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“Nope.” She answers, but slides out of her seat anyway, meeting me on the sidewalk.
Chapter Nineteen
Callie
The pressure in my chest is tight, making it difficult to take full deep breaths. All I feel is dread, and I don’t entirely know why. I don’t want to talk about yesterday, I don’t want to cry again, and I know it’s inevitable. I’m too emotional as a person to get by without breaking down again.
Nathan has been good at keeping me distracted today, I’ve even caught myself feeling happy. But, being here to meet with the Sheriff is forcing reality to sink back in. I’m a victim. I was attacked, and the men who did it are still out there. Two men who are probably angry and plotting a way to kill me so they don’t get caught. I shudder at the thought.
Part of me wants to test my luck and get the hell out of town, see how far my spare tire takes me. The more sensible part of me knows that I need to tell law enforcement what happened before Tony and Bub try to take another innocent woman. Not to mention, my luck hasn’t been that great, and I’d probably end up stranded on the side of the highway again with one less spare tire.
Nathan walks into the front office, holding the door for me as we enter. Reminding me that in one way I have been pretty lucky. I don’t think there is anyone more perfect that I could’ve come across out in those woods. He’s shown me so much patience and kindness and made me feel so safe. There is a soft spot in my heart now, solely reserved for him. No matter what the future holds.
We walk up to the receptionist’s desk and unlike the grocery store, I’m too nervous to speak. Nathan doesn’t skip a beat, taking the lead and telling the receptionist why we’re here.
I take the opportunity to glance around the small space. Just past the front desk are a handful of filing cabinets and a couple of empty desks. The walls are covered in old photos and newspaper clippings, and in the far corner is an empty jail cell. It’s probably the most stereotypical-looking police station that exists. However, I guess I’m not the best judge since this experience is a first for me.
“I’m surprised there isn’t an old bloodhound sleeping in the corner,” Nathan whispers in my ear, making me jump. I spin to face him, glad for his distraction once again.
“I’m disappointed not to see the town drunk sleeping it off,” I point over my shoulder at the jail cell, playing along with his joke.
“I could go down the street to the bar, knock a few too many back, and fulfill your dreams,” he teases, feigning pain when I elbow him in the arm, laughing at how absurd he is. Making silly jokes seems out of his wheelhouse, so I appreciate his attempt to lessen my unease.
My eyes meet his and I feel like we’re in a bubble. It’s only me and him, smiling at each other, laughing at our silly inside jokes. He reaches up, brushing the hair off of my temple, his fingertips dragging across my skin, making me shiver. My obvious reaction to his touch makes me blush.
I have the strongest urge to lean into him, lay my head against his chest, and soak in this moment. Instead, I simply shoulder up to him and rest my cheek lightly against his arm, only feeling so brave.
The contact is minimal, but it’s everything I need at this moment. Enough to feel his solidness against me, the embodiment of his support that never seems to waver.
Content to stay like this for eternity, I’m disappointed when our bubble bursts as the Sheriff plows through the back entrance of the building.
He is an older man, with gray hair that’s balding at his temples, and a thick mustache to match. His gun belt hangs snug around his hips, just under his significant beer gut. He doesn’t even look in our direction, he marches up to the receptionist and drops a box of papers on her desk.
“Get these filed before you leave,” he orders, without an ounce of politeness. He turns around then, eyeing me and Nathan.
“Are you the ones who called about a situation on I-83?” He asks gruffly. His uncouthness leaves me stuck, my mouth not able to make any noise.
“Yeah, I called last night, and again this morning.” Nathan’s answer matches the Sheriff’s unfriendly tone. He takes notice, standing up straighter, trying to be bigger than Nathan. There’s no chance, Nathan’s presence dominates the space.
Clearing his throat, he finally introduces himself properly, “I’m Sheriff Donahue, been in charge here for 15 years,” reaching his hand out to shake Nathan’s. Still completely ignoring me, which I’m fine with.
“Nathan Wolfe, I’ve only lived here a few months. This is Callie,” he indicates to me, forcing the Sheriff to look at me finally. I still can’t speak, my tongue feels like it’s covered in cotton.
“You the one who got attacked?” He asks me, squinting at me like he is analyzing me -or rather, sizing me up.
“Yes, sir,” I barely squeak out. “My name’s Callie Richards.”
“Alright, come with me, I’ll take your statement in my office.” He doesn’t wait for me to respond, he steps around me and walks towards the back of the room to a door with a frosted glass window. His name and badge are etched into the glass. We turn to follow him, but once he reaches his door he turns to look at us and puts his hand up, halting our steps.
“I need to talk to the girl alone, you need to wait out here,” speaking directly to Nathan. I’m too anxious to be pissed about him referring to me as “girl”, as if we didn’t tell him my name, twice. I look at Nathan, realizing just how dependent on him I’ve become.
“She’s already told me everything,” Nathan says, “I’m not leaving her alone.” He insists, not moving an inch from my side.
“I didn’t ask your opinion, boy. She either comes in alone, or I’m not taking her statement. I run things around here.” He rests his hand on the butt of his gun, either as a threat, or just a show of power, I’m not sure.
Feeling the tension in the room escalating, my hands start to sweat. I can’t handle conflict right now, I’m already too on edge.
“It’s okay, Nathan, I’ll be okay. I know you’ll be right out here,” I say to him, squeezing his hand. Reassuring him, like he’s done for me so many times today.
