Page 63 of Don't Leave Me Behind
“I’m good, Merc. Swear.”
“Good.” His eyes narrow slightly, fingers tapping on the top of his knee. He’s looking for something, trying to read me. “Poker on Friday, if you’re not too busy with all your secrets.”
I roll my eyes, turning back to my computer.
“You’re coming too,” Mercer says to Nate before he leaves the room.
The deputy room falls silent, except for the keys of our keyboards tapping as we finish up our case reports. I log the rest of my photographic evidence and sign out. I stand pausing as Nate comes up next to my desk.
Nathan Clark is a big dude. I’d probably be a little intimidated by the guy if I didn’t know him. Big square jaw, every inch of skin showing in his short-sleeve Sheriff’s uniform, covered in tattoos. He’s got to be around my height, maybe even six foot four, but he’s got muscles stacked on top of his muscles. I don’t even want to know what he can bench.
“Grab a beer with me?”
“I don’t drink much,” I offer. It’s not that I don’t like the guy, but I don’t feel like hashing out my trauma with someone I’m still getting to know.
“So, sip it,” he mutters, turning around to walk out the door. “I’ll be there in ten,” he calls over his shoulder, making his way out the door. I want to argue. It’s not a good look to park mypatrol unit outside of the bar and go drink in my uniform. Though I doubt anyone in Hillcreek gives a damn. They probably wouldn’t be surprised, seeing another Traeger sipping a drink in uniform, like father like son.
I debate it back and forth on my way to the Rusted Rail. Bertie’s bar has all the charm you’d expect in a small country town. She’s renovated the whole place, installing a dance floor and new wooden tables. Her kitchen is state-of-the-art and the best place to buy a burger. If you want cheap beer and soggy fries, then the biker bar on the other side of town is for you. I park in the back, near Bertie’s old truck, and shuck my uniform shirt off. Normally, I’d have a t-shirt underneath, but with summer fast approaching, I prefer a tank top.
Now I really look the part of my father, stomping into a bar wearing a wife-beater tank and jeans.
Bertie whistles when I walk by her. “Got a hot date, Traeger?”
I flip her the bird, finding a table along the far wall that faces both entrances. I watch Clark enter the bar, every single female head turning to the door when he enters. Even Bertie checks him out when he saunters up to order a drink. She points in my direction after handing him two bottles, then turns crimson with something he says. I don’t know if I’ve ever seen Bertie blush before. She’s got to be a good ten years older than him; looks like the kid might have some charm after all.
He sits across from me, painfully oblivious to all the attention he’s drawing with his gym shorts and cut-off t-shirt. The sides of his shirt ripped all the way down to the hem, combat boots hanging open at the laces. He’s like a bigger, stockier version of Adler.
“It’s NA.” He hands me a beer and tips his back to take a swig. “Bertie said you’d probably like it. Said she keeps it stocked for your brother. Didn’t know you had a brother.”
I sigh, shaking my head. “She means Brooks.”
“Ah, I see.” He tips his head to the side, considering.
“I met Mercer in high school, grew up a couple counties over before that. The Kanes took me in when they figured out how my dadparented.” I wrap air quotes around the word parented. What he did was technically child abuse. Tomato, tomahto.
“I know. Mercer told me,” he says, the side of his mouth tipping up into a smirk.
I narrow my eyes and cock an eyebrow.
He raises his hands, then drags one over his cropped blond hair. “Figured you might want to talk, is all.”
“Bold of you to assume.” I sip my beer, letting the cool, crisp liquid coat my tongue before I swallow it down.
“I killed mine,” he says, setting his beer down as his voice drops low, growing cold and emotionless. My back straightens, eyes widening a little as I try to wrap my head around what he just admitted. “Got big enough to fight back and pushed a little too hard. He hit the coffee table just right and broke his neck. Now my therapist tells me that it wasn’t my fault. The court found me not guilty; it was an accident brought on by self-defense. But I can’t tell you how many times I thought about it. How badly I wanted to end him and me to be the one to do it.”
The wooden chair beneath me creaks as I sit back in it. The front legs rock off the ground as I drum my fingers on the table between us.
“I stopped havin’ nightmares about him coming after me and started dreaming that I didn’t stop with him. That I was worse than him because I killed a man, and all he ever did was beat his kid.”
Air whooshes out of my lungs, chair slamming down onto the ground with a heavy thud. “Jesus, man.” I look at him, and I think I can see it. The way he’s hiding behind aSheriff’s badge and combat boots. He’s so fucking young, too. That couldn’t have happened more than ten years ago. “Jesus,” I repeat, unable to find anything else to say.
“I’m not looking for your pity, Traeger. I thought you should know the problems don’t go away when they do. You seem like a good dude. I’ve heard a lot about you from the Kane boys, and everyone in this town respects the hell out of you, man. You don’t seem like the type that would go off half-cocked. I just wanted you to know that I’ve been there. I get the anger. I get wanting to make him pay, but it’s not worth the stain on your soul. He ain’t worth it.”
I lean forward, my eyes never leaving his. “Are you secretly twenty years older than you look?”
“Fuck no.” He grins. “But I’ve seen some shit.”
“Clearly.” I lean back and offer my beer for him to cheers. He taps the neck with his own, and we shoot the shit about our fucked up pasts and non-existent parents. Guess I’m not the only one scared that it’s written in my blood.
