Page 107 of Come Back to Me

“Like PTSD?”

“No. Colt, I admit I’ve lied to you, but I don’t want to anymore. If anything good can come out of this, maybe it’s that? I’ve missed you. For a long while. And I know this is on me.

“The CAF swallowed me whole, and I never let you learn this version of me. I’d like that to change.”

“Me too, brother,” he says instantly, filling me with relief. “But you have to figure out how to make shit right. You hurt her. That hurts Zee. And I’m not about to stand for that. Then there’s the fact that bringing in her new amethyst cathedral fucked up my back. That’s your job?—”

“Amethyst cathedral?”

“She had one delivered today. Massive geode. You know the type. Apparently it’ll ‘enhance her intuition.’ Something she needs because of you. So, I was thinking we could develop a plan of action together?”

“To spare your back?”

“And your feelings.”

My lips quirk—I can’t imagine why she wants to enhance her intuition. “Sounds neat.”

“It does. When you get home, we can maybe go for a ride?”

“Sounds even better. I skipped the last couple days with Callan.”

“I know. I appreciate you opening up to him. He needs us, bro.”

“I get it.” When my radio squawks, I clear my throat. “I still have the better half of my shift to get through. I’ll see you later?”

“Yeah.”

As the call ends, it’s not like a load off because the guilt is still eating me whole, but at least more of my secrets are out in the open.

Mike’ll be fucking proud if nothing else.

Setting off, I aim the truck for the detachment, where I find Sergeant Reilly in the parking lot, barking at someone on the phone.

The Mountie may be undergoing an internal investigation, but he has no self-preservation skills. He’s made his distaste for the marshal service known, and the dumbass doesn’t think that appears in any way crooked.

More checks and balances are only ever a bad thing if you’re on the take.

He sneers at me. I ignore him and stroll inside, where a third of my staff are on shift.

“Chief,” they greet in a mismatched chorus.

I amble over to the whiteboard that houses the list of investigations we’re handling as Marty, my second-in-command, passes me a coffee.

“Any updates?” I motion at the board. “Particularly about the Our Lady of Sorrows situation?”

“The faculty at the school said they confiscated the drugs and have held the student outside of the principal’s office. You ready to go?”

Shaking my head, I stare at the meager information we have.

Considering what I know about the Rabid Wolves and their presence in my town, it doesn’t take much of a leap to figure out they’re the reason for the influx of weed that’s somehow made it into our corner of Saskatchewan.

The problem is the kids are buying it at the boarding school, and while it’s an issue if any underage kid smokes illegally obtained marijuana, it’s more of a disaster when one of the kids caught with a doobie is Saskatchewan’s premier’s spawn.

“This whole thing is a building cluster headache,” I grouse.

“You’d think that making it legal, we’d have fewer problems,” he agrees, tapping the case file.

“Do we know the name of the kid who was dealing?”

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