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JACKSON
TWELVE YEARS LATER, PRESENT DAY...
The house is still dark as I make my way toward the kitchen. The old floorboards squeak beneath my feet. Another reminder of how much work I need to put into this place. Once inside the kitchen, I pull the cord that hangs down from the light fixture and give it a firm tug. Dull amber light shines down, making this room seem more outdated than it already is. The smell of coffee hits me, and zombie-like, I walk over to fill up the travel mug that sits beside the freshly brewed pot. I pour until it’s three quarters of the way full before placing it back down on the faded green Formica countertop. Bypassing the small kitchen table, I grab my duty rig that hangs on the hook. Once my belt is fastened, I kneel and unlock the safe that sits at my feet. Inside, my on-duty gun and badge waits for me. Finally suited up, I lace my boots and head back over to put the finishing touches on my morning coffee.
Through the kitchen window I can see the sun rise over the fields. The sky turns from midnight blue to warm pink and red. This is my favorite time of the day. Out here, away from everyone and everything, I’m at peace. This old place sits on over thirty acres, so there is an endless amount of quiet all around me. Grabbing my coffee, I open the refrigerator door and add the hazelnut creamer. It’s Rory’s favorite flavor—this month, anyway. So I’ve been doing my best to keep it stocked. Closing the fridge door, I look at the invitation that sits under one of the old clunky magnets I’ve collected over the years.
Charles Monroe Jr. requests the honor of your presence at the wedding of his daughter, Aurora Sofia
I close my eyes and Rory’s face flashes in my mind. Quickly, my smile turns to a frown when I open my eyes and continue on…
to Bradley Joseph Durand.
Fucking Brad. The asshole attorney from Austin who Rory met one night while at a conference in San Antonio. He was meeting clients in the hotel lobby bar, and she was having drinks with a few of the fellow attendees. While carrying her glass of wine from the bar to the table, she tripped and spilled it down the front of him. Too bad she wasn’t carrying hot coffee or tea instead. The idea of Brad screaming in pain as scalding hot liquid falls into his lap makes me laugh.
Their relationship didn’t move fast. That isn’t Rory’s style. She keeps others at a distance, rarely letting anyone get too close. But Brad was persistent and didn’t mind taking things slowly. They’ve been together for almost three years now and are finally getting married, although they still don’t live together, which is crazy if you ask me. How are you supposed to ever really know someone if you haven’t lived with them?
But, I digress. After the honeymoon, Rory will move into Brad’s big, fancy house. She claims he needs to be close to the office and the airport for easy travel—both are just excuses she’s making to justify uprooting her life for him. It’s only a thirty-minute commute that she’ll be making daily to finish out the school year. But it’s too much for him.
Pulling the invitation out from under the magnet, I walk over to the stove. The knob clicks as I turn it to start the gas. When the flame comes to life, I place the invitation directly into the fire. Watching the plumes of smoke waft through the air, I allow my jealousy to bubble at the surface. This is the only place I’m allowed to have these feelings. My one and only safe space. Shaking my head, I wonder for the millionth time how I ended up in this situation. How could I let the one woman who is perfect for me in every way slip through my fingers? How am I supposed to stand beside her at the altar as her fucking man of honor and watch as she marries another man?
Counting to ten, I take a deep breath and let it out before doing it all over again. By the time I’m finished, the invitation is nothing more than ash. Turning off the stove, I grab my coffee and head outside to my truck. I catch my reflection in the driver’s side window and straighten my shoulders before putting my game face on. After all these years, I’m a goddamn professional at hiding my true feelings. I smile at myself and see the years of regret hiding behind my eyes.
“Looking good, Officer Nash,” I mutter. “No one could ever tell you’re a giant pussy who couldn’t pull the trigger just by glancing at you.”
