All at once, Lauren realized what she’d been fearing and doubting. That she was more than ready to move to the next stage of her life with him, but that for Trent, he might still be struggling with the concept of letting go of Savannah and taking hold of Lauren.
“Well, what’s going on?” her mom asked, kindness in her voice where there had been disapproval of a relationship with Trent before.
Lauren told her, ready to be reprimanded. She could handle the truth, and she could change. Heaven knew she’d done plenty of that over the last six years.
“You two should probably have a conversation about parenting,” her mom suggested. “If he’s not interested in you disciplining Porter, you should know. He is the boy’s father, and well, those are his decisions to make. You need to honor them.”
“I know,” Lauren said, but really, she only knew intellectually. She didn’t have children of her own, or a past spouse, or any of the things Trent was dealing with. She took a deep breath, feeling more settled now. “Thanks, Mom.”
“We’ll see you soon, okay?”
Lauren nodded and sniffed. “Okay. Love you, Mom.”
“I love you, Lauren.”
The call ended, and Lauren let her arm drop to the couch. She sat cross-legged in front of the TV she hadn’t switched on. She had taken a nap that afternoon and didn’t feel physically tired. Just mentally and emotionally exhausted.
So when Trent’s text of, Betsy was already there came in, she read it and swiped it away. Her phone buzzed again, probably him with another message. But she didn’t read it. She curled into herself on the couch and closed her eyes, imagining the way Trent would come home from the graveyard shift and kiss her awake once they were married and living in the same house together.
She must’ve dozed off right there on the couch, because the next thing she knew, she woke up to the sound of Porter screaming.
Chapter Nineteen
Trent stared at his phone, willing Lauren to answer him. The dead time had arrived and it was only nine-thirty. The night stretched ahead of him, and he was in no mood for it. He thought about walking across the street to the firehouse, where surely there’d be good food and probably a dance party happening.
Why they didn’t have barbecues and big-screen televisions in the police department, he didn’t know.
What he did know was that he and Lauren needed to talk. He hadn’t liked her keeping Porter up, and when she’d suggested his own son didn’t need to take a nap, Trent’s anger had returned in full force.
He’d been thinking about it since he’d woken that afternoon to go get his son from school. No, he hadn’t gotten in trouble with Miss Terry. But Trent knew Porter, and the boy was tired. Did it really matter if a six-year-old didn’t want to lie down for an hour?
No. No, it did not. Trent was the adult, and once Porter had gotten up, he’d been back to his playful self.
He looked at his phone again, his question burning into his retinas. Should I bring breakfast back to the house and we can talk before Porter wakes up?
Maybe she didn’t want to talk. Maybe she’d go get Betsy and wouldn’t even be there when Trent returned.
“Trent, where are those files on the Bighorn case?”
Trent startled away from his thoughts and his device. He looked up at Adam, who should’ve gone home hours ago. “Uh, right here.” He moved a few folders on his messy desk and handed a stack to the Chief.
“Thanks.” He turned away and then twisted back. “Thanks for coming in early.”
“Yeah, of course.”
“I’m going to take these home with me.”
“Good idea.” Trent flashed him a smile that didn’t stay on his face for more than a second. He flipped his phone over and over, but it didn’t chime or buzz. So she was going to ignore him. Surely she wasn’t asleep yet, but Trent wasn’t really sure. He hadn’t answered her right away, and maybe she’d gone straight to bed after texting him.
Determined not to spend his ten-hour shift obsessed with hearing from Lauren, he set his phone face-down on his desk and started working on the report from the incident he’d been called to that evening.
He could barely read his own handwriting, but he managed to make it through his notes, transferring them into the file. Then he went through the witness statements and was about to start on the other statements from the man and woman involved in the domestic dispute when a flashing blue light caught his eye.
Hesitating, he watched it blip on and off a few more times before he picked up his phone. Not only had Lauren texted, but she’d called. Twice.
He opened her text first and his heart was the next thing that started blipping when he saw the words. Porter’s hurt. Going to the hospital. Please call me.
His chair skidded across the floor when he stood so suddenly. “Adam,” he said, his voice barely loud enough to leave his throat. But the Chief had gone home; his office sat in darkness.
Trent’s partner for the night was Gil Henderson, and he was probably with the man they’d brought in for more questioning. Jason Zimmerman was his normal partner while Trent was on graveyards, and he’d been called in too.
The two of them could handle anything else that happened tonight, Trent was sure of it. In his haste to get over to the witness rooms, he left his jacket behind. He found both men in the room, and he hesitated again.
But this was his son.
He knocked on the door and said, “Guys, sorry to interrupt. I need to talk to you both for a quick second.”
Jason and Gil looked at him with surprise, but Trent didn’t care. He couldn’t wait much longer, and the panic built up inside him until he felt sure he’d explode. They must’ve seen it, because they both came out quickly.
“What’s going on? Your face is white,” Jason said.
“Porter’s at the hospital,” he said, forcing the words past the lump in his throat. “I have to go.”
“Of course,” Gil said. “Go.”
Trent didn’t wait for anyone else to say anything. He just turned and strode away, hearing Jason as he said, “I’ll call the Chief and let him know.”
“And the dogs are outside,” Trent said, turning back.
“We got ‘em,” Gil said. “Go.”
Trent had to backtrack to his desk for his wallet and keys, and then he got behind the wheel of the cruiser and put the lights on. He had to get to the hospital as fast as possible.
Everything in his body was tight, tight, and the sob that wanted to come out of his mouth felt stuck halfway between his gut and his throat. This couldn’t be happening. Could it? He’d already lost Savannah. He couldn’t lose Porter too.
And what in the world had happened? He’d gotten a text from Betsy just after eight that said Porter was asleep already. All Lauren had to do was not wake him up and go to bed herself.
Trent parked in the pick up lanes and left the lights on as he dashed inside. There were some perks to living in a small town—the hospital wasn’t that big either. A big arrow pointed to the emergency room, where all inquiries were to be handled this late at night.
He sprinted that way, the desperation and panic at an all-time high. Calm down, he told himself. Calm. Calm. He was extraordinarily gifted at keeping a calm head with the dogs, with difficult people, and with chaotic situations.
But when it was his own life, he wasn’t rational at all.
He’d felt this frenzied in Seattle too, and he’d been hoping and praying he’d never have to go through it again. It didn’t seem fair that he was here tonight when he’d already identified one body in his lifetime.
“Porter Baker,” he said, panting, when he arrived at the emergency room check-in desk. “He was brought in? Is he here?”
“Just a moment, Trent,” Alice said, clicking away on her computer. “He was brought in by Lauren Michaels. Thirty-five minutes ago.”
“What’s wrong? Where is he?” Thirty-five minutes ago rebounded from one ear to the other. Had he been working on his
reports that long? Why had he set his phone face-down? He never did that.
“Curtain seven.” She stood as if Trent had never been to the ER before. Maybe not this one, and maybe not for a while, but he could open a door and find the numbers by the curtains.
He didn’t really have to search that hard. His son’s crying floated down the hall toward him like a siren’s call, and he ran that way.
Crying’s good, his brain told him, but he was in such a panic that he barely heard it.
He pulled the curtain open and tried to take in the whole scene at once. Porter sat on the bed, Lauren holding him tight against her chest. The doctor and the nurse both stood in front of them, and there was too much blood on the doctor’s hands to calm Trent.
Lauren glanced over her shoulder at him, her eyes wide. “Your daddy’s here,” she said, her voice calm and quiet.
That got everyone to look at him, and Trent took a deep breath to try to find his center. But it was way out of whack, especially when he saw the bandage on his son’s forehead, and he just wanted to know what had happened.
“Hold still, Porter,” the doctor said. “Officer, we’re almost done here.” He focused on the work in front of him. “Then Jules will get your boy cleaned up and you’ll be able to talk to him.”
“What happened?” he asked, his voice sounding like he’d swallowed frogs and only knew how to croak.
“Porter got up to go to the bathroom,” Lauren said, her voice almost a monotone. “He dropped the glass on the floor, and it broke. He stepped on the glass. That’s why Doctor Burl is putting stitches in his foot. And he fell when that happened, so he got a little banged up because of that.” She held him very tight. “But he is the bravest boy in the world, and we’re almost done.” She hummed, which somehow calmed Trent too. “Almost done, baby. Almost done. You’re doing great.”
Porter continued to cry, but it wasn’t as horrible as Trent had first heard it. Or maybe he’d been imagining it to be worse. He wasn’t sure.
Relief flowed through him with the strength of river rapids, and he just wanted to be the one holding Porter close and telling him he was doing great.
“Jules,” Dr. Burl said, finally leaning back. He had a pair of tweezers in his fingers, and he turned back to his tray of tools before Trent could get too good of a look at them. The nurse worked for a few seconds with the doctor removed his gloves and put them in the hazardous waste bin.
“You’ll have to stay off that foot for a while, bud.” He grinned down at Porter. “Think you can do that?”
Porter nodded, and Dr. Burl looked at Trent and then Lauren. “It’s probably best if he doesn’t wear shoes for a few days. After that, he might need a crutch for a week or so. The stitches heal fast.”
“Will he have to get them out later?” Lauren asked, and Trent simply stared at her. He had no questions in his brain. He simply felt numb.
“They dissolve,” Dr. Burl said. “So nope.” He tousled Porter’s hair. “And you’ll have a headache, but I’ll write a prescription for that. Where do you want me to send it?” He looked at Lauren, who looked at Trent.
“Uh…Bushman’s,” he said, finally getting his mind to catch up to the conversation.
“They aren’t open until morning, but we have a couple things we can send home with him.” Dr. Burl turned to Jules and said something, and she nodded.
“All right,” she said with a bright smile. “You’re all done.” She looked at Lauren as she pulled off her gloves. “You guys can stay as long as you like. But he can go home whenever you’re ready.”
“Thank you,” Lauren said, and the medical staff turned to leave.
“Thank you,” Trent blurted after them, almost afraid to be left alone with Lauren and Porter. But once he was, he moved in front of his son and crouched down. “Hey, bud. Hey.”
Porter started crying anew, and Trent took him from Lauren, who ducked her head and slid off the bed. Trent took her spot and held his son right against his heart. Thankfully, Lauren followed the doctor and the nurse before Trent started crying too.
“It’s okay,” he said to Porter. “Everything’s fine.” He let the silence in the hospital flow over him, using it to find some sense of reason and get his emotions under control.
When they’d both finally quieted, he stood up and said, “Let’s go home.”
He found Lauren in the waiting room, and she jumped to her feet when they came out. “I’ll take him,” Trent said.
“I can follow you,” she said. “Do you need to go back to work?”
He hadn’t checked his phone since leaving the station, but he couldn’t imagine something had happened that Jason and Gil needed him for. Shaking his head, he headed for the main entrance. Lauren separated from him at some point, but he caught sight of her headlights behind him after only a couple of blocks.
“Does it hurt?” he asked.
“Yeah,” Porter said.
“I didn’t get that stuff from the doctor,” Trent said.
“I bet Lauren did.”
Trent frowned at the night in front of him, but his son was probably right. Lauren had likely gotten the painkillers, and he’d be able to get more at the pharmacy in the morning.
He pulled into his driveway and hurried around to the passenger side to get his son out. He took him up the steps and through the front door, which was still slightly ajar. Once he got him settled in bed, he went back out to the kitchen, where Lauren stood with a cup of water and a couple of pills. “Can he swallow those?”
“Yes,” Trent said, not quite ready to look her in the face. He returned to his son’s room and watched him swallow the medicine. He sat in the chair beside the bed and picked up the book he’d seen that morning.
“Does Lauren read to you?” he asked.
“Just last night,” Porter said. “She wasn’t here tonight.” He closed his eyes, his face tear-streaked. And with that bandage on his son’s head, Trent had never felt more like a failure in his whole life.
He was supposed to protect Porter. Be there when he needed him. And he hated that he hadn’t been able to do anything for his son tonight.
He watched him until he fell asleep, and then he put the book back on the bedside table and left the room as quietly as possible.
He half-hoped Lauren would be gone, but she sat at the bar in the kitchen, looking at her phone. “How is he?” she asked when Trent entered.
“He’s fine,” he said, suddenly feeling like he was carrying the weight of the world.
“Are you going to stay?”
“I’ll call in,” he said. “So yeah.”
“Okay.” She got down off the barstool. “Then I’ll go. See you later.” She moved over to the recliner and picked up her jacket. He hadn’t noticed her wearing it at the hospital.
She was halfway to the door when he said, “I’m going to call Randi,” he said. “She’ll come stay with him tomorrow night.” Or he’d take the night off.
A long silence followed, and then Lauren’s footsteps sounded as she returned to the kitchen. “I don’t mind staying with him. I would’ve come earlier tonight if you’d called.”
He nodded, a war waging inside him. He finally looked up and into her dark brown eyes. They were filled with confusion and hurt and exhaustion, much the way he felt. “I don’t—”
“This was an accident, Trent. You get that, right?”
He shook his head, unable to make his thoughts line up. “Porter never had any accidents with Randi.”
She made an angry scoffing sound and said, “You know, the proper thing to say here would be thank you. Thank you, Lauren, for getting my son to the hospital quickly. Thank you for driving him while he bled all over your car. Thank you for cleaning up the bathroom while I sat with him and watched him fall asleep.”
The anger in her voice wasn’t hard to hear. Trent didn’t dare look at her, and he didn’t speak either.
She moved in front of him, forcing him to meet her eye again. “You don’t
think I can be a good mother.”
Trent shook his head. “That’s not it.”
“Then what?”
“You said you didn’t like kids.”
“And you said maybe I hadn’t met the right ones.” She stabbed her finger toward the hall. “I love that little boy, and no, I’m not his mother. And I don’t know him as well as you do. But I did a good job taking care of him tonight.”
“It’s not your job to do.” Trent wasn’t sure why he was pushing Lauren away, only that everything in his life had been simpler before she’d entered it. And he craved that simplicity. Then, at least, he’d know what to expect.
“So…what are you saying?”
“Nothing,” he said, looking away again.
“Will it ever be my job to take care of him?” Lauren asked, and Trent didn’t know how to answer that question. When he said that, she emitted another angry sound and walked away.
Right down the hall and out the front door, the slam of it behind her sounding very final. In fact, it sent a crack right through his heart and made the tears that had come earlier reappear.
Chapter Twenty
“So we’ll put you and Trent and Porter over here.” Aunt Mabel moved around the table and indicated three seats.
Lauren looked up from the clipboard where she’d been making notes. “Oh, uh, Trent and Porter aren’t coming.”
Aunt Mabel whipped her head to Lauren. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, I don’t think he’ll come.” She squirmed under the weight of her great aunt’s glare. So she hadn’t told anyone about what had happened at Trent’s four nights ago. It wasn’t a federal crime.
“Did he say he wouldn’t be coming?”
They weren’t exactly talking. “Um, no, he didn’t, but I haven’t spoken to him in days, and I don’t think he’ll just show up to this.”
Aunt Mabel’s eyes softened and she came closer. “What happened?”
“He called the nanny and had her come watch Porter.” Lauren’s heart twisted, and those stupid tears that had been plaguing her at odd times chose now to inflict themselves upon her. “He doesn’t think I’d be a good mother.”
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