Chapter Twenty-One
Logan
That night at Lake Loveless changed so many things. When Tiffany outed me to Angela, fury was the first thing that filled me. I wanted to destroy Scott for giving Tiffany ammunition like that. But then, seeing the pain and betrayal on Angela’s face just wiped all that away. Instantly, I couldn’t think of anything but her and making it right. And guilt for trading her trust for myself and my father’s career.
The more I talked, the more she didn’t want to hear. Every tear that fell felt like a stab through my skin. The look in her eyes that night told me what I always suspected: that I wasn’t worthy of a girl like her, or anything more than meaningless sex. It told me that I was everything this town thought I was. And that truth is what kills me more each day.
Distraction is a good thing, an easy thing. At this moment, it is the only thing keeping me sane. In a week, I have focused so hard on the investigation that I actually managed to work out a timeline for the day of Nicholas Lavelle’s death. Without having Angela to help, my only hope now is to solve the case without her. The risk is too high for me to give up now.
After reading and rereading interviews from the workers, comparing them to workday logs, I’ve been able to determine that the last two employees left with Nick that day were Mike Waters and Roland Paris. I stare at the two names scribbled in my handwriting and wonder if anything will even come of this. Am I wasting my time?
I run my hands through my hair and rock back and forth in my office chair. As soon as my mind empties, Angela is there to fill my thoughts. She’s all I ever think about. Even with this attack on Wren and everything else, I can do nothing but see her tear-soaked face every time I close my eyes. That night at the lake, that was real pain for her, pain caused by me. Every day, I punish myself for it, making myself stay away from her. But I don’t know how long I can hold out.
Smith comes through the door and even though he’s a piece of shit, I’m thankful to see his face. Knowing he’s here means I’ve only got an hour left of this shift. Sure, I could spend it riding around Crowley in my patrol car, but we all know that’s a fruitless venture. The most likely thing I’d find is teenagers out past curfew and I’m not about to send them home. I’ve been there. I know what it’s like growing up here, trying to find anything that will light a fire inside you, anything to make you feel alive.
“Sawyer,” Smith greets. His eyes slide to my father’s empty office and back to me. “Time is ticking here. You got anything worthwhile from the girl?” He takes a seat on the edge of my desk and I want to kick his ass right off of it, but I restrain myself.
“No. Crash and burn on that.” No need to fill him in on the details.
“Sorry to hear.” Smith smacks me on the back. “You better figure out something fast. I won’t hold out on this much longer.”
I lace my fingers together and rest them on my desk. “Eat shit, Smith. I am going to solve this case. Whether it was foul play or an accident, I’m going to find out who else was there if it kills me.”
Smith laughs, a deep roaring laugh that comes from his gut. He’s amused by this and that only flames my rage. I don’t know how I’ll get out of this, but I will. I’ve got to find a way.
“Your dad worked that case himself, you know? He refused to give up for months.”
“He may have started it, but I’m going to finish it.”
He grins and gives me a nod. “As long as I get all the credit. You’ve got one week before I go public with what I know.” Smith saunters over to his own desk, takes a seat, and opens up today’s newspaper. I see him, so comfortable in this role, and I can’t understand it. People like him are only concerned about themselves. They’re not good for law enforcement. They’ve got no empathy, no remorse, nothing they do will ever really make a difference.
Me? I want to be the reason someone sleeps better at night. I want to be the reason a child is returned home safely, a killer is put behind bars, or a rapist is brought to justice. I want to have an impact on this world. And I want Angela by my side.
On my drive home, I take the long way around just to pass by her house. Just the sight of her little house, her old car, that porch where we kissed for the first time, is enough to keep me waiting on an answer. I asked for another chance. I put myself out there, just for another opportunity for forgiveness. It’s only been a few days, but it feels like a lifetime.
I turn left on Highway 16 and head home, hoping that sleep finds me tonight. And hoping that I’m lucky and my dreams are filled with visions of Angela Louise Lavelle and nothing else.
…
Ten minutes into my next shift and I am already ready to go home. Though nothing waits for me there but solitude and too much time to think. I check over the day’s reports to see if anything exciting happened today; the box is completely empty. Nothing exciting. Nothing at all.
My phone buzzes in my pocket, and after I finish filling my coffee cup, I fish it out. The screen says I have a message from Angela. My heart leaps into my throat and I choke on the hot coffee, coughing until my lungs are clear. I tap the screen and see her message.
I don’t have to think as I type out, On my way.
Grabbing my hat from my desk, I throw it on and am out the door before anyone can question where I’m off to. It may not be official Crowley business, but with nothing going on, I doubt I’ll be missed.
My car takes the usual path to Angela’s house, carving down empty highways cut between empty fields. I don’t even have to think about the drive. It’s all automatic. My mind is preoccupied with her, with her answer. Thoughts race with all the possibilities. A yes from her means she’s back in my life and I’m a lucky bastard who will do anything to keep her. A no means I fucked up beyond repair the one good thing in my life in years. I can’t think about that. I keep my thoughts positive.
Turning into her driveway, I find another car there—one I don’t recognize. Maybe she needs an audience to tell me she wants me back, or maybe she needs a witness when she tells me to fuck off.
The walk up her driveway feels like walking toward an uncertain future. My head prepares itself for either answer, my heart not so much.
My boots are too loud as I walk up her steps. The sound announces me before I even knock. I raise my fist to pound on the door, but it opens before I connect. Angela stands before me. Even in a T-shirt and shorts, she is still beautiful. Her eyes are red and her pretty lips are pulled down in a frown. My heart sinks.
“Come in.”