Page 18 of His Relentless Mate

"Morning," she said, her voice soft but warm. "Sorry I left so early. I wanted to get a head start on packing."

"No need to apologize," Trace replied, his tone gruff but affectionate. "You had me worried for a minute there, though."

Annika’s smile widened, a hint of mischief in her eyes. "You worry too much, Trace. But I guess I should have left a better note."

He chuckled, the sound easing the last of his anxiety. "I don’t know; the important part was there, especially the ‘love you.’”

“I thought you might like that.”

“You knew I would. I love you, too. Let’s have breakfast and talk about our next steps."

They ordered their food, the conversation flowing easily between them as they discussed the new leads they had uncovered. The prospect of connecting the Kodiak murder to the series of unsolved murders along the West Coast had breathed new life into the investigation, and they both felt the urgency of the task ahead. But beneath the surface, Trace could feel the connection between them—an unspoken understanding that the case was only part of what brought them together.

As they finished their meal and paid the bill, Trace noticed a familiar figure across the street, the sight stopping him in his tracks. His father, John Gallagher, was unlocking the doors to the family pub, his movements slow and deliberate. Trace hadn’t spoken to his father in years, their relationship strained by a series of misunderstandings and unresolved tensions that had only deepened over time.

“Trace?” Annika’s voice pulled him back to the present, her eyes following his gaze. “Isn’t that your dad?”

“Yeah,” Trace said, his voice thick with emotion. “I haven’t seen him in a while. I should… I should go talk to him.”

Annika placed a hand on his arm, her touch grounding him. “Go. I’ll be at the station if you need me.”

Trace nodded; his heart heavy as he watched her walk away. When she was out of sight, he turned back to the pub and made his way across the street. His father didn’t notice him approach until Trace was standing just a few feet away, the tension between them palpable.

“Dad,” Trace said, his voice rough as he forced the word out.

John Gallagher looked up, surprise flashing across his weathered face before it was replaced by something more guarded. “Trace. Didn’t expect to see you here.”

“I didn’t expect to be here,” Trace admitted, the words heavy with years of unspoken grievances. “But I need to ask you something.”

John’s expression hardened, his eyes narrowing slightly. “If this is about the investigation, I’ve already said everything I have to say—years ago.”

Trace shook his head, the frustration bubbling up inside him. “This isn’t just about the investigation, Dad. It’s about the night of the murder. I need to know what you were doing that night.”

His father’s face darkened, his jaw tightening as he turned away from Trace, busying himself with unlocking the door. “I’ve already told the police everything I know. Why can’t you just leave it alone?”

“Because I can’t,” Trace shot back, his voice rising. “There’s something you’re not telling me. I can feel it. I know you weren’t at home.”

John paused, his hand on the door handle, his shoulders slumping as if the weight of the years had finally caught up with him. “There are some things that are better left buried, Trace. You, of all people, should understand that.”

Trace’s frustration boiled over, the years of unresolved tension between them finally spilling out. “I’m tired of secrets, Dad. I’m tired of feeling like I’m in the dark. If there’s something you know—something that could help us solve this case—you need to tell me.”

John was silent for a long moment, the only sound the creak of the pub’s door as it opened. Finally, he turned back to Trace, his expression one of resignation and pain. “You’re right; I wasn’t at home that night. I wasn’t at the pub either. I was… I was with your mother.”

Trace frowned, confusion cutting through his anger. “With Mom? But you two?—”

John cut him off with a shake of his head. “We were still married then, Trace. But things were bad between us, and I’d been staying at the pub to give us some space. That night… we had an argument. A bad one. She left the pub in a rage; I drove around town for hours trying to cool off. I didn’t come back until late, after… after it had already happened.”

The weight of his father’s confession settled heavily on Trace’s shoulders. He hadn’t known the full extent of his parents’ troubles back then, hadn’t understood just how close they had come to falling apart. “Why didn’t you tell me this before?”

“Because it wouldn’t have changed anything,” John said, his voice thick with regret. “I didn’t see anything, didn’t know anything that could help. And after everything… I didn’t want to bring up old wounds.”

Trace felt a pang of guilt as he looked at his father, the anger that had fueled him moments before draining away, leaving only a deep sadness in its wake. “Dad, I’m just trying to do my job. To find the truth.”

John’s expression softened, a sad smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “I know, son. And I’m proud of you for that. But sometimes… sometimes the truth isn’t what we want it to be. Sometimes it’s better to let sleeping dogs lie.”

Trace nodded; his heart heavy with the weight of his father’s words. There was nothing more to be said, nothing that could bridge the gap between them in this moment. But at least now he knew the truth or at least part of it.

“Thanks for telling me, Dad,” he said quietly, turning to leave.

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