Page 49 of Her Ohio Old Flame

The boy’s raw bitterness clawed at Zane’s chest. His gut churned, and the red-hot fury he’d been carrying all day gave way to something heavier. He didn’t need to look at Lou to know they were both thinking the same thing: this wasn’t simply anger—it was pain, deep and unresolved.

“Elliot…” MacCready’s façade was crumbling as he reached toward his son, but Elliot took a step back, shaking his head.

“Don’t touch me!” Elliot’s response was a dam giving way to too much pressure. “You don’t get to act like you care! Not after what you did!” Elliot’s words hung in the air like a live wire, crackling with tension. Zane’s pulse roared in his ears, but the sharp intake of breath from the porch cut through the moment like a blade. All three men turned toward the sound.

There, on the porch, stood Tate MacCready’s wife, her hand clasped over her mouth, her wide eyes shimmering with unshed tears. Her gaze darted between her husband and her son, confusion and dawning horror etched into her features.

“Not after what you did to those girls,” Elliot spat, his small fists at his sides as he drove the final nail in. “And my sister.”

Mrs. MacCready’s knees seemed to buckle for a moment, her grip tightening on the doorframe for support. “Tate…” Thatone word was barely audible over the pounding in Zane’s chest. Her eyes locked onto her husband, brimming with disbelief and betrayal.

“Linda,” MacCready started. He stretched his arm out as if to close the growing chasm between them. “Please, it’s not what it sounds like.”

“Don’t you dare,” she snarled, as the tears spilled over. “Don’t youdarelie to me, Tate Elliot MacCready!”

Zane glanced at Lou, whose face was carved from stone, his jaw tight, his eyes blazing with restrained fury. Zane’s gut churned, knowing the fragile threads of this family had just snapped, unraveling in the worst way possible.

Linda MacCready turned to her son, her hand trembling as she reached for him. “Honey… come here.”

Elliot hesitated for a moment, his small frame still vibrating with anger, but the sight of his mother’s outstretched arms softened his resolve. He darted to her and buried his face against her stomach as sobs wracked his body.

Lou stepped forward, cold and resolute as he pulled a pair of handcuffs from his belt. “Tate MacCready, you’re under arrest.”

Tate snapped up his head, his eyes wide with panic. “You can’t be serious! So, maybe you don’t know me, but ask around—people will vouch for me. Hell, I’m a law-abiding citizen. You’ve never even written me as much as a parking ticket! This is all lies?—”

Lou cut him off with, “You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be provided for you…”

Zane’s stomach churned as Tate’s protests faded into stunned silence, his hands cuffed behind his back. Linda clutched Elliot, her face buried in his hair as the boy’s sobs echoed in the heavy evening air.

The world felt impossibly still as Lou finished the Miranda rights, his words ringing with finality. “Do you understand these rights as I’ve read them to you?”

Epilogue

Zane stood in his backyard, watching the trees move with the breeze. Peaceful lived up to its name tonight, the cicadas humming their steady rhythm, fireflies winking lazily in the humid summer air.

The trial had ended a week ago, but the aftermath lingered like smoke after a fire. Tate MacCready had been sentenced to decades in prison for crimes no one in Peaceful had imagined him capable of committing.

Zane’s jaw clenched as he thought about the victims who had come forward. Boys and girls, their faces a mixture of shame and relief, each one stepping up to tell their story. Tate had groomed and manipulated them, exploiting their vulnerabilities under the guise of mentorship. Asha had been his first victim, but far from his last.

Maddy, with her unyielding determination, had worked tirelessly to ensure every victim had access to therapy, offering them a fighting chance to reclaim their lives. Asha had taken those first brave steps, too, attending sessions that laid bare her pain, piece by piece. Each one was agonizing but liberating. Watching her finding her way back to herself had been arevelation. Through it all, their bond had strengthened. She had allowed him to see her vulnerabilities, and he, in turn, had shown her his love and support.

The thought of Asha facing Tate in court, testifying with unwavering resolve, made Zane’s chest tighten. She had been the catalyst, the one who had broken the silence. And though the scars of her experience might never fully fade, she was healing—and helping others do the same.

The screen door creaked behind him, and he turned to see Asha stepping out, her silhouette framed by the warm glow of the house.

“You’re brooding,” she teased.

Zane leaned back against the railing, his lips curving into a faint smile. “Just thinking.”

She joined him, wrapping her arms around herself as the cool night air kissed her skin. “About the trial?”

“Yeah. And the victims,” he admitted. “I keep wondering if I could...” He trailed off at her expression.

Asha shook her head, her dark eyes locking with his. “You can’t think like that, Zane. He was a master at hiding his tracks. Even I didn’t see who he really was until it was too late. He’s a master manipulator.”

Her hand found his, squeezing gently, and Zane pulled her against him.

The trial had been brutal, but seeing her tormentor taken away in handcuffs had brought a sense of justice she hadn’t believed possible. Still, her heart ached for the other victims, especially the boy who’d started the fires.

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