Page 91 of The Last One You Loved
“I think you should call your lawyer,” he said quietly. “Make sure they know you’re waiting for a response from the hospital.”
I nodded, but I was dragging my feet. I knew it. Maybe because I was afraid of the answers I’d find. Maybe because I wasn’t ready to leave the little bubble Willow Creek had surrounded me in. I would have to go back to California at some point, but I also felt like it was a chapter I’d already closed, that these were the new pages I was writing on with Maddox and Mila and the Hatleys.
“Smile” came on the radio, and Maddox glanced at me, face bursting into an enormous grin.
The nostalgia hit me like a brick. Maddox and I, hair blowing in the breeze as we drove the Bronco out to the lake. The air was full of the scents of summer?wet earth, dry tules, bonfires, and sunscreen. The possibilities each day had held had seemed endless without Mama’s drunken slurs hovering over me as country music blazed through Maddox’s speakers. “Smile” might not have been the same silly pop song he had as his ringtone, but it was almost as ridiculous.
Maddox had never cared back then, and he didn’t care now. He started singing, his grin growing, and I joined in. Our voices cracked and creaked because neither of us was musically inclined, but joy stirred through every note. It wasn’t just the warm memories that sent happiness rippling through me. It was the sense of belonging I’d rediscovered here. I rolled down the window, letting the breeze in, stirring my hair and filling the cab with the scents of my childhood. It wasn’t as cold as it had been earlier in the week, but it wasn’t warm either. I didn’t care. This glorious moment was all that mattered. Nothing before. Nothing after. Just the pure golden sunshine of our now.
? ? ?
The diner where we were to meet Trap was in a part of Knoxville that didn’t like cops, so the sheriff’s logo on the side of Maddox’s truck didn’t win us any favors when we got out. The few cars parked in front of the place ranged from beefed-up muscle cars to ancient Toyotas looking like they should have been put out to pasture a century ago, but it was the slew of motorcycles that proved we were in the right place.
There was no bell above the door as we entered like there was at Tillie’s, and no one greeted us with smiles or hellos as we walked in. The floors were caked with years of grease, the vinyl booths were cracked, and the scent of old oil hung in the air.
My stomach turned, and Maddox slid his hand into mine, squeezing it and reassuring me with just a touch. I was glad I wasn’t there alone like I’d originally planned when I’d first called Trap. My eyes searched for my dad in the dim lighting filling the place. The dust-covered blinds were nearly closed, and the fluorescent bulbs in the ceiling were half burned out, casting a gloom over the room.
I finally found him in the farthest booth at the back with shadows surrounding him. Trap was as enormous as I remembered, but his face looked like it had aged thirty years instead of the ten it had been since I’d last seen him. His beard and hair were still clean and long, but there was as much gray in them as there was dark brown. The ever-prevalent bandana that had always covered his forehead and brows was no longer green but bright blue. He had on a leather vest over a red, short-sleeved T-shirt showing off the tattoos trailing over every available space on his arms. I knew, even though I couldn’t see them, that he’d have on cowboy boots with spurs. The sharp edges were a weapon he carried with him just like the knife in his pocket and the gun I’d seen at his back most of my life.
Maddox had a gun, too. Even though he was dressed in civilian clothes, I’d seen him tuck a handgun into a holster at his back before he’d hidden it beneath a brown leather jacket. It made me feel skittish, the guns, the friction flowing through the room.
As we made our way across the diner to him, Trap’s eyes narrowed in on my hands tangled with Maddox’s. He was alone in the booth, no sign of the woman who’d been answering my calls, and he didn’t get up when we approached. No hugs were coming my way for the long-lost daughter.
I slid in across from him, and Maddox joined me.
“You’re lookin’ good, darlin’,” Trap said with a nod. Then, he turned his eyes to Maddox. “Sheriff.”
Maddox tipped his chin in my dad’s direction but didn’t say anything.
Two men, also in leather with tattoos up and down their arms and grim faces covered in bushy beards, sat down in the booth across from us. Trap didn’t acknowledge them, but I felt Maddox tense beside me, and when his hand landed on my knee, it tightened ever so slightly.
“You didn’t need backup, Trap,” Maddox said, his voice nonchalant and a complete contrast to how I knew he was actually feeling.
“I’m sure I don’t. Just a chat between my daughter and me, right? But you can never be too careful.”
“We just have a couple of questions,” I said, nervousness skating over me.
“Phones on the table, and I need to make sure you aren’t wired. Either of you,” he said.
Maddox and I drew our phones from our pockets, laying them on the table face up, and one of the two men got up, running a device in our direction. He gave Trap a nod and then sat back down.
“Do you know who Mila’s father is?” I asked.
“Mila is the little girl Sybil had?” he asked, as if needing the clarity, but his eyes were taking in Maddox.
“Yes.”
“Why’d you do it?” Trap asked Maddox.
“Do what?”
“Take her in.”
“Does it matter?” Maddox asked, voice calm when I felt like jumping up and running from the restaurant.
“Let’s just say I need to have my curiosity assuaged before I engage in any exchange.”
Maddox’s hands clenched again on my knee beneath the table, and I set mine on top of it, running a thumb over his.
