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“Logan!” Sheriff Tomlinson barks. His car door closes. Heavy footsteps jog over to me, and then there’s a hand on my shoulder. “He’s baiting you.”
Alan steps out of the shadows. It’s then I notice the crowbar in his hand. The fire in his eyes. The sinister smile on his lips. He was going to do it. He was going to get his revenge and beat me to death like I did him. My stomach lurches and empties itself in the grass.
“Jesus, Logan,” the Sheriff mumbles. Sheriff Tomlinson—Uncle Ryan although I rarely called him that—rubs his chin. He’s my mom’s half-brother but we never see him anymore. They had a falling out around the time of my parents’ divorce when he took my dad’s side. Not like he had any choice. Dad had him by the balls with this secret.
“He is on my family’s property, Ryan. Threatening me.” Alan points to the camera again. “I have the proof this time.”
“Fuck you,” Uncle Ryan replies. “Did you forget the deal? I could arrest you, right now, if I wanted to.”
Alan holds out his wrists and flashes a sinister grin. I don’t know what’s happening. What deal? I thought Alan Shaffer was four-feet-under in a shallow grave somewhere. “By all means, Ryan. Do it. We both know you can’t.”
Danika’s little red Mazda skids to a stop behind the cop car. She rushes out and runs to kneel beside me. I push her away and she comes back. She’ll always come back to me. “Logan! Are you alright?”
“Take him home,” Uncle Ryan demands. “Your home, Danika.”
Danika stiffens beside me. She looks around, a question hanging on her lips but nods. I climb to my feet with her help, just as pathetic as I was this afternoon, and pass out in her car.
45
Danika
Don’t ask me how I got Logan out of the car and to my dining room table, because I honestly have no idea. He’s half asleep, not fully coherent, and a mess. I’ve never seen him like this and with his dad’s history of alcohol abuse, it’s a little worrisome.
The first person through my door is Sheriff Tomlinson. He drops his keys on the table and slumps into a chair like I assume he does in his own home after a long night. He’s not an old man, maybe late twenties or early thirties. Sometimes I forget he and Logan are related, but every so often I see the resemblance. A brooding look. An eyebrow arch. A crooked grin. If this is what I get to look forward to ten years from now, I’ll be one happy wife.
Not that I’m thinking that far ahead. I’m just saying…
“Here.” I set a carton of cream and a container of sugar on the table, along with a few cups. I have the feeling Sheriff Tomlinson won’t be my only guest tonight. I pour coffee into each mug then set the pot back on the counter.
“I’m sorry about your mom,” he says, stirring some cream and sugar into his cup. “I gave Walter my condolences a few weeks ago, but never got around to seeing you.”
I shrug and put some bread slices in the toaster. “Not like you’ve had a reason to see me, Sheriff.”
“Ryan,” Dad says, coming through the door. He’s not wearing scrubs. In fact, Dad’s wearing the same trousers and polo he walked out the door in this morning. He kneels beside Logan, who’s passed out and drooling on the table, and checks his pulse. “Is the boy alright?”
“He’s drunk, dad, not dead.” I cross my arms over my chest and glare at him. He’s too calm. They both are. I get the sneaking suspicion they were both involved with the Alan Shaffer issue long before ton
ight. “What’s going on?”
“She doesn’t need to know,” a voice booms from the doorway.
Logan stirs as his dad, Jeff Harris, enters my house. He wears the same brooding expression Logan had my first few weeks of school. I hate looking at the man. Every time I see him, I remember the lashings and scars all over Logan’s body. I bite the side of my tongue to keep from saying something rude.
Jeff Harris closes the door, locking it behind him, then turns his attention to Logan. He shakes his head, tsking in disappointment. “You’re a fucking mess.”
“Good to see you too, Dad,” Logan groans. He folds his arms on the table and sets his head down.
I pop two slices of bread in the toaster for thirty-seconds and pour Logan a glass of water. I set them in front of him, ruffling his hair to get his attention. Jeff noticeably rolls his eyes and directs his attention to me. “Leave.”
Logan lifts his head, takes a buttered piece, then sticks it in his mouth. “She stays.”
“She,” Jeff says, pointing directly at me, “is a liability.”
“I know what happened.” I feel like a sassy eight-year-old standing up to the school bully. That’s all lawyers are, grown up bullies and Jeff Harris is the biggest bully in town.
“You don’t know shit, little girl,” Jeff growls.
“Jeff,” my dad warns, standing at full height. “Don’t disrespect my daughter. This affects her just as much as it does the rest of us.”
