Page 34 of When the Smoke Clears

“Colt is my stepbrother.”

Licking along his upper teeth doesn’t compose his face the way he thinks. The cogs are turning, but he’s not speaking.

“We didn’t know,” I add. A new wave of shame washes over me. This sounds like some country bumpkin bullshit. I can’t believe I have to say it aloud. I shift in my seat. “His father married my mother ten years ago. Shortly after, my mom and I were attacked in a grocery store parking lot. Here in town. I’m sure there’s a report on that, too.” Who knew I had such a paper trail here?

I continue, unprompted, “The man was wearing a mask, and it was unclear what he wanted. Anyway, Colt admitted to me when he was at the house two nights ago that it was him. He thought that I stole his dad, and he was angry.”

Detective Porter’s raised eyebrows and flat mouth indicate he thinks this is a stretch, and I can’t help but agree. “You never met him over the ten years your parents have been married?”

“No.” I shake my head. “In fact, I didn’t even know his name. Alan, his dad, never talked about him. Look, my mom and I don’t have a great relationship. My relationship with Alan is toxic, at best. My high school years were spent in a very cold house. We didn’t have pictures up or family dinners or talk about our feelings. In fact, most things got swept under the rug for the sake of saving face.”

Detective Porter takes a moment to assess me again. He rubs a hand over his mouth. “Alright, walk me through what happened when Colt came to the house.”

I take a Guinness Record-style breath before summarizing the conversation and Colt’s odd behavior as best as I can, explaining that I waited as long as possible before pulling out my gun. I let him know how the first shot missed, and how Colt stabbed me in between that and the second shot. “Iwastrying to protect myself. I had every intention of shooting him at that point, but I didn’t mean for the gun to go off when it did the second time. It could have easily been me.”

He writes furiously in his notebook. “How did your boyfriend come to be there?”

“He was already on his way.”

“And the game warden”—he checks his notes—“Nick?”

I blink. “Actually, I don’t know.”

“Your boyfriend call him?”

“Probably. Sutton is a rancher. He works long days, and we haven’t had a lot of time to talk since the incident. But theyarebest friends.” I drop my head, realizing how much we really need to discuss.

Probably because Sutton is trying to be patient and supportive while I sweep shit under the rug, as usual.

“Seems like you two would’ve discussed this quite a bit.” He stares at me, waiting for a response. I don’t bother. I don’t owe him a personal view into my romantic relationship when it doesn’t pertain to what’s going on.

“You mentioned phone records. We will be checking them.” He looks at me as if I’ll recant.

“Yep.”

He presses his lips together, but the comforting smile he’s going for misses the mark. “I appreciate you coming in. We’ll be in touch if we have more questions. You have plans to leave town anytime soon?”

My brows inch closer together. “My apartment is in Austin, but I gave my notice Saturday afternoon. I have work up there, some appointments scheduled.”

“If you make any other travel plans, keep me posted. It may seem questionable otherwise, given the circumstances.”

I rush to stand. “Happy to.”

Detective Porter walks me to the door with the buzzer before he lets me exit alone.

On the steps of the police department, I suck in a huge breath. Somehow, I managed to keep it together inside, but my veins feel electrified—and not in a good way. I adjust my sweater and bag and make my way down the steps toward the parking lot.

A middle-aged woman approaches on the sidewalk. I don’t pay her much attention, instead absently rubbing my aching side. The woman stops walking and stares at me.

I side-eye her as I pass, adding more space between us.

“You’re Maci, aren’t you?” Her voice is quiet, but not timid.

“Yes? And you are?” I halt. My heart rate kicks into overdrive.

“My name is Melissa Garrett.” Her face is blank, pale. Her dark hair falls to her shoulders, cut bluntly like she took a set of kitchen scissors to it, and her hazel eyes lack emotion, though they’re somewhat swollen. “Colt’s mother.”

Adrenaline surges through me and my meager breakfast warns at reappearing. This day is getting more and more difficult by the minute. Why have so many of my days gone this way lately?

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