Page 106 of Saddles

The part I’m most worried about is that he will finally heareverything.

It makes me queasy to think about.

His gray whiskers over his jaw twitch as the muscle below clenches.

I wonder if he’s worried about that part too?

Maybe I should ask him to wait outside.

That makes me even more nauseous.

Ford rolls the truck to a stop in the parking lot in front of the county building and turns it off, but doesn’t get out.

“You alright?” He squeezes my thigh and watches me, his gray eyes pinching at the corners.

Biting the inside of my cheek helps to fight back the tears as I nod. I’m terrified that I have to relive that week of hell.

“I’ll be right there with you.” He hops out to reappear outside of my door, opening it to lift me down from his tall Dodge.

“You don’t have to—”

“I’m not leaving your side unless you tell me to,” he says firmly, threading his fingers into mine.

“Are you sure you want to hear all of it?” I let him guide me over the slick parking lot into the concrete entry where a blowing heater sends my hair flying around my face.

He turns to me and smoothes down a wild lock. “You’re helping me fight my demons, let me stand with you against yours.”

Fuck, he’s gonna make me cry.

“Okay.” I try to straighten my shoulders.

I can do this. This is how I get back at those fuckers.

Make my statement. Be done.

Move on.

I have to.

My guts roll as Ford twists the handle leading into Sheriff Rowland’s office.

A muscular man with shaggy red hair pressed over his head like he just took off his hat sits behind a heavy desk.

“Ford? Thanks for bringing her down.” Sheriff Rowland stands, running his hand over his thick copper colored mustache before gesturing to a chair next to him. “April, if you’d like to have a seat? Ford, you can wait out—”

“Not happening.” Ford doesn’t let go of my hand, but reaches out to drag another bench next to the one Wade pointed to.

Wade looks at me. “Are you sure you want him here? It isn’t protocol.”

“I’m sure.” I’m glad they know each other well enough that I can keep Ford in here.

“Alright.” Wade’s lips thin, but he sits and pulls out a worn binder. “Don’t mind me, I can’t type for shit.” He gives me a lopsided grin, which fades when he glances at Ford.

Ford’s scowl makes me second guess my decision to let him stay.

But as the questions start flowing, that nidge of doubt disappears.

He sits stoic and quiet as I start revealing the details of my capture.

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