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I come down as Anders is finishing the coffee.
"It happened in college," I say, standing in the doorway. "My boyfriend was dealing drugs on someone else's turf. We got jumped by a few guys. My boyfriend took off. I spent six weeks in the hospital. I went to confront him afterward, and made the mistake of bringing a gun."
It's the first time I've said that to anyone outside therapy, and my heart is thumping so hard I can barely breathe.
"Shitty boyfriend," he says as he brings me a coffee.
I sputter a laugh. "Yes, but not really the point of that confession."
He shrugs. "Close enough."
"You don't seem surprised. You knew?"
He takes eggs from the counter. "No, but if someone asked me why you were here, I'd have said you did something to someone who damned well deserved it. Which doesn't make it any easier." He looks at the eggs in his hand. "Scrambled?"
"Sure."
"Good, 'cause that's all I can make." He takes out a pan, puts it on the blazing wood stove. "Mine was in the military. I killed someone who didn't deserve to die. At all. I screwed up. Big time."
"I've heard it happens over there."
He nods and turns away as he cracks the eggs.
"Which doesn't make it any easier," I say.
"Nope, it doesn't." He tosses the shells into the compost box. "Does being here make it easier for you?"
I nod. "It does. Like I said, it happened in college, so it's old news. But..."
"It never goes away."
"It still hasn't, and maybe this is just me hiding and pretending things are better--"
"Don't analyze. Eric does enough of that for both of us."
I laugh and sip my coffee.
"Which helps," Anders says. "Though I'd never admit it to him. He can be a pain in the ass, telling you exactly what your problem is, but some of us need that more than a therapist's couch. Someone who won't let us hide. When I came here..." He shakes his head. "I was a fucking mess. I didn't want to be here. Same as you--yeah, Diana told me you came to Rockton for her. I came because the one person who thought I was worth saving--my sister--put my ass on the plane, and I'd already let her down too much to ever do it again. Then I got here and..."
He sits across the table from me. "I know it's a cliche, but Eric saved me. When my term's up, I only hope that I've made myself useful enough that I can stay and keep repaying that debt. And, yeah, that's partly because I don't want to go back. I'm happy here. But I do owe him. I owe him big, and anything he wants from me? It's his."
He fingers his mug, and it seems as if he expects a response, so I say, "All Eric wants from you is exactly what he's getting: a damned fine deputy."
One corner of his mouth lifts. "Thanks. What I mean, though, is ... I get the feeling ... but I don't want to step aside if there's no reason to, but if..."
I wait for him to go on, but he only fusses with his mug. Then his head lifts. "Shit! The eggs."
He's hurrying back to the stove when a rap comes at the door. It's a familiar knock. One hard rap, pause, then a second, almost reluctant one, as if the caller would really rather just knock once for efficiency but then it would be mistaken for a bang and he'd have to start over again.
I call, "Come in," and I swear I hear the knob turning before I even say it. Dalton's heavy boot steps cross the living room, and he sticks his head into the kitchen.
"Knew you'd be up already. Thought I--" He sees Anders and stops.
"I crashed on the couch," Anders says. "Now I'm making breakfast."
"Doing a shitty job of it, smells like. How the hell do you burn scrambled eggs?"
"It's a special talent."
