Page 10 of Protected By the Mountain Man

“Sure,” I said, leading the way to the living room, my mind racing. “But you're making me nervous, man.”

We took our seats—Chris on the old sofa, me in an armchair I'd snagged from a yard sale years back. The cushions were familiar with my weight, but now they felt stiff under the tension brewing in the room. Whatever Chris was here for, it wasn't good. And somehow, I knew it linked back to Silver Ridge's latest tragedy—Ben's death, Kat's grief, and the past that kept chasing me, no matter how deep into the woods I went.

“Well…spit it out,” I muttered. “What have I done now?”

Chris sighed. “Kat told Sheriff Callahan that you might be responsible for what happened to Ben.”

I had to process that for a beat…then two.

Chris just watched me like this was an interrogation.

“What the hell, Chris?” I finally said.

He held up a hand. “I know you didn't do it, Gabe. But Kat's pushing hard on this, and we've got to follow every lead.”

“Jesus.” I scrubbed a hand over my face, the stubble there scraping against my palms. “Fine. Ask whatever you need to.”

“Alright.” He leaned forward, elbows on knees. “Where were you the day Ben was shot?”

“Town. Getting groceries for Dad.” My voice was flat and matter-of-fact, because I didn’t have anything to hide, damn it. I pushed up from the couch, heading to the kitchen drawer where I kept the receipts. I didn't wait for him to ask for proof; the accusation alone was enough to have me defending myself.

“Here.” I slapped the receipts onto the coffee table between us. “And before you ask, I took the backroads 'cause the traffic through town is a bitch when school gets out. A dozen people saw me, easy.”

“Okay.” Chris picked up the receipts, eyes scanning them quickly, then set them back down. “That checks out. Thanks, Gabe.”

“Good enough for you?” I asked, my voice tight with irritation.

Chris didn't relax though; his eyes were still on me, questioning. “I still don’t quite get taking the back roads. They add a good twenty to your trip, even if you’re dodging traffic.”

I felt the defensive wall go up. “You know damn well I'm not great with crowds anymore.” The words came out sharper than I intended, but damn it, he knew why. Knew what the service did to me. How people made me feel trapped, like I was back in that godforsaken desert.

“Any new guns, Gabe?” Chris's voice was soft now, but insistent.

“Are you serious?” My voice spiked, incredulous and raw. “What—do you think I left the grocery store and decided to stop by and kill Ben Martin on my way to my dad's house?”

“Hey,” Chris held up his hands in a calming gesture, “I'm sorry, man. I have to ask these things. Kat's got Sheriff Callahan's ear right now and she's…she's being real damn tenacious.”

I sank back down into my chair, the sound of the old wood creaking under my weight. It was like they could all still see the angry kid I used to be, before I had any discipline, before I learned control. My head fell into my hands as I let out a long sigh.

“Chris, I get it. You're doing right by Kat and Olivia. Hell, if we don't figure out who actually did this, they're still in danger.” I couldn't look at him. Couldn't bear to see the pity or doubt in his eyes. “Things were bad before I enlisted…can't deny that Kat's got reason to suspect me, given our history.”

“I swear this isn’t about that,” Chris said. “And hell…that was a real long time ago. You've punished yourself enough for the past, haven't you? Everyone knows you and Ben were just kids when that fight happened.”

His words hung in the stillness of the cabin, an echo of a decades-old memory I had tried to bury under layers of discipline and miles of foreign sand. But no matter how far I'd gone, I couldn't escape who I was back then.

The offer of absolution sounded sweet, but some sins clung like burrs on old denim.

Instead of answering, I stood and walked over to the fridge, my movements stiff, my mind churning. I’d finished my beer, and this conversation warranted another.

“Beer?” I asked, pulling out two bottles.

Chris glanced at his uniform, the badge glinting in the light from the window. “I can't. I'm working.” His eyes met mine, a silent struggle there. Then he looked down at his watch. “Yeah, well…I guess I'm off duty now.”

We ended up on the wooden porch, the creak of the aged planks a familiar tune to my ears. I tipped back in my chair, catching a glimpse of the sky stitching itself into dusk. The stars out here were unreal; I would never get tired of them. We talked about ordinary cop business, what was going on in town, who was dating who…until I glanced at him, the buzz from the beer loosening the knot in my tongue. “Why do you stick around, Chris? With all the crap I dragged you through?”

He squinted up at the sky, as if seeking wisdom from the stars. “Cause there's a decent guy in there, Gabe. Buried deep, sure, but he's there. Saw him come out more than once when you wore those Marine blues. That angry kid didn't stand a chance.”

“Maybe.” I wasn't convinced. The anger felt like it was etched into my bones.

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