Not My Heart to Break

by W Winters

  “Should I?” Officer Walsh asks me.

  I debate on telling him the thoughts that are racing through my mind. “Did he do something?” Officer Walsh asks, widening his stance to face me and moving his head lower so he cuts off my view of the elevator doors.

  In this moment, Walsh looks trustworthy, feels trustworthy. “Tell me now, Laura. I can go get him. Just tell me.”

  Although it’s a command, he speaks so softly, with such empathy, I almost tell him how I don’t have a good feeling about that guy.

  But he’s a cop for fuck’s sake and feelings aren’t evidence of shit.

  I shrug and say, “Just rubbed me the wrong way for some reason.”

  “Don’t take gut instincts for granted,” Walsh advises and then he seems to remember he has to sign in. He does, marking Melody down as well. “Maybe it’s good I got here when I did.”

  A chill flows over my shoulders, as if agreeing with him.

  “Maybe,” I agree. Peeking over my shoulder, I watch Mel separate more cups on a new tray.

  “You’re here for more questions?” I ask him, changing the subject.

  “I thought you would prefer it if I came during visitor hours.”

  I don’t hesitate to tell him, “You thought right.” He gives me a tight smile and nods, nearly walking away but then he stops to tell me, “You’re protective of them. That’s a good thing.”

  I search his eyes, wrinkled at the edges from his genuine smile and then ask, “Why not bring her in if you think she did it?”

  He pauses, looking down at the linoleum floor before slipping his hands into the pockets of his dark blue uniform pants. “She was in a support group before this. She needed to be.”

  “She needs more than a support group,” I urge him. I want to tell him that she’s so much better after the therapy sessions. And after a week of regular medication, she’s more active, carrying on more conversations than normal. “She’s doing well here.”

  “I’m not suggesting that she’s not.” He runs his hand over his chin and tells me, “Sometimes… people need justice. And it’s hard to define what that is. Five men died that night and in my opinion, they should have been dead long before it for the things they’d done and gotten away with. My job is to protect and serve. It’s not so different from yours when you think about it.”

  “So you don’t want to take her in even though you think she did it… because you’re okay that she did it.”

  “I didn’t say that,” he replies and shakes his head. “I just need to be sure that what I’m doing will help her.”

  “Do you think she really did it? You still have the theory that Marcus helped her and the others get revenge.” Saying Marcus’s name to Walsh seems wrong and makes me uneasy but he doesn’t react, he doesn’t even look away from the sign-in sheet. Not until he speaks again.

  “I think she knew and what I found today… I think she knew about the priest being there and I want to know why.”

  His admission startles me. “There was only one name on the list of confessors before the priest left. Witnesses verify he left the church a quarter after seven. It was Melody’s name—she was the last one to see him before he burned to death with the rest of them.”

  “And still… you aren’t going to bring her in?”

  “She has motive for one of the murders. We have circumstantial evidence now for the priest. That’s all I’ve got.”

  I nod, understanding. “If she confesses here though… would it count?”

  A sad smile graces his lips. “Count?” He rocks on his heels and looks up at the ceiling before swallowing tightly. “I don’t want her,” he admits to me in almost a whisper. His pale blue eyes seek mine out, begging me to understand.

  “You want Marcus,” I surmise.

  “That’s all I want. If she can give me something on him...”

  “What about the others? Her friends from the support group. The ones you think came up with all this? Why don’t you ask them?”

  “I have. No one mentioned Marcus or admitted to anything. I know Melody’s case. I’d spoken to her when she came to me a couple of months ago. I think that’s the only reason she’s opened up. She’s the only one who’s given me anything. She’s the one with remorse.”

  I could point out that she’s also drugged and not in her right mind, but I bite down on that thought in favor of something else. “Have you brought them in? The others to question them?”

  “I don’t want to. The thing is, there isn’t an ounce of me that thinks they’ll do something like this again. I also don’t believe they would have done it at all had Marcus not urged them to do it. Given them the solution and laid out the plan.”

  “Do you know that’s what happened for sure?” I ask him. “Sometimes people do things… you don’t expect.”

  “Trust me, I’ve seen my share. It’s my gut feeling. Marcus will never stop. Since I’ve shown up, the death rate has only increased. He’s keeping me busy.”

  I struggle, knowing more about Officer Walsh and Marcus than he realizes. I feel like a crook and a liar.

  “I have questions for Miss Melody.” Walsh plasters a thin, short-lived smile on his face.

  “Officer,” I say and stop him, feeling compelled to say something, “if there’s anything I can do to help, please let me know.”

  A genuine smile replaces the forced one. “I appreciate that.”

  Seth

  Watching a clock is a shit way to eat up time. But then again, so is staring at a phone screen, wishing you were reading a different message.

  I called Derrick about Fletcher a few days ago and asked if there was any talk of him or his crew recently. I killed Fletcher before he could kill me. It’s that simple. Along with him, I took out all of his men who had any authority. I let them scatter. His name shouldn’t be breathed by anyone of relevance.

  Derrick said he’d look into it.

  Today he sent me a response. It was detailed and thorough, with the names and addresses of five men who still hang together and were a part of Fletcher’s crew.

  That’s all I’ve got. That was the last message he sent.

  It was an hour ago that the text came through. And fifty minutes since I responded thanks.

  It’s the first time I’ve talked to him in years. This is all that’s between us now. Business. The small clock on the mantel ticks and I pick up my beer, setting down one of the folders on the coffee table, taking a large swig before sending Derrick another message.

  How are things?

  My eyes burn from reading the handwritten print for hours. It’s all I’ve been doing: putting together the puzzle pieces written in the journals. The problem is Delilah contradicts herself. The locations are something we can work with, but the other things she’s written… I don’t know that I trust them. She’s not a reliable source and it’s frustrating and time consuming. If it leads to Marcus though, it’ll all be worth it.

  I try to remember the last real conversation I had with Derrick. It was about Laura, I know that. He wanted me to come back, he said he wanted me whole. All he ever talked about was Laura. He hung Cami’s death over my head, reminding me that he’d never be all right again, but I could still chase after what I lost. Laura was still out there.

  Damn, that has to be three years ago.

  Are you with her? Derrick asks me in the text and my eyes narrow, my head tilts. There’s no reason he should know that I am. I looked through her messages, searching for someone who could have sent her flowers; they haven’t spoken in years. She told the truth when she said she hadn’t spoken to him a long damn time.

  Why do you ask? I write him back.

  Fuck off with that. I’m still your right-hand man.

  I huff a humorless laugh and it comes with a slight smirk. Leaning back on the sofa, I read the message, settling the beer bottle to rest on my thigh. Those were good times. When he was my right hand and Laura was my girl.

  She’ll be here in an hour when sh
e gets off work, I text and then add, She’s a nurse now. It’s not until I send it that I realize he already knows. She’d already finished school four years ago so when they were talking, I’m sure she told him.

  I know, he confirms. She still loves you too.

  It’s not like that, I text him and feel a deep ache settle in my chest. It’ll never be what it was.

  I down the beer and get up to retrieve another, leaving the phone where it is. It pings the moment I get to the fridge.

  Opening the beer, taking a sip, I make my way back and read the message only to feel that anxiousness I was drinking down, creeping back up.

  There’s something you should know. They found a body at the warehouse. Does Laura know about her dad?

  No. Setting the beer down, I feel the cold prick along my skin. No one needs to look into that. Years have gone by without her father being a blip on my radar. I don’t like him being brought up.

  They don’t need to, but the evidence is there. She may find out either way.

  I mutter fuck and close my eyes. Dread is a bitter taste in my mouth. She can’t know, I text him back.

  You’ve got her now. Just don’t let her go. No matter what comes out.

  Derrick’s texts come hurriedly, one after the other.

  I remind him, I asked how you were, wanting to get off this subject. I can’t handle this right now. Not when I don’t know if there’s even a reason to be concerned. My stomach churns, knowing Laura’s father is on Marcus’s radar though. Maybe the evidence is already out and he found it before putting the pieces together.

  There’s a lot of shit that’s changed since you left, but overall, things are good.

  I text him the obvious question to move things away from business: You got a girl?

  A minute passes before he answers, Not yet. I have to go, but I’ll keep you updated with anything going on at the warehouse.

  Thanks.

  With that, I’m left with just my beer, too many questions I don’t have answers to, and the time ticking down.

  Derrick used to ask me if I was punishing myself or Laura. The memory of the last conversation we had comes back full force. I can hear his voice in my head, asking me that question like he was some kind of fucking therapist.

  Maybe it was a punishment to be so close to her, but not have her. Although, I couldn’t have known she wouldn’t come to me. For weeks, I thought she’d learn I was here, that I was close to her, and she’d come to me. When her name came up on the alert and I knew she was searching my name online, it put an end to that speculation.

  The alarm beeps and a moment later the headlights from Laura’s sedan shine through the front window. We spent last night at her place, tonight we stay here. I know she’s had a long shift, but my place is closer to the center, so it was easy enough to get her to agree.

  I don’t know what we are. I don’t know why my head’s so fucked. But I know she’s mine. She’ll stay here until I tell her otherwise.

  Laura comes into the house the same way I came into her place last night, saying my name as she pushes open the door with a key in her hand.

  “You found it,” I say as I smirk at her. Even after a twelve-hour shift in baggy scrubs, she’s breathtaking.

  “The key in my sandwich bag? Yes, yes I did.”

  “It was unlocked, you know?” I tease her.

  “Maybe I wanted to make sure it was to your front door. Since, you know, it just happened to be in the bag with no note.” She shrugs as she adds, “It could have been anyone’s key.”

  “It’s yours.”

  Closing and then locking the door behind her, she cradles an overnight bag in the crook of her arm along with her purse. It’s not a large bag and I’m sure she only packed for one night. I’ll have to fix that. She needs everything here and a place for what she needs in the cabinets and dressers. I’ll correct that issue tomorrow. Dropping her keys next to mine on the kitchen counter, she leaves her bag there too and rubs her eyes, sagging into the seat next to me.

  I hold up the beer, offering it to her but she shakes her head and then rests her forehead on my shoulder, sleep weighing her down. “You don’t drink after work. Now that is different.”

  She smiles in the crook of my neck and her shoulders shake slightly with a small feminine snicker.

  Glancing up at me, she gives me a smile and then rolls to the side, giving me space. She lets out an exhausted yawn and tells me she’s just tired.

  “Bethany said I should take up a red wine nightcap to help me sleep.”

  “I’ll grab a couple of bottles.”

  “Mmm,” she half responds with her eyes closed. Eyeing her plump lips with a loose tendril of hair in her face has me hard in a split second.

  “You’re not allowed to sleep just yet,” I tell her and those long lashes sweep up so she can look at me.

  “I should probably tell you something first,” she says and the sweetness and playful demeanor fall from her expression until all I see is my tired girl.

  Setting down the beer and leaning forward, I pray it’s not about someone calling from California with news on her father. I’m aware of how I tell her to tell me, relaxed and easy. I’m aware of how I’m breathing calmly, like I’m not worried at all.

  “Walsh came by the center.” Relief hits first, then pride when Laura looks down at her hands, watching her fingers wring around one another as she tells me, “Today and yesterday.”

  She feels guilty for not telling me. I like the look of submission on her.

  “Did he talk to you?” I ask her, expecting to hear that he didn’t. Why would he? He doesn’t know she’s with me. He doesn’t know shit about her. Or about the diaries.

  “He did. About a murder and one of my patients.” She readjusts and then looks at my beer where I left it. “Maybe I should have a drink,” she comments.

  “I’ll get you one; you keep talking,” I tell her and stand up, moving away from her field of vision to listen.

  “The fire that happened down at the farm.” She speaks louder so I can hear as I open cabinets, pretending to look for a stray bottle of wine. Crouched down and staring at rows of clear and amber liquor bottles, I listen. “He thinks she has motive and it has something to do with Marcus helping her get revenge.”

  “The fire at the farm?” I question her, as I stand up and move to the fridge. “No wine, Babygirl,” I add with a smile, easing her as much as I can.

  “A beer?” she asks and even pouts. She can’t know how I want to kill Walsh for talking to her. She can’t know half the shit that’s going on. She wouldn’t want to anyway. If she knew, she wouldn’t stay.

  “The thing is,” she keeps talking as I twist the top off and toss it in the garbage. She only stops talking to thank me when I retake my seat next to her. “He keeps bringing up Marcus. He’s talking to me as if he knows that I know.”

  My hackles rise, the tiny hairs on my arms standing on edge.

  “Whether he knows about the diaries or he thinks I’ve heard things and whispers in the center… I don’t know.”

  “What did you tell him?”

  “I played dumb. I told him if he needs anything from me, to let me know.”

  Her nervousness and insecurity are something I’ve never liked. I’m here and as long as I’m here, she shouldn’t feel like that. I’ll fix it. I’ll find out everything and fix it.

  “A cop came in questioning a murder, that’s… nerve wracking,” I answer her, taking a long drag of my beer after handing Laura hers. She doesn’t move to drink yet; even though I’m staring at the fireplace, I know she’s staring at me. “To add on to it, you have secrets. You know about him and his motives. That’s what’s gotten to you,” I say as I finally look at her and rest my hand on her thigh.

  I have to give her a small smirk when my gentle touch, the back and forth of my thumb, gives her shivers. A deep chuckle vibrates up my chest. “So easy,” I tease her.

  She finally smiles, a cute little smile th
at she tries to catch between her teeth. The soft pink of a blush rises to her cheeks and she asks me, “You really think that’s all this is?”

  “You don’t like secrets and you’re shit at keeping them,” I tell her. “You’re doing good.” Patting her thigh and then giving a gentle squeeze, I tell her, “Don’t worry about Marcus or Walsh. They don’t know anything and it’s all in that pretty little head of yours.”

  “You sure?” Even though she questions me, her body language relaxes. Everything about her believes me. Which is shit, because I’m lying to her. Marcus knows something. Walsh doesn’t though.

  I give her a smile, followed by a peck of a kiss that leaves her with her eyes closed and a simper on her lips. “I’m sure, Babygirl. You’re just stressed, but you handled it well.”

  “It’s just a lot and it feels like—”

  I cut her off to say, “Because it is a lot. You’re carrying a heavy burden on your shoulders every day. When someone makes you question yourself, it feels a lot worse, knowing everything else that could fall.” Cupping her chin in my hand, I kiss her again. I swear every time we kiss she melts a little more. She doesn’t worry, she doesn’t buy into the voices in her head telling her she’s not enough and she’s in too deep. I should kiss her every moment of every day.

  “So… what should I do?” she asks me.

  “You already handled it. Nothing else to do but let it go. I know you don’t like to lie, and you did today, a lie of omission, but you have your reasons. You don’t need to be in the middle of anything and Walsh shouldn’t have put you there.”

  “Right, right. And he doesn’t know that I read Delilah’s diaries,” she says and keeps nodding to herself, even after she’s done thinking out loud.

  “I know what’ll help you,” I say as I get on my knees on the sofa and face her, towering over her.

  She’s huddled beneath me, holding on to her beer with both hands and looking up at me wide eyed although there’s a smile on her face. “What are you doing?” she asks playfully.

  “Hands up,” I demand and she obeys, not letting go of her beer bottle. Her bra’s a simple white number; it makes her look innocent and sweet. Like an angel laid out before me. An angel to play with, to dirty and taint with all the sinful lust I have for her.