Page 57 of Mountain Freedom
“Hey, Sheriff,” I said, stepping out of my truck and heading his way.
“Jackson,” he said, nodding.
“What are you doing here?”
“I knew this is where you’d come. And I sure as hell wasn’t going to have you face it alone.”
My throat tightened. “Thanks,” I said, my voice oddly gruff. I reached out and shook his hand, unshed tears stinging my eyes.
“How are you holding up?” He put his hand on my shoulder.
“I don’t know,” I said weakly. “It’s been a hell of a week.”
“Doesn’t feel right to say I’m sorry for your loss, but just know that I’m here for you. Whatever you need.”
I nodded, unable to speak.
We headed inside and walked down the long hallway to where the bodies were kept. As a detective, I’d done this before. But it had never been personal.
When I saw Russell’s body, I expected to feel relief, and it was there—but so was grief. Even after all these years, part of me had still hoped he would change. That he would actually have some small desire to be a decent member of society. To do the right thing for once. Even to patch things up with me and actually have a role in my life as something other than a villain. I’d always held on to this little bit of hope that somewhere, deep inside him, there was some good left.
He had died without showing a bit of that goodness. In the end, he had been just as horrible as he had in the beginning. Maybe even worse.
The Sharp blood. It was poison.
“This isn’t what I wanted,” I said, staring at him. “Even after everything. I wanted—” My voice broke.
“I know,” Greg said quietly, reaching out to put a hand on my shoulder. “I know.”
Two hours later,I found myself down at the old creek, not entirely sure how I had gotten there. It was more habit than anything, an old childhood ritual that had lain dormant but apparently never died. Russell did something awful; I ran away to the creek. It’s just how it was.
I picked up a stone, flipping it over in my hand and rubbing my thumb against the smooth surface before skipping it across the water. Five skips. Not bad at all.
“Bet I can still beat you.” The voice came from behind me, startling and soothing me all at once.
“How’d you know I’d be here?” I asked, not even bothering to turn around.
Allison walked forward, her tennis shoes squeaking on the rocky bank, until she plopped down beside me. “I just knew. You okay?”
“Yeah.” I picked up another rock. Flipped it. Rubbed it. Skipped it. Six skips this time.
“Nice,” she said before picking up one of her own. She rubbed it in between her palms, then brought it to her lips for a kiss before letting it fly. Seven skips.
“Damn,” I said. “You can still beat me.”
“It’s all in the kiss,” she said, laughing.
“That’s what you always said.” I just shook my head.
She put her arm through mine and laid her head on my shoulder, bringing back a million memories. This place had been our refuge from the world, a private oasis where adults never seemed to bother us or spoil our fun.
“It’s okay to have mixed feelings,” she whispered, squeezing my arm.
“How did you know?”
“He was your dad,” she said. “Trust me. I get it.”
“Did you stay in touch with your dad after you and your mom left?” I had always wondered, but it was a topic we hadn’t spoken about since her return.
