by Bellus, HJ
“Well, then what I need to tell you is this. Be careful with Frankie. I see how much you care and that’s fine, but don’t become a crutch or feed bad habits. There will be plenty of time where you will have to stand back and let her make choices. Just like this.”
“No disrespect, Opal, but I’m not a fucking idiot. This isn’t my first rodeo. I’m just here for her while she gets on her feet and you can get her into treatment. That’s it.” I clutch my coffee mug and head inside to grab my shit to head to the office.
I don’t take the time to digest Opal’s message. Don’t need to because shit won’t go that far. I’m the sheriff. I may not be walking the fine line of the law, but I’m protecting this girl the way I know how.
I need a hot shower like no other, but also need to get the hell out of here. I’ll shower at the station and use the extra clothes I’ve kept there. I need to clear my fucking head.
I take long steps over to the shed and truck.
“Good hell, Frankie, this saddle looks like Colonel Custard used it.”
A light ring of laughter damn near knocks me on my ass.
“We could take this bastard to a pawn shop and make thousands it’s so ancient,” he continues.
More laughter.
“Are you always this optimistic with such a good attitude?” Frankie manages to get out with a straight face.
“No.” Truckee bends over carefully, lifting up the back leg of the horse. He glances up at Frankie, shoots her a wink, and gives her a shit-eating grin. “I’m typically one fun-loving, honest-working, good-looking son of a bitch with sprinkles on top. I’m just a little bit off my game today.”
She shakes her head. “That doesn’t even make sense.”
His deep laugh causes me to step back. “Now make your damn self useful. Less talking and more helping.”
“With what?” She shrugs.
“Hand me shit when I tell you to.”
“Shit?”
“You know, tools and shit.”
I shake my head at the nonsense that is always flowing from my brother’s mouth and find myself smiling at the fact Frankie was peeking her head out of her protective shell. That little slice of interaction back there is just what I needed to confirm we are doing the right thing.
Chapter Seventeen
Frankie
“Thank you,” I whisper as I tuck my head.
“What was that?” Truckee drops tools in the back of his truck in some special box he has. The loud echo causes me to startle, but I hold my reaction back and lurch forward.
“Thank you,” I say a bit louder this time, but nowhere near a loud enough voice.
“Still can’t hear shit from you. Raise your head high and talk, little girl.”
That term pisses me off. It sends chills of anger up my spine, landing right in the base of my skull, causing one hell of a headache. And Truckee damn well knows that. He’s been pushing my buttons for the last several hours.
I square my shoulders, stare him right in the eyes, and answer, this time with determination and sincerity behind each sound, because I am damn thankful for this. It’s one of several wake-up calls I need and I was able to stomach it.
“Thank you, Truckee. Thank you for putting horseshoes on my horse.”
He shakes his head, closing the special box in the back of his truck where he stores all of his tools then tips his hat toward me.
“No problem, city slicker.”
“City slicker?” I ask, tilting my head.
“Yeah, I shawed your horse. That’s the term. Get with it, cupcake.”
“Cupcake?”
I swear there’s something about this guy that has me responding before I even think about it. I’m not sure if it’s his cocky, over the top personality or what.
“Nevermind.” I wave my hand. “Just thank you.”
“Anytime, darlin’.”
That makes me smile. It’s way better than “little girl.” I tuck my hands in my pockets and make my way up to the back door, never once glancing over to the charred house next door. The pungent smell of ashes is still strong in the air. I don’t let it phase me and the good time I just had. Instead, I smile wider, knowing beyond a doubt Grandma is smiling wherever she is. She always begged, encouraged, and harassed me about working and spending time with my horse when I refused to go outside. She knew the love I held for Pokey and could never understand my resistance to spending time outside.
“Frankie!” Truckee hollers.
I stop and turn back to him, still refusing to even glimpse next door, and shade my eyes from the sun high in the sky glaring down on us.
“Time is ticking and you know we are here for you, right?”
I know exactly what he’s talking about, and do know I need to tell them what happened. I’m just not ready. A sliver of light is shining into my life and I just want to keep it there a little longer before the darkness seeps back in. This light is such a foreign yet familiar feeling, and it has me intoxicated.
That’s until I walk into the back door of my house and that scent hits me. It’s hers, and my heart reminds me how much I hurt and miss her. Grandma’s knickknacks on the shelves, her art on the wall, and her knitted blanket hanging on the back of the couch damn near crush me. I go from almost being on top of the world to plummeting right back down to rock bottom. It makes me dizzy, with a tingle that races up the back of my neck. My palms slap down on the tabletop while I do my best to control my breathing. The dizziness comes and goes until my vision blurs.
I won’t let this get me down. I won’t. I focus on taking in air for several seconds until I remember the breathing technique Opal did yesterday. She acted as though she was doing it for herself, but I now know she wasn’t. She handed me a tool to use in times like this.
I blow out for five seconds, hold it for another five seconds, then inhale for another five, repeating the process over and over until I’m grounded in the moment and my head is clear. The weight on my chest is still enough to threaten to take me down. I continue focusing on the now and not the past. The cards were dealt and I played them the best I could. And I’m still standing—not in the best shape, but I’m here.
Dark, nasty thoughts of ending it all seep in. Those whispers just taunting me to end it all are so coaxing and inviting. I battle them away, but no matter how hard I try, they turn into screams and yells until they are all I can hear.
I breathe in and out, focusing on that and only that, battling away the temptation. It would be so easy. It would end it all. I squeeze my eyes, closing out the thoughts the best I can and focus on my breathing. Dark, rich, whiskey-colored eyes fill my vision. There’s hope, kindness, and humanity in his stare. One soul fighting to save my desperate, nearly dead, beating one. I focus on that and that alone. Cray has never stopped fighting for me. Even the first day he met me he offered his help without a blink. It didn’t matter to him.
Once I gain control over my body, and somewhat on my thoughts, my heartbeat picks up as I muster up the courage to walk down the hall to my bedroom. I snag a clean set of clothes without thinking much and head for the bathroom. I let each piece of clothing fall from my body with sorrow because they smell of the outdoors and Pokey. I know that won’t be my last time going out, though. I don’t know how I know, but I do.
I turn on the hot water, waiting for it to steam up the small bathroom before stepping into the shower. I let the burn of the hot water pierce my skin. My nails are thirsty to dig into my flesh to feel pain. It’s the only way I know how to live and feel. Just like before I do my best to avoid the temptation, only indulging in the sting of the straight hot water. My skin is beet red by the time I step out. One tiny battle was won today. It may be tiny, but it’s a start.
I tug on a pair of yoga pants and an oversized sweatshirt, and finger comb my short hair before plopping on the center of my bed. I reach for my journal and find an open page. I put pen to paper, but nothing comes out. I know I have to write down what happened, or at lea
st have the courage to tell Dalton. Something inside me tugs and pulls at me to keep this one final secret all to myself. It’s as if what happened next door is my trophy for surviving what I did. I lived and he didn’t. That’s mine. The common sense in me also knows that it won’t be long before they find his body. I can only imagine how up in arms the entire town is about their beloved pastor missing.
After an hour or so, I have decided on three simple words that I’m okay with sharing. It starts and ends the most important part of the tale. My story. I killed him.
By the time I get it all out, I head into the kitchen to grab a bottle of water from the fridge. Opal and Truckee are talking in hushed whispers. Unlike others, they don’t try to hide it when I walk into the room. It may seem like nothing to others, but it’s empowering to me. They’re not trying to hide the ugliness of my current situation. No, they’re living it right here with me and not trying to make it seem better than it is. It’s the first time I’ve lived my reality.
“We need to head to the store and you’re going.” Truckee scrubs his face.
“Jesus.” Opal slaps his chest, taking a few steps closer to me. “What he meant to say was, would you like to go to the store with us?”
“No, it’s not,” he argues.
“I think by now, Frankie, you understand this man has no manners or filters. Just ignore him.” She rolls her eyes.
I can’t help the giggle that escapes. The truth is Truckee is hilarious and apologizes for nothing. It’s a bit exhilarating to be around the man, even though his presence alone is scary as hell. Cray and his brother look so similar, but Truckee is a beast, over six feet tall with shoulders wide as hell. I’m learning his bark is far worse than his bite.
The little giggle was the only sound that left my mouth. Hell, I forgot Opal asked me a question until she asks again.
“So, what do you think?”
“I-uh…I…” I can’t seem to get a complete thought out because the truth is I don’t know if I want to go to the store. The annoying as hell panic creeps in again, threatening to send me into a tailspin. It never happens because of the tsunami named Truckee.
“You’re going. Load your ass up in the truck,” he orders, ushering me to the back door and leaving no question about what is going to happen.
“I swear.” I catch Opal tossing her purse over her shoulder, shaking her head. “There is no hope for you, Truckee.”
“That’s not what you were saying last night,” he says with laughter lacing each word.
Opal doesn’t need to answer with words. I can tell from the red, heated blush creeping up her cheeks that the two are more than friends. Opal swats at Truckee, missing, which only makes him laugh harder.
There’s something about these two that make me feel normal, and I just figured out why as Truckee continues to harass Opal on the way to the truck, finishing off with a stinging slap to her ass. I swear she and Truckee would be double trouble if they ever meet June. These two are my kind of people. My heart aches just for a minute, missing my best friend. She continues to text me, but it doesn’t sound like she’ll be coming by anytime soon.
If June ever finds out what I went through, it will kill her. But I’m slowly realizing that I have to accept what happened, and that one day, it may even include sharing it with people I fought to protect. The thought has the potential to make me sick. I glance next door to see officers roaming around. Not as many as yesterday, but still someone is over there looking for answers.
“Get your ass in, princess.” Truckee slaps the dash of his truck, his deep voice echoing.
I hop into the oversized black truck, using the metal foot guards to give me a boost. I slide in next to Opal, who’s in the middle, and fasten my buckle. Truckee doesn’t give me time to dwell on my previous thoughts as he fires up the roaring engine. It might possibly be the loudest one I’ve ever heard. Booming country music follows as he backs out of the driveway.
I glance next door. But this time it’s not from worry or wonder. I’m searching for one man and don’t see him there. Opal turns down the music at a stop sign.
“Woman, know your place. You never touch a man’s radio,” Truckee barks, with a shit-eating grin on his face.
She rolls her eyes. “You don’t need it that loud.”
“Hey, where is Cray?” I ask, before realizing words even left my mouth.
Opal peers over to me with concern on her features. “He had to go into work today. Whatcha need?”
I shake my head and peer down at my lap, picking at my nails. “Nothing.”
Awkward silence floats in the cab. It doesn’t last long before Truckee cranks up the radio once again. Opal reaches over, taking my hand to keep me from picking at my nails. I let her, sit back, and allow myself to enjoy the familiar scenes of my town.
There’s not much choice on where to buy groceries in Birch Creek. It’s either the one and only grocery store, SouthSide Market, or a couple of gas stations for junk food. I have several fond memories of SouthSide Market while growing up. I loved going grocery shopping with my grandma. She’d end up stopping and talking to everyone while I was able to sneak cheap toys and snacks in the grocery cart. She always knew what I was doing but never said a word. Carla, in the bakery, would always sneak me a doughnut. She insisted it was not quite fluffy enough or the icing was off.
As Truckee parks, I take in the storefront, noticing it hasn’t changed a bit. The paint on the building has faded a bit and the sidewalks are now cracked, but that’s about it. I don’t think about the actions of opening the door and hopping out. I just do it on unsteady legs. Opal flanks me on one side and Truckee on the other as we step up to the automatic doors.
I know why they wanted me to come with them today. I’m no fool. The nosey little community I live in is digging for any scrap of information that can feed the rumor mill. Them seeing me out and about will give them something. It won’t be the juicy stuff they want, though.
Opal grabs a cart, settling her large brown leather purse in the seat. She barely gets two steps into the store before the cart is ripped from her.
“I’m man. I push cart.” Truckee winks at us.
“You can probably count on one hand how many times you’ve been in a grocery store, Truckee. You have people for that, remember.”
He snorts. “Yeah, you’re right. The last time I was at the store was to pick up tampons for some pain in the ass I know.”
The two of them banter back and forth as Opal tosses fresh fruit and veggies and other groceries in the cart as she checks them off her list. I don’t miss the looks we receive nor the hushed whispers. I ignore it all, giving them no power over me.
“We don’t need anything down this aisle, Truckee.”
He ignores Opal’s comment, striding right down the cookie and cracker aisle.
“I don’t need your negativity in my life right now,” he says, as he stops in front of the section of Oreos.
“Not this.” Opal covers her face with her hand while shaking her head.
I peer into the cart, studying all the food already placed in it. It appears as if we are going to have steak, potatoes, salad, and veggies for dinner. My stomach growls thinking about it. I’ve only had a few meals prepared by Opal and they all have been simply amazing.
A package of Oreos flies into the cart. I glance up to see Truckee tossing in every single variety of them. He stops on the birthday cake ones, scratches his head, and mumbles, “Why the hell not?”
“They are his kryptonite.” Opal turns to me. “He went off them for a few months when I pointed out how tight his Wranglers were.”
“He’s crazy,” I reply.
“You don’t know the half of it,” she responds.
Once Truckee has every flavor in the cart and puts in a few extra double-stuffed Oreos, he’s ready to go. We don’t get two steps down the aisle before I hear my name.
“Frankie? Is that you?”
I turn around to see where the voice is co
ming from. The moment I do, I regret it. Fear skates up and down my body, my hands tremble, and I’m taken right back to church. The place where so much hurt and devastation took place. It can’t be him.
Chapter Eighteen
Dalton Cray
I let out a loud breath as I enter my office. The debriefing on the house fire and missing person went as well as expected. Simply put, there is no evidence yet every single deputy, the commissioners, and the mayor are ready to try and hang everyone in town until answers are discovered. How in the hell did this evil man have such a pull on the entire town?
I couldn’t give a shit less. My only hope is the sick asshole is dead as hell. The only worry on my plate is where his body is and how I can cover it up to save Frankie. I scrub my face, wondering how in the hell I found myself in this place and thinking how deep it’s going to get. The one thing I do know is it’s going to get damn messy before it’s over. I’ll protect Frankie and take down anyone who was involved with it. I’m not an idiot; I know the pastor would be the type to gloat to his small circle of buddies. I just have to find out who all is in the good old boys club. I won’t be above siccing Truckee on them to take care of business. And you can bet your sweet ass he will.
I glance over the file on the wreck. It’s pretty damn cut and clear. I guess the one good thing is my team handled it perfectly. Next, I grab the file that contains the reports on the house fire, or at least the information we have so far. All of the evidence collected points to arson. Mysteriously, the blood out by the shed was cleaned up before any samples could be taken for DNA evidence. The day my deputy had me out there I noticed there were no gas cans in the shed. Not that there had to be gas cans there, but the empty spots on the bottom shelf were pointed out by Truckee when we snuck over there early this morning. Magically enough there are gas cans in the shed and the pictures taken before have been replaced with new ones.
Everything about this office becomes suffocating with the hushed murmurs and damn smells. Not to mention, a visit by Kimber while I was in the debriefing. This time she left two loaves of banana bread. Warm with chocolate chips, one of my favorite things to eat, but by damn if I will taste her cooking. It’s principle.
