Page 70 of Where the Roses Bloom
I was lining the last stack of firewood when I heard it—the low hum of tires on gravel.
Then the screen door creaked.
“Rhett?” Willow’s voice called out. “There’s someone out front.”
The axe slipped a little in my grip.
I wiped my palms on my jeans and came around the side of the house—and froze.
A county cruiser was parked at the edge of the drive—the kind with a light bar faded from years in the sun, dust clinging to the undercarriage, and an officer in uniform stepping out with his hat in hand.
My gut turned cold.
It was the kind of sight that never meant anything good.
Last time I’d seen something like this was twenty years ago, when I was just sixteen…the night my parents had died. I’d been keeping an eye on my smallest brothers—Whit and Holden—and Silas was out with some Amelia. Beau was upstairs, playing cards with Delilah.
I remembered how the house had felt…wrong.Off. Like something had sucked up all the air.
It felt a little like that today.
Willow stood barefoot on the porch, arms wrapped around herself. She’d come out with a mug still in her hands, steam curling up around her fingers, but her face was pale, cautious. She didn’t look scared exactly—but she looked like she didn’t want to know.
The officer—a local named Jesse Markham that I’d known since grade school—gave her a polite nod, then looked at me. His expression softened.
“Rhett,” he said. “Hey, man.”
“Jesse,” I said slowly. “Everything all right?”
He took his hat off and held it to his chest. “Wish I could say it was. Mind if I come up?”
I held my breath. I didn’t want to ask…didn’t want to know. If it was one of my brothers…
“Before you go any further, is one of my brothers dead?” I asked.
Jesse stopped short, brow furrowing. He was confused.
I finallyexhaled.
“No, no—I’m actually here to talk to Miss Rhodes,” he said. “But…you may want to sit down for this, if you don’t mind.”
I went to Willow and took her by the arm, then guided her to the porch swing. Jesse sat in a rocking chair across from us, exhaling through his nose like he hated being the one to deliver this kind of news.
“What’s goin’ on here, Jesse?” I asked. “You have me pretty alarmed.”
“I’m here about a man named Carter Thompson,” he said.
Willow went completely still.
“You were listed as his emergency contact,” Jesse said, looking at Willow. I resisted the urge to tell Jesse to fuck off; I wanted to protect her, but I knew that Willow wasn’t that kind of girl. “You know him?”
Willow bit her lip and nodded. “Yeah…he’s my ex.”
Jesse hummed, nodding along. “Well…I’ve got some unfortunate news. Mr. Thompson was in an accident late Friday night—out on 87 near Mill Creek Bend. Looks like he lost control of his car and hit a tree. He uh…he didn’t make it.”
The porch went dead quiet. Willow shifted, the mug tilting slightly in her hands.
“What…what am I supposed to do with that?” she asked. “I don’t…have his parents been contacted? Can’t say they would want to hear it from me, but I have their contact information, I could?—”
