Page 74 of Unfinished
“I want to know who killed my mom.” Walker doesn’t beat around the bush, and he doesn’t mince words. Just digs straight into the meat of what’s got him acting so off. He tips his head at Titus. “Titus has been helping me search for the records available from the accident, but so far we haven’t come up with much.”
I was young enough that I don't remember much about the car accident that killed my mother’s older sister. I’ve heard bits and pieces about it over the years, but not enough to speak with any sort of certainty about the events that transpired.
Trevor is the second oldest, putting him a couple years behind Titus, so he was old enough to be a little more aware of what was happening. Which is obvious when he asks, “What do you mean you haven’t come up with much? Aren’t there all kinds of police records and witness statements?”
“If there are, no one has scanned them into any online systems.” Titus explains what sounds like a mildly illegal search he’s done through databases that probably aren’t meant for just anyone to sift through.
“What about the hard copies? Shouldn’t those be in storage somewhere?” I know law enforcement doesn’t hang onto that kind of shit forever, but I can’t imagine they would trash evidence without making some sort of record.
“It’s possible.” Walker leans back in his seat, crossing both arms over his chest. “But I’m pretty sure they’re not just gonna let me walk in and start digging through their storage room.”
I mean… “I guess that would depend on what kind of connections you have.”
Pierce owes me for managing to get him that first shipment of Jeeps he wanted. He’s about to owe me double for the second shipment I’m going to deliver on time. If anyone knows what strings to pull to get Walker inside a cold case storage room, the owner of Alaskan Security will.
After deciding he’ll reach out to Pierce, we dig into our normal meeting topics, going over numbers, projections, and any ideas we think could be worth implementing. The meeting runs longer than normal, because we’re closing in on Mariah’s due date and plans need to be put in place for juggling Titus’s leave.
Titus focuses on me. “Do you think Brooke is capable of keeping things running? Or would that be too much on her right now?”
“She’s absolutely capable of keeping things running.” I tip my head. “Whether or not it’s too much, I can’t answer.”
I know she’s come a long way since arriving in Willow Bend. Her confidence is up. Every day she’s less and less jumpy. It seems like the trauma of what happened in California is finally starting to abate.
She’s even found a therapist she likes and is having weekly meetings.
But any time I mention anything close to labeling what’s going on between us, she gets skittish. Withdrawn. Like putting a name to what we have is going to change everything.
It might. But for me it would be in a good way.
That doesn’t seem to be how Brooke sees it, and I haven’t had the balls to ask why. I’m afraid I won’t like the answer.
Because I want Brooke. In all senses of the word. I want her to be mine in every capacity. I want to be hers in every capacity. I want God and government to know we’re linked.
“Maybe you could float it past her and see what she thinks.” Titus checks the time on his phone. “I know if I ask, she’ll do it even if she doesn’t want to.” He stands, tucking the phone into his pocket as he grins. “It won’t be because of me though. She’ll be doing it for Mariah.”
That is probably true. Mariah and Brooke’s friendship was almost instantaneous. Their temperaments are strikingly similar, which I think contributed to the easy connection.
How in the hell Maren’s wild ass fits into that group I’ll never know, but she does. The three of them talk almost every day, and there’ve been more than a few nights where I’ve left them piled across my sofa watching Netflix and bitching about men.
Usually Trevor.
Titus is the first one to leave the room, which is prettynormal. He’s getting more and more comfortable in the office, but still counts down the minutes until he can get back to Mariah. He lingered longer when she used to come with him, but after the explosion—and now with her so far along in her pregnancy—he gently encourages her to stay home.
Which is good, because I don’t want to have to send the guy stationed outside Brooke’s office to follow Mariah around.
Speaking of Brooke… I’m itching to get back to the woman I love myself.
But before I can leave the room, Tucker gets my attention, flailing around as he steps closer, peering out to see where Titus is. When he’s satisfied our oldest brother is out of earshot, he turns to the rest of us. “What are you guys bringing to the hospital when the babies are born?”
Shit. We have to bring stuff to the hospital? It’s not good that I didn’t know this. How am I gonna be the favorite uncle if I don’t even know what all the expectations are?
“I haven’t decided yet,” I hedge since I was completely unaware of this requirement before now.
“I’m not telling you.” Trevor looks Tucker up and down with a scowl. “You’ll just try to bring something better.”
“Who says I’m not gonna bring something better regardless?” Tucker crosses both arms over his chest. “I’ve been researching what little kids like, so you fuckers better watch out. I’m about to smash this uncle thing.”
“Have you ever been around a baby?” I ask the question like I have room to be judgmental. I don’t. I’ve never seen an infant up close.
