Page 3 of Wrecked By You

“Police dispatcher. Hazel Friendly is retiring, and they haven’t been able to fill the position.”

I froze. I knew some stuff about this town. Even after things had ended between me and Damon Armstrong—the first love of my life—I’d stayed up to date on his family’s activities because I stalked most of them on social media. His mom had posted a few years ago about how he had become the police chief.

Wendy didn’t seem to notice. She flung open the door. “I’ll bring paint out tomorrow.”

I followed her to the door and stood there, watching her go. “Sounds good. Thank you, and see you tomorrow!”

She waved as she started the truck’s ignition and backed out. Soon I was left alone to stew in my thoughts.

Dispatcher.

Damon Armstrong.

Suddenly, Refuge Falls didn’t feel like such a refuge after all.

Two

Damon

I stepped out of my police cruiser and evaluated the house in front of me. We’d been called in for another domestic dispute. My foot tapped as I waited for my brother McCrae to show up; he was also a cop in Refuge Falls. These days, the police had to do everything with another cop. Which was good. A little accountability went a long way.

McCrae pulled up in his own police car and bustled out. “How do you want to handle this, Chief?”

I began walking toward the door, signaling for him to follow. “This isn’t the first time with the Wilmingtons. Probably won’t be the last.” Old man Wilmington was a jerk. For years, his wife or the kids would call. Now, old man Wilmington was in his sixties, and today there had been a call from his wife again. It made me angry, but I forced myself to smother the anger. It didn’t do to go into any situation with a hot head.

McCrae cracked his knuckles, and I could tell that he was feeling the same things. “When are they going to finally file charges against this old man? He should have been in jail years ago.”

For an instant, I thought of Isla. I thought of her father. The trial. We’d been so young. She should not have had to go through that.

I pushed those thoughts away and focused on the situation. “All we know is that life isn’t usually fair, is it, bro?”

McCrae grunted at that. As we hurried up the steps, he took the lead and knocked at the door. “Police!” he announced.

It didn’t take long until the door was opened by Mrs. Wilmington. “Hi, boys. I shouldn’t have called.” She didn’t open the door all the way, just stayed crouched behind it.

I didn’t observe any bruising on her face or the parts of her arms I could see.

McCrae let out a long breath. “Mrs. Wilmington, you said your husband was trying to hurt you. Where is Mr. Wilmington?”

She shook her head and then let out a light laugh. “The funny thing is that we were both sleeping, and he is sleeping right now. It must’ve been a dream. Because I just woke up flustered.”

This was a new excuse. I had been on a couple of receiving calls with Mrs. Wilmington, and this was more creative than the ones before.

McCrae bit his lower lip and turned to me, wondering what to do.

My mind went through all the things that would happen, but if she wasn’t willing to press charges, all we could do was give a warning. There would be no charges. There would be no consequence for Mr. Wilmington, consequences that should have been a long time ago.

Just like every time I was faced with any domestic situation, I thought of the bruises all over Isla’s face that night. Of the way she’d cried and wished she didn’t have to press charges. Of the way she’d hung onto me as her body racked with sobs.

“Where is Mr. Wilmington, again?” I asked, jolting back to the present. “Where did you say he was sleeping?”

Mrs. Wilmington let out a light laugh. “Boys, could you please just go? Do we really need to do this?”

Suddenly, McCrae clenched his fist. “Yes, Mrs. Wilmington, we need to do this. Go get your husband. We need to talk to him.”

I agreed with McCrae, even though I could tell that his anger wasn’t in control.

Mrs. Wilmington frowned, then left the door slightly open. “Okay, I’ll see if he’s awake.”

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