Page 80 of Axe-ing for Trouble
He plucked a Sharpie from the penholder on the desk and traced a line along the river, then through the forest. “I’m pretty certain this is the main road. And this up here”—he continued drawing—“is not precise, but that goes west.”
“To the border,” we said in unison.
Straightening, I locked eyes with him, my skin breaking out in goose bumps.
I shook off the sensation and squinted at the microscopic words labeling the town the route led to. “Sainte-Louise.”
“It’s not a border checkpoint anymore. When the new highways were built, it all changed. But my grandpa mentioned it when he’d tell stories. Lumber came in and out of there. Canadian whiskey during prohibition too.”
It was all coming together in my head. I’d heard that name many times while I was gathering evidence. Only now, though, did I realize what they’d been talking about.
“Is that where they’re going on Friday the thirteenth?”
If they’d been doing this for almost twenty years, there had to be some significance here.
I turned on my heel and paced, my heart pounding and my head spinning.
“Trouble,” Jude said, gently holding me by the shoulders. “This is amazing. But you need to breathe. Process. This is a lot.”
He guided me to the living room and urged me to sit on the couch. Then he was gone, only to return a moment later with a glass of water.
“I’ll call Parker.”
“No,” I said sharply, my stomach twisting into a knot. “Not until I’ve got it all put together. There’s all kinds of stuff in there I haven’t touched. For now, I’m still working out what’s happening on the thirteenth.” This felt too raw, too precious right now to bring in law enforcement. “I need to be totally certain.”
He sat beside me and tucked my hair behind my ear. “You don’t have to do all this alone, Trouble. We can help.”
I nodded, my eyes unfocused. “You’ve been helping. I need a little more time. I promise.”
“Okay.” With a long exhale, he put an arm around me.
“I know you think I’m nuts,” I said softly as I rested my head on his shoulder. “But there are some things I can’t let go of. That I just can’t forgive. I know that’s a character flaw. It’s why I’ve bounced around career-wise. It’s why I don’t own a home and haven’t had a long-term relationship.”
Ripley sat in front of me and put her head in my lap, sensing my distress.
“I’m not built like everyone else. I’m not built like you,” I admitted.
I’d known it since childhood, though I’d never fully said out loud. But I trusted Jude, and although I doubted he’d understand, he was the type of person who, at the very least, listened, and it had been a long time since anyone had truly listened.
“What does that mean?” he asked.
I turned my head and gazed up at his handsome face. “Look at you. You are clearly great at adulting.”
A laugh rumbled out of him, vibrating through me.
“I mean it. You own a home; it’s decorated. You have a headboard and bookshelves and art hanging on the walls. You keep an animal alive and have a career.”
He grunted. “I cut down trees.”
“Don’t minimize it. You’re director of operations. You manage a big team of people. You’re impressive. And you’re stable. You’ve got a whole life.”
He pulled me closer, tucking my head beneath his chin. “It may look that way on the outside, but I’ll let you in on a little secret. I made my world small, and now I’m stuck in a rut because I never forced myself to stretch and grow.”
“What do you mean?” I asked. It was comforting to know I wasn’t the only one who felt like a fuckup all the time.
“I’ve never had big dreams like my brothers. I like quiet and the woods. All my life, I wanted nothing more than to continue the work my father and grandfather had done. But it’s all changed. And I’m still the same. It doesn’t feel right anymore.”
I pulled back and put a hand on his chest. “You have to do what feels right.”
