Page 8 of Last Man Standing

Ignoring Nova’s text for a moment, I tap on Mills’ instead.

Detective Cameron Mills, that is. He’s my dad’s age, has been on the force about as long as I’ve been alive, and he was the kind soul, the only cop, who had my back when my ex was hurting me.

While everyone else erred on the side of until he hits and leaves a mark, I can’t help you, Detective Mills was a beacon in the dark. He declared himself a safe, fatherly figure for me to count on, especially when I was too ashamed to confess to my actual father the situation I’d gotten myself into.

If Detective Mills was on shift, he patrolled near my apartment. If he wasn’t, he made sure to check in with a text. While everyone else believed my ex’s convincing act of innocence, Detective Mills saw past the mask.

It’s entirely possible that what Lincoln and I did to my ex disqualifies us from entering the pearly gates at the end of this lifetime, but I don’t regret it. Because it wasn’t premeditated. It was self-defense. We didn’t start it. Lincoln simply finished it when he knocked on my door at the exact moment Roy’s thumb dug painfully against my voice box and the darkness took me under.

I worried that the last set of eyes I would look into were those of an evil man intent on taking back the control he lost when I left our relationship. In reality, the very next thing I saw was my brother, and immediately after that, one of those claw-on-one-side types of hammers.

Then we hurt Roy Daniels the way he hurt me.

But worse.

When Roy landed himself in a shallow grave, and those missing person reports rolled in, Detective Mills came to me first, not to accuse, but to make sure I was okay. And then he comforted me through what he assumed was grief for the man I once loved.

If remorse is necessary to enter Heaven’s gates, then I suppose I’ll make do on this side of eternity.

“Go!” Nova noisily bustles two men out the front door. I assume. “The house is secure, and we’re not going anywhere. Go to the store now, or I’ll hurt you both.”

In less than twenty-four hours of knowing her, I’ve come to understand exactly why my brother loves Nova Nichols.

Tapping on my darkening screen, I type up a fast response to my friend.

Me:

Hey. I’m good! I’m actually visiting Linc this week.

I had a little time off, so I figured hopping a flight and meeting his sweet new girlfriend would do my heart good. I was right.

I hope you and Martha are well. And tell Ricky good luck with his upcoming detective’s exam. He’s gonna do great.

The deep, vibrating hum of a beefy truck cuts through the side of the house and straight into my veins, just powerful enough to knock my nerves off balance. Hitting send, I lie to another person I care about and set my phone face down on the bed, then I flip through my notebook and stop on the one loose sheet.

The reason I came here.

The heart attack just waiting to take me under.

I slide my fingertips across the face of the seemingly inoffensive sheet of paper, dragging my nails over the words hastily written.

I know what you did to Roy Daniels.

That’s it. That’s the entire message.

So short. So simple. So insanely threatening, I almost lost my lunch and burst into tears at its mere presence. I didn’t do either of those things, though. In reality, I snatched it off my apartment door, packed my bags, and caught a flight out of Colorado all in under an hour from the moment I discovered it. And now here I am, hiding in my brother’s girlfriend’s guest bedroom, pretending I’m not scared to my bones.

Worse: my act is all for naught, because there isn’t a single soul in this house who believes me when I say I’m fine.

My phone vibrates with another incoming text, so I slap the paper back into my book and snatch up the device. Instead of receiving a reply from Mills, or even a follow-up from Nova, Lincoln’s is the name that flashes for attention.

Lincoln:

We don’t keep secrets from each other, Scar.

I’m your annoying older brother, and you’re my bratty baby sister. We irritate each other relentlessly. But we do NOT keep secrets.

While you’re locked up in your room, hoping I’ll forget the very basis of who we are, I want you to remember… you ran TO me. Not away. Let me in so I can help.