Page 104 of Rival
“There’s no more case, Jaxon.” I’m stating the obvious, but what the hell else is there to say?Holy fuck!“Edith can come home…”
“Iknow.” Those are the only two words he’s capable of speaking at the moment. I stay quiet for the drive, my knee jerking up and down and eyes flying everywhere once we hit the final stretch toward my place.
“There.” I point when the flashing lights flicker in the distance. We have to slow down due to the number of curious, nosy residents conveniently driving by. On a normal day, there aren’t this many people who travel this particular road over the course of twenty-four hours, but I don’t blame them. We’re here for the same reason.
Inching along, Jaxon and I both crane our necks to see the crash hidden behind firetrucks and first responders. As soon as what’s left of Clayborn’s van comes into view, Jaxon stops the truck, his brakes squealing softly.
“Holy shit,” he breathes out and I can only nod.
The van is in literalpieces. My eyes roam the field and what looks to be the front end is about thirty feet to the right, then a few bucket seats are another forty feet beyond that.
Rolling down my window, the scent of gasoline and burning rubber assault my nostrils, but to me, it smells like freedom.
Freedom for Edith. Freedom from the monster who’s been allowed to roam for far too long on this earth. Freedom to pursue the woman who can now live without fear. But most importantly, freedom to move forward as a family,ifshe’ll have me.
Instead of moving on, Jaxon jams the gear into park and hops out, not caring about the short line of vehicles waiting behind us to get their own look. Shit like this doesn’t happen often around here, and Clayborn wasnota loved person. Those few forced to interact with him barely tolerated him.
Following Jaxon, I jog to catch up and just barely hear his question to an officer standing off to the side.
“What was the cause of the accident, Nate?”
I’m glad Jaxon knows him. Hopefully, he’ll be willing to give us extra information.
The officer, Nate, lifts his chin in greeting. “Evenin’, Thorton.” Flicking his eyes toward me, he nods a silent greeting.“We don’t know for sure,” he says, then lowers his voice. “But considering you could literally smell the alcohol on him, my guess is drunk driving. To do this kind of damage, he had to have been going eighty plus. Wasn’t even a mile from home and there aren’t any skid marks on the road. Headlights weren’t on either, so I think he just took off and floored it right into the tree.”
Considering that every time we’ve gone to his place, he was absolutely obliterated, I’m not surprised tonight was any different.
“Wonder where he was goin’,” I mumble, but wave Jaxon off when he lifts a brow in question. “Doesn’t matter. Let’s find Fin.”
Thanking Nate, we leave the scene. I turn in my seat to let the sight of the mangled metal burn into my memory. Grinning when I turn back to Jaxon, I see a lift to his mouth as well, fighting back the glee. I’m sure my face is just as relaxed as his, all our tension melting away with every yard we put between us and Clayborn’s body.
“I should probably feel like shit for being so happy about this, but I’m not.”
“Same,” I grunt, then burst out laughing. He joins me, both of us laughing all the back to my farm where Griffin is waiting on the front porch with arms wide open and the biggest fucking smile I’ve ever seen.
“Well boys, how we celebratin’ tonight?” he shouts, literally skipping as he jogs over. My parents are sitting on the porch, clearly having been told as well. They don’t seem overjoyed, but mom and dad aren’t ones to celebrate the loss of life. What theydoseem to be is content. Which means they definitely aren’t torn up over the news.
Jaxon slaps him on the shoulder, and I’m floored when they hug, laughing together. “Definitely not getting wasted, but I wouldn’t mind a beer or something.”
“When do you think she’ll be back? Anyone call ol’ Ruthie?” Griffin asks, clapping his hands and rubbing them together.
Shit, we need to call her!
I don’t waste a moment dialing her number. “Good evening, Mason. I assume you’ve heard.”
“When’s she comin’ back?” I refuse to beat around the bush.
“Pleasant as always. I’m doing well this evening. Josiah and I just finished a lovely pot roast one of our congregation members brought over. My joints have been flaring up mighty bad these past days, so cooking was a drain. Wasn’t that kind of them?”
Rolling my eyes, I wait out her desire to teach me patience. I dig my teeth into my cheek to prevent a rude retort.
You’d think a woman of God wouldn’t be sogoddamn sarcasticall the fucking time.
“Thrilled that you got a hand. Don’t mean to be short with you, Mrs. Danielson, but would you please tell me when Edith is comin’ home?” I’ll use the ‘Mrs.’ title if it’ll win me some brownie points.
Ruth pauses, then begrudgingly says, “I don’t know yet. She was only just informed of Clayborn’s passing. Probably a few days.”
Swallowing hard, I glance at both Griffin and Jaxon who are staring impatiently for an update. “Few days,” I mouth at them. “Thanks for the information, Mrs. Danielson. We appreciate you.”
