Page 81 of Truck Stop Tempest

I was moving out, but I wasn’t letting her go. I was merely stepping back, giving her room to grow. That’s what I told myself, anyway. Every second felt wrong. Every word, every action, off. Everything except for the kiss.

She pulled away, and whispered, “See you tonight,” then forced a smile.

I should’ve begged her to stay. I should’ve spilled my truths. Instead, I opened the door and moved aside. A coward.

I let her walk away.

I walked away, the weight of his stare a gale-force wind at my back.

When I climbed into Tango’s Rover, Rocky shouted a hello from the back seat. I forced the emotion from my voice and turned to address the little lady-killer.

“Good morning, Rocky. All ready for school?”

He held a football in one hand and a juice box in the other. The boy was all green eyes and cheesy grin. “Yep,” he said, his legs kicking up and down. “We have a field trip today.”

“Yeah? Where ya going?”

“To see the fish hatch.”

“The fish hatchery,” Tango chimed in.

“We get to take the school bus and have a picnic.”

“Wow. That’s so cool.”

“I like fishing. I have two poles. Uncle Tuck taught me. Do you like fishing?”

“I do like fishing. My brother taught me how when I was—”

My throat clogged tight. My eyes burned, brimming with moisture. My head spun with a tidal wave of memories. Jonas had been decent, once upon a time. Like the summer he’d taught me to fish. We had spent most our days down by the dirty river, under the shade of the river birch trees. Jonas packed sandwiches, soda, and chips. I carried the backpack; he carried the poles. He mostly ignored me, but he would always let me listen to his iPod, and I used to think that was pretty awesome. He never told his friends about our secret fishing hole.

One tear rolled down my face, then another, catching on my lip.

Tango cleared his throat and said, “Hey Rockster, I don’t think Tuuli has heard you sing the ‘Nifty Fifty’ song yet,” effectively changing the subject.

I wanted to hug him.

From the back seat, Rocky belted out lyrics, “Fifty, nifty, United States, from the thirteen…”

Tango offered me a sympathetic smile. I mouthed thank you to him and released a long breath, blinking the swelling tears from my eyes. Maybe I missed my brother after all. Parts of him, anyway.

We reached The Stop minutes later. Rocky was still singing. I hopped out of the car, shouted a thank you to Tango, and waved goodbye to Rocky. “Have fun with the fish.”

When I walked through the front door, Officer Caldwell stood at the counter, arms folded over his chest. “Morning, sunshine.”

“Good morning, Roger.”

He cleared his throat. “Can I have a minute?”

“Sure. Everything okay?”

“Yeah. Yeah. Slade said we can use her office.”

I followed him down the hall and into the private room.

He closed the door behind us, hooked his thumbs in his belt, and waited for me to sit.

Roger was a good-looking man. Especially in uniform. Average height. Athletic physique. Clean cut. He wore his dark blond hair trimmed close to his scalp, and worry wrinkles framed a wise set of eyes.

---