flowers got over-watered in pots. Leashes yanked dogs short. Coffee cups froze halfway to lips.
The sky was slightly overcast, but the sun was fighting to break through the cover. The chronic fog Redwood was known for hovered in the distance, carrying with it the scent of brine through the air vents. Though midday, a chill clung from overnight.
She wrapped her sweater tighter around her as the passengers in back sang an animated, off-key version of Jailhouse Rock.