“You didn’t answer me,” Jake prods as another person walks away. Like always, he never leaves a question unanswered, and he expects the very same from those he interacts with. Accountability is key, according to him.
“Mom is thinking of retiring. She claims kids are brats more so now than ever before, and there isn’t one conversation we have that she doesn’t lament about how much better things would be if she had gone into accounting rather than teaching. Dad is still working down at the shop, and says he’ll continue until the day he dies, especially if Mom retires.”
We both smile, knowing Dad is full of it. He loves Mom like I’ve never seen before. I grew up watching that, wanting that for my—
I clear my throat, refusing to let any of those thoughts infiltrate my head. Eight fucking years since I walked out of that courtroom, and I still get agitated, more over the wasted time than anything else.
“She still teaching in Ellendale?” I nod. “If she thinks those kids struggle, she hasn’t seen the kids I work with.”
Jake shakes his head, and I know exactly what he’s talking about.
Growing up with a mom teaching at one of the best private schools in St. Louis meant free tuition to said school. It also meant I was the poor kid amongst the rich brats, which in turn lead to the constant need to prove myself, only I went in the opposite direction. Instead of working hard to do better, to be better, to show those idiots that I belonged there with them, I gave them exactly what they expected. I was a hardass, skipping school, disrespecting teachers, being an all-around jerk. That is until Jake. The changes were gradual, but eventually Mom’s job was no longer threatened by my behavior and I grew up to be a man that was almost respectful.
The Army only lasted eight years. There was no point in staying in after my divorce. I only joined to provide stability for the family we were supp—
Another throat clearing. Another smile at Jake.
“What are you planning to do with yourself now, old man?”
He scoffs, both of us knowing that he’s still a badass on the basketball court and could chase down a criminal in full uniform if he were challenged to.
“Retirement just means I can spend more time down at the rec center.”
“And that means I’ll probably never see him again.”
Jake softens, opening his arms immediately as his wife Connie steps up beside him. He presses smiling lips to her cheek, and I watch as her hand settles over his stomach, the move so practiced it’s rote.
“He’s going to have to find a compromise, right?” I grin at Connie. “Maybe you two could volunteer there together.”
My phone buzzes in my pocket as Jake raises an eyebrow at his wife, as if they’ve already had this conversation and I’m a voice of reason.
My phone flashes an unfamiliar number, but I press decline even though it’s a local number. I can only be fooled by robocalls so many times. Before I can shove it in my pocket, the phone rings again. For the second time, I hit ignore for it only to ring again.
“Give me a moment, please,” I tell them as I walk away, accept the call, and hold it to my ear.
“What?” I snap, angrier at myself for bringing the damn phone in with me than anything else.
“Deacon?” The voice is an unfamiliar screech, clearly an upset woman. “Is this Deacon Black?”
Oh hell. A phone call from a hysterical woman is never a good thing.
“Speaking,” I snap.
“It’s Anna.”
“Okay.” I don’t give much away, still trying to figure out what’s going on.
“Annalise Grimaldi.”
I nearly drop the damn phone. Never in a million years did I think this woman would call me.
“I can’t believe you still have the same number.” Her words don’t fit the hysteria she displayed a few seconds ago, but that doesn’t stop the wave of cold chills rushing down my spine.
There’s only one reason that Anna would call me. I haven’t seen her or heard anything about her in the eight years since my divorce, and we only have one connection.
“It’s Dani,” she sobs.
I clear my throat, swallowing multiple times to ward off the lump forming there. “What happened?”
I squeeze my eyes closed, waiting for her to deliver the terrible news. People die every day, some suddenly, some slipping away gradually. Some after years of no contact, but somehow that doesn’t stop the twinge of pain, the thoughts of regret. Years of separation and no contact doesn’t stop the grief of losing someone you once loved.
“What happened?” I repeat when all I can hear on the other line is whimpering and pain.
“The police are all over the place. There was so much blood. They won’t talk to me. They carried her out on a stretcher. I think she was shot.”