NY State Trooper- The Complete Box Set

by Jen Talty

  There was no way to stop this freight train. The last time she’d cried like this was when her parents died, but it was in the arms of the strongest woman she’d ever known: her grandmother. The woman had a heart of gold, but her skin was tough as nails. Nothing could break her, not even the loss of her only son, though she’d never been quite the same. She constantly told Brooke that the dead didn’t want the living to die. That giving up and burying your head in the sand, dishonored their memory. She told her to grieve. To get it all out. Then make her parents proud.

  Brooke continued to cry. Until a week ago, she was sure they were smiling down at her, but now? All four of them had to be rolling over in their graves at the mess she’d made of her life.

  Tristan didn’t say a word. He just held her close, letting her body expunge all the negative energy she’d been carrying around.

  As soon as she thought the tears were about to stop, they’d start all over again. She had no idea how long she carried on and she supposed it didn’t matter. She’d have to remember to thank Tristan for not taking advantage of her for a second time because she wouldn’t have stopped and that would have not only been embarrassing, but it wouldn’t have helped.

  This actually might.

  She relaxed her body into his, letting out a long sigh, forgetting about the world around her. As she drifted in and out of sleep, she thought of her grandfather and his desire to fix her up with the man who gave her a safe place to grieve.

  After installing the security cameras next to the two doors as well as one on the front of the house facing the street and one on the back facing the lush trees that separated the property from the Marina, Tristan peeked his head into the master bedroom. Brooke faced the door, hands tucked up under her cheek, knees bent to her waist, still sound asleep.

  Crying for two hours would exhaust anyone.

  At least the puffiness in her eyes subsided and the crinkle in her forehead disappeared. She looked almost peaceful.

  It broke his heart that a woman with so much confidence had to endure so much pain throughout her life, causing her to bottle it so deep, she had no idea what she was really crying about. The betrayal she’d suffered would have broken most people. But what saddened him even more was that she thought strength came from shying away from the pain versus tackling it head on. He’d made the same mistake when his twin died in his arms and it nearly cost him his future.

  Leaving the door open, he made his way to the kitchen table, sitting down with a soda and her ‘dating’ questionnaire. She’d hounded him earlier to finish it and he did ask for her help. He needed a lot of help because all he could think about was her and that made him an asshole considering all she’d been through.

  He unfolded the paper and stared at the first question.

  What physical qualities do you desire in a woman?

  “That’s easy.” He wrote: Athletic.

  After you’re attracted to a woman, what about her makes you want to go out on a second date.

  He tapped the pen to his temple. He promised himself he’d be honest with his answers.

  Sense of humor, doesn’t take herself too seriously, independent, intelligent, and isn’t phony. Basically, someone like you. Nope. You.

  He leaned in, glancing into the bedroom at sleeping beauty. He needed to erase that answer. Dumb ass.

  She stirred, stretching her legs out, her eyes blinking open. “Tristan?” she whispered.

  “Right here.” He raced from the kitchen to the master and sat on the edge of the bed, careful to keep his hands to himself. He’d always had trouble deciphering attraction and real feelings when it came to women. But with her, his confusion delved deeper. The attraction was undeniable and he was sure he liked her. He figured he liked her before he’d even met her through all the stories her grandfather told. Over the course of the last year, he really hoped he would get the chance to at least have dinner with her.

  “Thank you,” she whispered, rubbing her eyes. “I’m sorry I dumped all that on you. I’ll be better in a few days.”

  He eased into the bed, fluffing the pillow. “What you’re going through will take more than a few days. Have you ever really grieved for your parents? Grandmother?”

  She scrunched her eyes, propping herself up on her elbows. “Of course I have. Why would you ask me that?”

  He took her pillow, folding it over before putting it behind her back. “What happened in the kitchen wasn’t only about what is going on right now with your ex and the passing of your grandfather.”

  She glared at him. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  He laced his fingers together, resting them over his stomach. “Do you always nearly hit someone when you are upset?”

  “I wasn’t going to hit you.” She folded her arms across her chest. “You egged me on, which just made it worse.”

  “Maybe, but you were ready to have sex with me to bury all the pain you’ve been carrying around for years, and I certainly didn’t start that.”

  “A lot of people use sex to get through things.” She scooted to the side and jumped off the bed, stomping her way to the bathroom. “Just like getting drunk for a night. It’s not like I go around doing either all the time.” She slammed the bathroom door.

  He let out a long breath putting one hand behind his head, closing his eyes. His own anguish over his twin sister’s death still tormented him. He understood rituals. He had his fair share of them for birthdays, holidays, and the day she died. Some he shared with his family, since they all lost a sister and a daughter as well. But others were just for him.

  It had taken him two years and a shit load of trips to the police station for acting out before he learned that holding on to that kind of sorrow would only destroy him.

  The door to the bathroom squeaked open as Brooke stepped in front of him. “You made me feel like shit for how I acted.”

  “Wasn’t my intention.” Knowing how easily he could set her off, he thought carefully about his next words. “I’ve been where you are with a hurt so deep you go blind to your actions. You might see it coming, but you can’t stop it. Next thing you know, you’re peeling out of a store in your car. Had I not stopped you, you might not have slowed down at all.”

  “That’s not true. I’m not that reckless.”

  “I didn’t say you were, normally, but if you don’t really deal with everything you’ll end up with an asshole like Wendell or hundreds of other guys that would gladly take you to bed the moment you straddled them.”

  She put her hands on her hips. “Are you saying I threw myself at Wendell?” A tiny flame ignited in her eyes.

  He needed to find a way to help her get past the need to protect herself from her own heartache. “No. But he did try to take advantage of you while you were vulnerable, knowing people use sex to get through bad things, as you said.”

  “This is ridiculous. Don’t you have to go to work or something?”

  “Not for a few hours, so sit down. I’m not finished talking.” He should shut his trap. Not his battle. Not his fight. But he couldn’t drop it. Or wouldn’t.

  “I’m done.”

  He sat up and grabbed her arm as she tried to spin around. “This might have been easier if you’d just hit me because that would have snapped you out of your wrath. That’s not you, but it will become you if you don’t deal with all this shit.”

  “I am dealing with it!”

  He shook his head. “You think that eventually the pain will ease its way out, only you’re shoving it so deep inside that even a two-hour crying session won’t scratch the tip of the iceberg.”

  “Oh, what do you know?” She glared at him.

  “I know a little about rage and death. I lived it. My twin died in my arms when we were fifteen. And I know better than most that if you swallow it, telling yourself you’ll get over it in time instead of purging it, you’ll end up throwing a picture at someone, hit a cop, even if he’s egging you on, or have sex with the first man that
walks through that front door. You need to expunge it so that when the next tragedy comes, or the memories flood your mind, you’ll be ready.” He let go of her arm, taking a deep calming breath. Over the years, it had gotten easier to talk about Tamara and what happened without having a surge of uncontrollable grief. It wasn’t that he didn’t feel it, but he had learned to remember her without all the emptiness her death created.

  “I didn’t know,” Brooke whispered. She pushed his legs and sat on the edge of the bed. “What happened?”

  “That’s a story for another day.” He sat cross legged, leaning against the headboard. “I can’t imagine losing my parents or grandparents on top of my sister’s death. Or the break-up and betrayal of friendships and lovers. So, I don’t pretend to understand exactly what you’re going through. I’m sure you think you’re dealing—”

  “I’m sorry about your sister and I appreciate the fact you care, but—”

  “Let me finish.” His pulse beat erratically as visions of his sister flashed in his mind like a moving picture. Thankfully, he’d learned to suppress the negative images, most of the time. “Your grandfather talked about you all the time. He probably told me more than he should have.”

  She opened her mouth, but he pressed his finger to her lips. “He worried about you. He saw you as a strong, vibrant woman who could do anything except take care of herself where it counted.”

  She batted his hand away. “So, you’re basing this assumption that I’m some raging out of control lunatic ready to explode on what my grandfather told you?”

  “No.” He took her hands in his. “I’m basing it on what I’ve seen and what I’ve been through, then adding in the words of a kind old man who would have worried about you no matter what.” Not wanting to give her a chance to interrupt him again, he continued. “It’s true what they say about twins. Tamara and I had a deep connection. The moment she walked into a room, I knew what she was feeling and thinking. I sensed things with her when we weren’t together and she about me. When she took her last breath, I felt that connection snap and a piece of me died with her.” He shivered. “It was like talking to someone when you’re lost in the darkest forest and your cell dies and you can never recharge it and you’re alone in total darkness. Not even a single star to show you the way.”

  “That’s horrible. I’m so sorry.”

  “After her funeral, I spent two weeks in her room, surrounding myself with all her stuff. I wouldn’t leave and I couldn’t cry. I let the anger cook inside me until it took me over. I lashed out at my parents. My little brothers. Something would trigger the overwhelming misery and I would do things like drive my car way too fast, almost hoping something bad would happen, wondering what it would be like if I wrapped it around a tree.” He arched a brow.

  Brooke gasped and covered her mouth.

  “Mind you, I didn’t want to die, but I was looking for something as intense as the loss I felt, hoping it would make it go away. You know that feeling, don’t you?”

  “Yes,” she whispered.

  “You can’t numb it away with alcohol and you can’t thrill it away with adrenaline. You have to let it become part of who you are now.” He reached out and ran his thumb across her cheek, then dropped his hand to his lap. “You’re a resilient woman, but I think you misunderstand what strength means in grief. You don’t take it on the chin.”

  “My parents and grandparents would want me to continue my life and that is exactly what I’m doing. They wouldn’t want me to wallow in self-pity.”

  “But that is exactly what you’ve been doing for years and it has caught up to you.”

  “That’s not true.” She scowled. “I don’t wallow in anything. I agree, I’m out of sorts right now, but just about everything that could go wrong has gone wrong in less than two weeks. I’d say you’d be a little bat-shit crazy too.”

  He curled his fingers around her legs, drawing her closer. “You’re allowed to fall apart. Put your fist through a wall. But until you reach deep inside and acknowledge that you feel abandoned by—”

  “I wasn’t abandoned by anyone.”

  “You were abandoned in death and the people you loved the most like your boyfriend and Michelle, they betrayed and abandoned you as well. It’s triggered a chain reaction. You can’t make it go away, so you’ve got to spend some time allowing all of this to become part of your narrative.”

  She let out a dry chuckle. “For a guy who thinks it’s perfectly okay to tell a woman she looks fat in something, you seem to have that psycho-babble about grief bullshit down pat.”

  He ran his hands across her thighs. “It’s not babble. Once I understood that the anger was my way of avoiding how her death affected me, I was then able to let the rage go.”

  “Let’s say I believe all this shit. What do I need to do then to make my new narrative so I don’t try to jump your bones again?”

  “You need to be honest with yourself, and other than talking it through, I have no idea.” He tapped her knee. “I’m a good listener.”

  She smiled. “For a guy who can’t keep a girl, you’re shockingly kind and warm.”

  “Well, what you’re going through I understand. But I won’t pretend to understand you as a woman.”

  “We’re not some super-secret puzzle. I’m beginning to suspect that you look for women in all the wrong places. Not only that, your eyes are so dark and rich and when I look at them.” She leaned in, pressing her hands on his knees. “All I see is a warm and loving man and I think at your core, that’s who you are.”

  “Nice way to change the subject.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  He arched a brow. “This shouldn’t be a lesson in how I’m supposed to talk to women. It’s about a friend being there for another friend.”

  He dropped his hand, resisting the urge to kiss her, because friends don’t swap spit. Boy was he glad he didn’t say that out loud.

  She smiled. “Thanks.”

  He nodded. “Now on to a different subject for now. I need a copy of that illegible note. I’ve got a couple of forensic guys who said they’d look at it.”

  “Will that cost a lot?”

  “Won’t cost you anything,” he said.

  “Thank you. The note is on the table.” She let out a long sigh. “I need to go call a defense attorney that the estate attorney recommended.”

  “Who?”

  “A woman by the name of Jillian White or Sutten or both.”

  Tristan pushed himself from the bed, holding his hand out. “That’s Stacey’s step-mom. Let her know we’re friends and maybe she’ll drop her fee.”

  “I hate fucking small towns,” Brooke muttered. “I don’t want or need handouts.”

  “You asked me to help, that’s what I’m doing.”

  She waggled her finger. “You really want to help? Get six men who can carry my grandfather’s casket because all his friends are eighty and older.”

  “Done.”

  “Of course it is.” She waltzed through the door, her hips rocking in that natural swagger she had. “While you’re at it, find me a place to have a small gathering of his close friends and I suppose whoever else attends the ceremony. He’d never forgive me if I didn’t.”

  “Have it here and I’ll take care of the catering.”

  She looked at him, her nose crinkled. She managed to make a scowl sexy.

  “Last minute, it’s all your gonna get.”

  “Fine,” she said, hand on her hip. “But I have a budget, so you’ve got to stick with that, okay?”

  “Got it.” No point in arguing with her. “Doug will be by this afternoon to look at the key and take measurements of the house.”

  “Cool.” She glanced over her shoulder and smiled. “Thank you for today.”

  “You’re welcome.” He made his way through the house toward the front door contemplating how long he’d have to wait to ask a broken-hearted girl out on a date.

  4

  Brooke tapped h
er cell phone, satisfied that the funeral arrangements were complete and grateful that Tristan managed to snag a few of his buddies to help, but not thrilled with the idea of having the gathering right here at home. But it did make the most sense. She glanced out the window at the female state trooper running around the yard with a toddler, feeling guilty she’d been holed up in the kitchen, ignoring the woman, her kid, and her hunky husband who was still taking measurements.

  She was sure the woman was nice enough, and as open as Brooke had been her entire life, talking about being arrested wasn’t something she really wanted to do with a female officer of the law.

  After her night in jail, she spent a week in a hotel room, working on her resume, calling a head hunter, and doing everything she could to keep from falling apart. Her little tirade in the office had scared her because she could barely remember what she’d done, but the feeling associated with that day will never leave her.

  Ever.

  Nor would having cold metal restraints slapped on her wrists.

  When the doctor from the hospital called to tell her about her grandfather, her mind and body went numb until she walked through the doors of this house. Ever since then, she had no idea who she was anymore.

  Or what she wanted.

  Damn Tristan for making her see all this shit. Ignorance was bliss.

  But she had to admit, she enjoyed having people around. The idea of being alone in this house now gave her the chills and Tristan wouldn’t be off work until midnight. While he was a nice guy, she shouldn’t be relying on him for anything, not even moral support, but the fact her grandfather seemed to have spent more time with Tristan in the last few months than anyone else, made her feel somewhat closer to the old man.

  She set her phone on the table and made her way outside where Stacey’s little boy, Brandon, giggled and laughed like no tomorrow as he chased his mother with a squirt gun.