Page 29 of Rest In Peace

Ipushed open the door, a gust of warm Florida wind nipping at my heels. Inside, shadows clung to the corners of the living room where Matt sat on the couch, a storm cloud of sulking silence around him. I greeted the void with a weary "hi" and set our daughter Angel on her feet, her tiny shoes pattering across the floor to her basket of toys.

"Matt?" My voice tiptoed around his brooding figure. No response. A sigh escaped his lips, a sound heavy with unspoken words. "Everything okay?"

"Does it look like everything's okay?" His words, sharp-edged, cut through the stillness.

"Your exercises…" I began, hope threading my tone, "did you manage to do them today?"

"Did them," he grunted, eyes fixed on a distant spot on the wall.

"Where have you been?" His question sliced into the air, abrupt and demanding.

"I told you," I replied, a defensive edge creeping in. "The Chapman case. Sarah needs me."

"Sarah again?" He turned now to face me, hurt etching his features. "Why haven't you told me more?"

"I did, Matt." My insistence felt frail against the weight of his stare.

"Did you?" Accusation wrapped around his words. "It doesn't feel like it. It feels like you don't trust me."

"Matt…."

"Stay home," he said, the plea soft but firm. "Help me instead. You're putting yourself in danger. The kids, too. For what? There's a detective on that case already."

"Sarah's innocent," I whispered, the truth of it burning clear in my chest. "She needs me." I perched on the armrest, my fingers coiling into fists. "I'm trying to help a friend, Matt. I'm close to solving this. I got some very important information today."

"Helping?" He scoffed, his gaze piercing through me. "You call this helping? You're obsessed!"

"Obsessed?" The word echoed in my chest, a hollow denial. "Steven Chapman is dead, Matt. And someone we know is being blamed for it?—"

"Someone we know, or you?" His voice rose, laced with frustration. "Every waking moment, it's the case, the clues, Sarah's innocence. What about us?"

"Us?" My throat tightened. "I’m doing this for us, too, for justice. Detective Ryan believes the neighbor Nicki killed herself, but…."

"Justice," he spat out the word as though it burned him. "What about the justice of having a partner who's present, who’s here with their family?"

"Matt—" I started, but his words steamrolled over mine.

"Present. Not just physically, but really here," he continued, his hands gesturing wildly, animating his anguish. "When was the last time we had a day without… without all this?"

"Without the truth? Without fairness?" I leaned in, my resolve hardening. "That's not a world I can accept sitting down."

"Fairness?" He laughed, hollow and short. "Tell me about fairness when you miss another dinner, another bedtime story, because of 'the case.'"

"Because it matters!" I snapped, standing now, feeling the space between us stretch and strain.

"Does it? More than your own boyfriend? The father of your child?" He locked eyes with me, the hurt unmistakable. "I’m hurt. I need you. We all need you here. It’s like you’re running away from us because it’s too much for you to handle."

"Matt, that's not fair." My voice cracked, betraying my mounting desperation.

"Fair…." He shook his head, looking away. "You keep using that word, but I don't think it means what you think it means. Not anymore."

I reached for his hand, the one lying dormant on the armrest. He flinched but didn't pull away.

"Matt," I said gently, watching the conflict play across his face.

"Every time you walk out that door…." His voice trailed off, a haunted look in his eyes that I knew all too well. "It's like I'm back on that floor, bleeding out, not knowing if I'd ever see you or Angel again. I’m scared, dang it. Don’t you understand that? I’m terrified of losing you. This job… our line of work. It’s… I’m scared, Eva Rae. Heck, I’m terrified even to go outside anymore."

My heart clenched. The memory of his broken body sprawled on the cold tiles flashed before me, a stark reminder of the risks we once took daily.

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