Page 26 of Shelter for Shay
The decision to see his mother still conflicted his heart. He understood his motivations. Or at least he thought he did. A bit of nostalgia, driven by death. A desire to put the past out to pasture. A need to stick his middle finger up at what nearly knocked him down. But there was so much more than that. The little boy who still lived inside wanted his mom to see him, wrap her arms around him, and tell him how much she loved and missed him.
The man knew that wasn’t going to happen and also knew it wasn’t true.
The evening breeze was thick with pine and faint motor oil from the shop down the street. He didn’t know why this felt harder than every mission he’d ever run. His mother wasn’t a sniper sitting in the tree line waiting to kill him. She was simple flesh and blood.
Nothing more, nothing less.
But for whatever reason, this felt harder and heavier than anything he’d ever done in his damn life. Hell, SEAL training was easier than this.
Headlights flashed across the lot as Andy Harmon pulled in. The state trooper climbed out, shades tucked into the collar of his uniform shirt, and strolled over like they had all the time in the world. His hair was still cut short. His face still clean-shaven, making him look like an innocent young man. But he had a few wrinkles around the eyes, which carried with them a lens that had seen some shit.
“Jesus, you look fucking intimidating in that damn uniform,” Moose said.
“And you’re just intimidating.” Andy smiled, stretching out his hand. “It’s been a long time.”
“Sixteen years.” Moose nodded. “Last time we were actually in the same room together, we nearly beat the crap out of each other.”
“That’s because you were a dick.”
“And you were an arrogant asshole who didn’t believe your shit stank.”
Andy chuckled. “Not true. But I was a cocky teenager who, because of my dad and all his trooper buddies, walked around like I owned this town.”
“What about now?”
“Oh, not much has changed except I know how to check my ego.” Andy leaned against the hood of the vehicle. “This fuckingplace still smells like regret,” Andy said, nodding toward the building.
Moose huffed a laugh. “And broken promises.”
“Miles’ son now owns this place. We don’t have to come out here as often as my dad used to, but it’s a shithole.” Andy looped his fingers in his gun belt. “Two weeks ago, there was a 9-1-1 to this address. The caller stated someone was having a heart attack. We always send a patrol car on those calls, but especially to this place.” Andy shook his head. “Turns out, the heart attack was a knife to some dude’s chest—all thanks to his wife, who caught him with his dick in someone else’s mouth.”
Moose stuck his finger in his ear. “That’s a visual I could’ve done without.”
“Sorry. Job hazard.”
“I bet,” Moose said.
“So… chasing ghosts, huh?”
“Something like that.”
They stood there for a beat, watching the sun dip behind the trees, the sky bleeding into amber and charcoal. Over the years, he and Andy had exchanged many text messages, a few emails, and a dozen or so phone calls. Moose thought it might be strange to be in the same space, considering the way they’d treated each other in school, but instead, it felt like two old buddies catching up.
“When was the last time you had a run-in with my mom?” Moose asked.
“Been a few months.” Andy nodded. “I pulled her over for a broken taillight. Wrote her a ticket, because my dad would read me the riot act if I cut her a break. She’s always walking a thin line with the cops, but ever since your dad went to prison, she’s been better.”
“Yeah, which that alone I think surprises people, but my old man is more toxic than she ever was,” Moose said. “Take him outof the equation, and she’s halfway normal but still has one foot in crazy town. The booze, the drugs, she can’t stop. Not sure she’s ever really tried. About the only thing she’ll give up is having sex for money, but only when my dad’s not around.”
“Had he not pulled that knife and killed someone, we were building a case for sex trafficking.” Andy winced. “I’m sorry about that.”
“Don’t be,” Moose said. “My father was oddly proud that his wife was a commodity. It was gross.”
“When was the last time you talked to her?” Andy asked.
Moose shook his head. “The day I left for the Navy. I was packing my bags and she was utterly shocked. She’d forgotten I was leaving. Then she told me to leave what money I had. Told me I owed her for carrying me for nine months.”
Andy’s jaw flexed. “At least she didn’t try to kill you like my biological father did me.”
