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Usually, Dad and I don’t talk much. We’re happy quietly casting our lines for some cobia fish and drinking beer. Today, I don’t need to say a word either. Dad knows Redix and I are trying to heal. And he knows the look on my face when it hurts.
“Well,” I finally answer, “I know you can love someone, but that doesn’t mean you’re meant to be with them.”
Dad nods.
I’m talking about me and Redix… and my parents.
I know my parents still love each other. I’ve caught Dad leaving Mama’s several early mornings when he thought no one was watching. Especially lately with Mama not feeling well. It’s none of my business what’s going on between them. I’m just relieved there is a ‘them’ to have.
“He does love you.” Dad casts his fly again. “He fought like hell for you, and that’s why I love him too. That’s why I forgave him for leaving.”
“You’re never going to tell me, are you?”
Dad knows more than me about that night. And though I begged for the first few years, he never cracked and told me.
“It ain’t my place to tell anyone else’s pain.” His answer stays firm. “That’s for y’all to work out and god love ya if you can.”
“He doesn’t want to talk about it. Then. Or now.”
“He had to fix himself,” Dad says. “You did too, and you can fight for yourself now.”
That I know.
And when Dad flicks his eyes over to mine, it’s like he knows just how much of a fight rages in my soul.
“Magnolia, you listen to me.” That name. That tone. Jeff Bryant is not to be ignored. “What happened to you two. Y’all might never get justice, but you need to find some peace.”
“I’d rather have the justice.”
“Careful there.” Dad’s dark blue eyes hold a world of truth, of a pain he already knows. “‘Justice for all’ also means for the one who delivers it too.”
Dad’s words and last hug won’t leave me. They wrap around me all the way home.
Everything else in me feels hollow. Snapping my duty belt in the trunk back on, my stomach growls—my heart withers. Even my head rattles, empty. I don’t know what to think. That’s why it takes me a second to register the odd smell when I open my front door.
Pizza?
“Mama?” I call out.
But instinct has my hand on my holster, unsnapping my 9mm.
I always suspect. TJ. Gentry. Some sick fuck.
How long until one comes after me again? They all know where I live. And I’ll never shake that memory of TJ grabbing my wrist, of him taunting Redix.
“Watch, pretty boy, while I make her suck my ice cream cone.”
It shivers evil around my soul.
It has the ridges of my gun handle under my palm. I’m pulling it out, index finger finding the trigger. I can do this lightning-fast…
“It’s me.” His giant silhouette steps out of the kitchen into my line of sight.
“Fuck!” My shoulders drop, so does my breath. “I almost shot you! What the fuck are you doing here?”
“I got on the first flight.” Redix looks as shocked as me, his eyes on my gun. “You won’t answer my calls or texts, so you left me no choice.”
“No, it’s my choice.” I snap my gun back in. “I’ll answer the phone if I want to talk to you. Otherwise, this is stalking. Breaking and entering. Again. This isn’t some romance story making it seem cute. This shit is scary. How’d you like it if you were pissed at me and I showed up at your house uninvited?”
