Page 7 of What's Left of Us

Folts eyes me. “Everybody knows how close you and Conklin were. If she can manage to pull herself together enough to come here and get the rest of his belongings and still find it in her to ask about you, don’t you think you can entertain the idea of talking to a therapist? Maybe even getting back to Marissa to let her know you’re okay?”

It’s a low blow, and he knows it. “You can’t honestly be guilting me into this by comparing me to Conklin’swidow.”

I like Marissa Conklin. She was the glue that held my former partner together; grounded him. After my divorce, she was the glue that kept me from absolutely losing it too. I spent more time at their house than I did at my own because I hated being there alone, where my thoughts echoed off the half-empty walls.

I don’t know why bad things happen to good people, especially not to people like them, but it pisses me off every time I think about it.

Because it should have been me.

It would have made everything easier.

“Marissa is worried about you,” he replies, lifting a shoulder. “Said you haven’t been returning her calls. Frankly, I think her coming here today had nothing to do with the stress ball or snow globe that her husband left in his desk. It was you she wanted to see.”

Ihavebeen avoiding her calls. And texts. And even the emails she sent when she realized I wasn’t going to return her other messages. What could I possibly say to her? I failed her husband. A colleague I should have tried harder to protect instead of putting his life on the line for a lead that I needed for my own personal vendetta.

Matt Conklin and I became friends during the academy, then got transferred to this station within a year apart. I spent a lot of time at their place, watching them live their lives. I was in their wedding. I became their son’s godfather, for Christ’s sake.

I knew his death wasn’t entirely on me. I’m not the one who pulled the trigger. But I was the one who insisted on dragging him there. I delivered him right to death’s goddamn doorstep.

And for someone with eyes like a hawk, I sure as hell didn’t see that shot coming.

Or the three that followed.

“I don’t know what to say to her, Folts,” I admit. “Telling her how sorry I am isn’t going to change the outcome for her and their kid.”

He makes a thoughtful noise. “I don’t think she’s looking for an apology, Danforth.”

Then what the hell is she looking for?

As if he can read my mind, he says, “If I had to guess, she’s looking for somebody who can understand her pain.”

My eyes go to the floor as I soak that in.

A piece of paper is extended out, capturing my attention. I take it, brows furrowing at all the red marks throughout the summary. “While you figure out what the right thing to do is, youmight as well edit this report and consider taking a class on basic grammar since you seemed to skip that in high school.”

I snort at his remark, grateful for him lightening the mood. “Do you get off on this shit? I’ve never seen so much red ink on one piece of paper. It’s like you slaughtered a virgin.”

“Hawk.”

“Yeah, sir?”

He points that red pen at the door. “Get the hell out of my office. And call back the DA’s office about the upcoming Hebert trial. We need to make sure the ADA has everything they need so this jackass doesn’t get off again.”

I salute him sarcastically, earning me a hard glare that has me smirking on my way out.

But as soon as I get into my office down the hall, the smile falls and reality slinks back in.

Just like it always does.

CHAPTER TWO

Lincoln / Present

Taking a swigof the beer in my hand, I shoot my little sister a look before she can say whatever is making the blue eyes she gets from Mom gleam with mischief. “Don’t,” I warn her, flipping one of the burgers on the grill.

Hannah lifts her hands in surrender, stealing my Corona and taking a sip. “You’re extra testy today.”

“Andyou’realready getting on my nerves,” I shoot back, reclaiming the bottle. “Not to mention underage.”

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