Page 60 of What's Left of Us

Before I told him to meet me at 123 Cover Creek Road to serve Jakob Volley with an arrest warrant where he’d inevitably breathe his last breath.

Nostrils flaring, I ask, “You said you didn’t show Broughton this?”

He shakes his head, his throat bobbing at the tone I’m using. “I didn’t think it would be a good idea. Sir.”

Sir.Christ, the kid looks like he’s about to piss himself. I lean forward, tapping the top of the folder. “I’ll buy you breakfast for the next two months if you keep this between us. Pretend you never saw it. Feel me?”

He shifts, his eyes going from the file to the door, back to me. “I wasn’t going to say anything anyway. You don’t need to buy me breakfast. I…” His throat clears. “I don’t think you remember me, but we’ve met before. Long before I was a cop. You helped my mom get out of a nasty relationship by giving her some tough love that she needed to hear. I was sixteen and didn’t know how to help her, but whatever you said made a difference. She pressed charges against her dumbass boyfriend, and you got him hauled away and helped her get a protective order against him.”

Studying him, I try picturing a pimply-faced teenage version of the cop in front of me. He does look vaguely familiar, and the case rings a bell. I wish I could say that was the only domestic I’ve ever responded to, but it was one of many. “I think I know who you’re talking about.” I rack my brain for a name before snapping my fingers when something clicks. “Is your mother Danielle?”

He smiles. “Yeah. Danielle Corwin.”

No shit. “Small world,” I murmur, glancing down at the file. “Is she doing okay?”

Dickers nods. “She’s good. Better than. She got remarried a year ago. He’s a nice dude. Better than her usual type.”

Swiping my jaw, I say, “Good for her.”

We’re quiet for a minute.

Then he says, “I look up to you. Wanted to help people because of you.”

I can’t help but laugh. It’s short and dry. Bemused, if anything. “I’m not the kind of guy you want to look up to, kid. Trust me.”

His eyes are wary. “Because of Conklin?”

My teeth grind. “I’ve hurt people. Unintentionally, but still.”

He doesn’t answer right away. “You’ve helped a hell of a lot more people than you’ve hurt, Hawk.”

He doesn’t say more on the topic. He simply opens the door and steps out, leaving me with a, “Have a good holiday.”

I stare down at the thick folder, almost afraid to open it back up.

When I do, my eyes go to one name.

Nikolas Del Rossi.

*

A hand dartsout and slaps mine away from taking another pepperoni roll from the plate. “It would be nice if you saved some for the others,” Mom chides, waving me away from the kitchen with a dish towel. “Scoot. I need to finish cooking lunch before everyone else gets here.”

From the other room, I hear Dad and Hannah laugh over our family’s favorite Christmas movie—National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation. It was tradition to watch it on Christmas Day, and we haven’t done it in a while since I typically pick up Christmas shifts so my coworkers with families can have it off.

“Who else is coming? I thought Uncle Sam and Aunt Becky couldn’t make it.”

She wipes her hands off before moving over to the stove where potatoes are boiling in a pot, stirring them a few times before putting the lid back on. “They couldn’t. But our neighbors are coming by for lunch. You remember the Coleman’s, don’t you?”

Vaguely. “I didn’t know you were close with them. Didn’t Dad have beef with the husband over shrubs or something stupid?”

“That was silly man stuff they resolved years ago. They’re friends now. And I think Hannah is even friends with their daughter. Have you met her? Oh, she’s precious, Lincoln. You’ll like her.”

My eyes narrow at her chipper tone that seems far from innocent. “Since when did Hannah start hanging out with their daughter?”

Mom shrugs. “Opal is doing her master’s program at the same college as Hannah. They see each other around campus. It must have spurred a friendship.”

“And now she’s coming here.”

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