Page 61 of Falling For Alaska

He runs a hand through his hair. “When I saw you show that photograph to the old man, I knew it was only a matter of time. You’re sharp, Jack. A damn good cop. No wonder you’ve got that shiny new job waiting for you.” He’s calm, as if he had been expecting this conversation.

“Payton Hallow was Matthew’s piano teacher since he was about ten. Played at his funeral.” Jared’s voice tightens. “He was really fond of the kid. His death shook him to the bone…shook all of us.”

I pause, then press forward. “What about the t-tapes?” Jared frowns as I pull a tape from my inner pocket and slide it across the counter. Thick black letters scrawled in marker stand out against the white label.

W.J.E.L.C.

He exhales sharply, running a hand through his dark hair. “After we reported to the county, they took the case from us. Said they’d handle it on their own. I never saw those tapes, Jack. I swear on Bella’s life.” His eyes meet mine, a moral shield back on his arm. “What’s on them?”

“A cop t-twisting her words. Making her say things she-she doesn’t want to s-say. Trying to put the b-blame on her.” I grip the tape tighter. “This is the b-best evidence I’ll ever get to take down the people who wronged her.”

Jared’s jaw tightens. A deep crease forms at the corner of his eye. “You’re going after the county, then?”

“There’s g-gotta be a way.” I exhale. “I’ll try to keep it quiet…but we’re cops. C-cops do the right-right thing and this…isn’t.” Jared watches me for a long moment, then nods, biting the inside of his cheek.

“Wish I’d been braver.” The anger in me dulls. He never wanted to betray me. He was scared. Scared to lose his job. Scared to lose the insurance that kept his dad alive. I get it. I wish things had been different, but the fact that he’s not trying to stop me now tells me enough.

“Don’t think it was about b-bravery,” I say finally. “You just made th-the least t-terrible choice you could.”

“Are we…still partners?” he asks, forgiveness hanging above us, fragile as glass. Silence stretches before I reach out my hand. He grips it firmly.

“Yeah. P-partners.” He flicks his gaze to the tape.

“Then go for the jugular.” My lips curl into a cold smirk.

“I intend to.” I stand and take my leave, knowing that soon I’ll find a way to give her justice.

Alaska

"Hey." My voice is barely above a whisper as Jack caresses my face with the back of his hand. A flutter of warmth spreads through me, millions of butterflies taking flight in my stomach. My tears have dried, and I’m grateful for the twelve solid hours of sleep. My body needed the rest. Now, standing in my kitchen in blue jeans and a short white tee, hair cascading freely down my back, I finally see him. Jack drinks me in from head to toe, his gaze lingering, the dark circles under his eyes hard to miss. Was he out all night?

"Hey." His voice is raspy, hitting me right in the gut. He shrugs off his police jacket and kicks off his boots, hanging them on the rack like it always belonged there. I noticed he used a spare key so he wouldn’t wake me in case I was still asleep. Just like a husband coming home to his wife.

"Did you s-sleep okay?" he asks, coming closer, his black pants and rolled-up sleeves accentuating his strong, veined forearms.

"You?"

"Yeah, I st-stayed with you as long as I could, but then I-I went to Jared's and…and then I st-stopped by the office to check a few things before c-coming back. I'm s-sorry I took this long." His voice sharpens, and he rests a hand on the kitchen counter while the other drifts to the small of my back. He towers over me, his scent wrapping around my senses as I fight visions of him leaving me, stamped into my brain from yesterday.

He came back. Everything is okay.

"Why?" There’s an imperceptible wince radiating from his iris, my pain written inside in capital letters, transcending his composure.

"Lots of things w-went wrong with your brother’s case. Hidden evidence. Misspelled tapes. They pinned the b-b-blame on you when it should’ve been on them." He frowns, a river of frustration coursing through him. "Jared t-told me what he knew, so I went d-digging. Turns out,” he clears his throat, “turns out, there's a ton of so-called ‘misplaced’ evidence. I-if you give me the go-ahead, I’d like to re-report the c-c-county. Once and for all." Shadows of fatigue lie under his eyes. "The t-t-tapes change everything," he continues. "They g-give you leverage. If it got out, a lot of people could lo-lose their j-jobs. But…if you want this to stay quiet, I-I can still build a c-case and negotiate. Make them g-give you whatever you want in return."

I frown. "Like what?"

"Heads rolling at the t-top of the county. A s-settlement, an official ap-p-pology, whatever c-could ease your pain." He declares without an ounce of doubt, holding a shield of protection above me, no matter how heavy or targeted it’ll be. Jack cups my cheek, his thumb brushing over my temple. "I know n-nothing will bring him b-back. But they n-need to be held accountable. May-maybe seeing it, in black and white, that it was n-never your fault, maybe it c-c-could help you heal." He exhales sharply, connecting his forehead to mine. "Or maybe I’m wrong. I-I c-can’t think straight when it c-comes to you, Alaska..." Birds spread their wings in my heart at his comment. This man is trying so hard for me. I wonder what I did to deserve it. I take a deep breath, weighing the pros and cons of the window of possibility he just offered me.

He’s right. I’ve carried this guilt for too long, convinced it was mine to bear. From the moment Matthew died, I believed them when they told me it was my fault. My parents always called it an accident, but they never wanted to dig deeper. They didn’t want the pain that came with details.

"I think…" My voice wavers as I look down at my scars. "An apology letter. I don’t want money or legal battles. Just please…no conflict. I can’t handle that. Most of all…I don’t want my parents to know. It wouldn’t change anything, it would just reopen their wounds, and they’ve already learned to live with it. I…I can’t do that to them."

Jack studies me. "A letter. I’ll make it happen, sweetheart." His nickname caresses me like ice melting on a sunny day. I know that behind closed doors, in the halls of the department, he’ll do more. He’ll fight for me, because that’s who he is. A good man. And maybe a few heads will roll because of it. Yet somehow, I trust him to shield me from the storm.

"Jack?"

“Um?”