Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 74698 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 373(@200wpm)___ 299(@250wpm)___ 249(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74698 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 373(@200wpm)___ 299(@250wpm)___ 249(@300wpm)
His last words come out in an accusatory bark of pain. “Instead, I just had to be right this time and now he’s in a goddamn mortuary and he’s never waking up again, Holland.”
I’m stunned silent. Those were a lot of dark feelings to unpack and I can’t tell how much of Wade’s death he’s pinning on himself for getting into an argument tonight or on our relationship.
I’m afraid to ask for clarification but I need to. I don’t know how to help him until I can understand the deepest source of his guilt. “When you say had I just left it alone, are you talking about the renewal of our relationship or the argument tonight?”
Trey is stopped from answering as the back door opens and I turn to see Tommy standing there. “Trey… the sheriff is here with information about the accident. I thought you might want to hear it.”
Trey rubs both hands over his face and nods as they drop away. He walks past me without an ounce of regard and Tommy’s eyes are worried as he makes contact with mine. He jerks his head, indicating I should come too, and I follow them both into the house.
In the kitchen, our county sheriff, Miles Templedon, stands at the counter just accepting a cup of coffee from Miranda. Ethan, Kat and Gabe still sit at the table, but they look more alert now, faces tense with apprehension over what they might hear.
The sheriff turns to Tommy and puts his hand on his shoulder. “Sorry you had to go through this tonight. Wade was a fine young man.” He turns to look around at the family. “My deepest condolences.”
Tommy nods and Trey crosses his arms over his chest. I move to his side, ignore the standoffish vibes he’s releasing, and rest my hand on his back for support.
The sheriff takes a sip of the coffee and puts the cup on the counter. “I wanted to let you know that our preliminary investigation is done and it looks like Wade wasn’t at fault. We took blood samples from both drivers. The other driver was legally drunk, but Wade barely registered… only a 0.01 percent.”
I watch Trey closely, hoping that will relax his stiff shoulders, but he stares at the sheriff impassively.
“Wade’s truck was fully in his lane of travel and based on the skid marks, the damage to the vehicles and where the other car ended up, it’s clear the other driver came over into Wade’s lane.” The sheriff turns to Tommy, speaks to him directly. “There was nothing Wade could have done to avoid it. And I’m confident he didn’t contribute to it.”
Kat emits a small sob and I twist my neck to see her quietly crying into Gabe’s chest. I don’t know if that’s a comfort to everyone or not. I don’t know what any of it means.
Tommy’s eyes are watery as he nods. “I appreciate you coming out here to tell us that, Miles.”
They shake hands. “Give Fi my best. Let me know if there’s anything me or Alicia can do for you.”
I’m guessing Alicia is his wife. I don’t know the sheriff but clearly the Blackburns do.
Tommy walks him out and I hear them murmuring quietly for a few more minutes at the door. Ethan gets up from the table, moves over to the coffee pot where Miranda pours him another cup. She pats his arm before he goes to stand at the sink, looking out over the darkened backyard.
I rub Trey’s lower back, but he steps away from me. “I’m going home,” he announces.
That gets everyone’s attention. It’s Ethan who speaks. “You should stay the night, Trey. Be with your family.” His eyes cut over to me. “You stay too, Holland.”
I nod but I’m stunned when Trey turns on his heel and walks out of the kitchen. I stare at Ethan in shock before I jump into action, scurrying after Trey.
I see him heading out the front door, past Tommy and the sheriff who are still talking. They both step back to let Trey through and I run after him, catching a bewildered but concerned look from Tommy. “I got this,” I say, as I brush past both men.
Trey is halfway to his truck by the time I’m flying down the porch steps. “Trey… wait.”
I expect him to ignore me but instead, he stops and turns to face me. “What?”
“What?” I exclaim, coming toe to toe with him. I put my hands on his chest. “What do you mean what? Talk to me, Trey. Please tell me how to help you.”
It seems his hardened expression might crack. I see indecision in his eyes, perhaps fear, and what I’m hoping is any sort of vulnerability I can seize.
“Holland,” he says quietly, his voice rough. My fingers clutch into his shirt. Yes, I’m here for you. “I can’t do this with you.”