I haven't needed an alarm for 11AM in a long time. And man, am I cursing its very existence. It's my goddamn day off and what did I do? I offered to bring Taryn coffee and breakfast.

Since she doesn't have a car and I didn't help the matter, this made a lot of sense when we said goodnight. But I'd had a few too many and didn't get back to my apartment until the sun was rising. With the past and present swirling and a mystery to solve, it was broad daylight by the time I finally conked out.

I sit up on the side of the bed with a groan. The headrush doesn't stop me from pulling my phone from the charger and scrolling through a ridiculous number of messages. There are a few texts from Knox, something that must be about Taryn's car, a voicemail from my patrol sergeant, and every kind of message possible from my mother. She probably needs money again. It's the only reason she can find it in herself to remember I exist these days. She blitzed me with all of them, starting at 5:30 in the morning, but that's par for the course. She's not exactly known for her patience or tact. Or sobriety.

Some of these messages probably can't wait, but Taryn's text thread may as well stand alone. And still, I can't bring myself to open it.

We somehow managed to exchange phone numbers around the awkward handshake that followed a hug gone wrong. There was some stammering that makes me want to crawl back into bed and die, but I think I got the point across; she can contact me if there's anything she ever needs. And I meant it. At least at the time...

Before my mind starts spinning again, I suppose I should see what she wants. When I notice the time she contacted me, 8:45, it puts the thought into action. What if it was an emergency? She's isolated and twenty minutes away. If anything were to happen to her, I'd be the lazy, good-for-nothing jerk who let her down again.

Hey Grady. Good morning. Sorry to bother you so early. I know you're probably still sleeping.

I stop there to take a breath. It lowers the pounding in my head by at least a degree or two. Then I rub my eyes, not sure I'm ready for the three extra paragraphs.

No one in all of my acquaintance has ever been this . . . this . . . thorough . . . not even Quinn. She was more of a time/place sorta gal . . . and a pro at ghosting when it served her purposes. Toward the end, this tendency went from habitual to permanent, all within a few weeks' time.

I remind myself that Taryn is not her sister, just like I'm not any of the foul lot I'm forced to call family. I let myself be flattered that Taryn took the time, and I'm impressed she found the words. It's certainly too early for me to have anything profound to say. I'm not even sure I can absorb her attempt. I'm exhausted and hungover, emotionally more than anything else. It doesn't stop me from trying, though. Yes, I am a sucker for anything sweet.

I should be sleeping too, but I have a lot on my mind and wanted to take a moment to express my thanks. You really came through for me last night. We have a plan and a sense of direction, and I'm starting to feel a little better about all this. I really think we're going to find something today.

Once again, I apologize for the need. I know this can't be easy for you. I would have done anything to avoid getting you involved, but the mastermind(s) of all of this clearly picked you as their point man. They are cruel and unjust, and if there ever comes a day that I can say that to their face(s), I will do so on your behalf.

I'll see you in a little while. If it weren't for the circumstances, I'd be looking forward to it. I do love Dotty's breakfast sandwiches, and our first conversation aside, I appreciate the company and the welcome home. The ranch isn't the ranch without you. I wanted to get that off my chest before tempers flare again, and I say something I don't mean.

Well, isn't that nice. I don't think anything else could have gotten me in and out of the shower faster.

<<<>>>

Outside of my truck, it dawns on me how pointless that shower was. It's going to be a scorcher today, and I didn't get my ass out of bed early enough to take the edge off any of that.

It's busy downtown. I'm forced to jog across the street at the first chance. And damn, it is bright out. I usually leave my sunglasses in my truck, but today, it was the right choice to hang on to them for the minute I'll be outside. The hat just isn't enough.

I get hung up in the sun for an excruciating few extra seconds just outside the door to Dotty's Café. It's Friday, and no one seems to be working today. There's a breakfast and a lunch rush, it seems, and it all arrived just ahead of me.

The air conditioning, when it finally hits me, provides some relief, but it's tempered by the sight of Knox alone in a booth. For how small and crowded the place is, the uniform gives him a noticeably wide berth. He's generally too tenderhearted for this job, but today, you wouldn't be able to tell. He's looking at me like I pissed in his Cheerios.

When he gestures to the empty seat across from him, I glance at the line at the take-out counter, hook my sunglasses on my shirt, and join him after throwing my eyes to heaven, figuring it's the fastest way in and out of here. Besides, I've got nothing to be ashamed of and may as well carry myself that way.

I put my hat on the seat beside me and wipe the sweat from my brow with my forearm.

Before I get a chance to say anything, he digs right in. "You look like shit. I thought you'd at least be smilin'."

"It's not what you think." Because of my bearing and his uniform, I'm able to flag down a waitress with relative ease. "Two medium coffees, cream and sugar on the side, and two breakfast sandwiches on a toasted hard roll with bacon, all to go, please."

My order doesn't exactly bolster my claim, and Knox is not one to let that slip by. "You either worked up quite an appetite or you're ordering for two. Heck, maybe it's both."

Knowing I probably have a red, readable face, I make a flimsy effort to deflect. I force a slight smile for the waitress, thank her for the small glass of water, gulp down half of it in one go, and nod to another regular. "How was it out there this morning?" It's my feeble attempt to change the subject.

"Fine. I'm surprised you're even asking." He takes an aggressive bite of his toast and takes his time chewing. "It's clear you have other things on your mind. And better places to be."

"Dammit, Knox." I did not get enough sleep for this, and I take a moment to massage my tired eyes to drive that point home. "I don't know why you're giving me such a hard time. I'm single . . . and you ain't. Unless that changes . . . the two-timing . . . it's just not gonna happen."

He cocks his head at me, offended at the mere suggestion. "I would never. Nellie is. . ." He puts his hands up and pulls his head back, making it clear he's had enough of her bossing and bellyaching. "And Taryn and I . . . well . . . there was a time . . . we . . . we . . . had a moment."

"A moment?" I cross my arms and turn my head to stare at the counter. I do a quick count of all the people who are probably ahead of me and feel the urge to hit something. "Anything you'd like to share? Don't worry. If it's unbecoming, I won't knock your lights out or anything."

"Now, hold your horses..." Knox takes a moment to stab at the scrambled egg pieces scattered about his plate. "It was just a kiss. A long time ago. At one of Laila McHale's parties? Do you remember her?"

I shake my head and shrug. A face comes to mind, but not one that stirs up any impression or recollection.

"Well, Taryn and I . . . we got to talking. I was so excited to catch her alone. I'd been looking forward to it for a long time. The night ended on a positive note, but she started going with Luke Wheeler, like, a week later, and it damn near broke my heart. And I only had myself to blame. I didn't call when I should have..."

Luke Wheeler. Now there's a name. Had I known, I would have hit him harder. He was drunk and resisting arrest during a domestic dispute . . . his second out of about four now, and the guy isn't even twenty-five yet.

Back to the matter at hand, I'm not heartless. I feel for Knox, especially in light of who Taryn ditched him for, but it's not the same.

I had a ring for Quinn. Nothing fancy, but it was everything I had. She said no when I tried giving it to her . . . twice. We had three breakups, a few pregnancy scares, the two not necessarily related. The last time it was a legitimate miscarriage—a kid I wanted. Quinn didn't, though, and I suppose it was for the best that God settled that score for us.

Beyond all that, and it was a lot, I watched their mother pop pills. I endured her subtle scoffing and eyerolling, and the backhanded compliments. I had her father's blood on my hands, and he was more of a father than I ever had elsewhere.

Maybe with Taryn, the interaction wasn't as dramatic, but it still had some substance. I carried her for half a mile when she broke her ankle. I stole some frozen corn from her freezer when a bully gave her a black eye. I knew she wouldn't have accepted it if I'd brought her peas. There were band-aids and a bloody nose or two. She was a scrappy, adventurous kid, and there were moments of kinship when things went south, and she was afraid to tell her father.

No, we never had a moment, not the way Knox did, but for six years their family was my purpose, my sustenance, my future, my entire existence. If I had the energy or emotional capacity to argue with him, I think I'd win. But I don't want to get into it. It's not really the time or place, or the company, is it? We're friends and all, but I don't owe him any explanation.

When a man in a trench coat passes by, it snuffs out any lingering guilt or doubt. It's a little warm out for that, isn't it?

The guy momentarily blocks the panel light fixture, creating a formidable shadow. He takes a seat in the last booth so that he and I are facing each other. There are other heads in the way, but we'd be eye to eye a few inches above them. He's going out of his way to ignore me, though, and I'm someone who is openly staring and almost as big as he is.

I don't relent and about thirty seconds later, his gaze lifts. For the briefest moment, we see each other. The guy is quick to look away, though, and is decent at making it look like there was nothing to it. We're just two cautious, territorial men who are attempting to coexist without bloodshed. And maybe it's true. I certainly hope it is.

Knox, catching wind of some of this, attempts to turn around.

"Don't," I say.

His body retracts, and then he swivels his torso in the other direction and pulls his shoulder to his chest, like he's stretching. "What in Sam Hill is going on?" he mutters through clenched teeth and drawn-out lips.

I keep the guy in my peripheral vision, doing my best not to make it obvious. "I told you, it's not what you think. I don't even know what it is. It might have something to do with last night," I suggest, as off as that seems now.

"The windshield," he comments, setting his elbows on the table and using his knuckles to block his mouth.

"Perhaps."

The guy's not from around here, but I feel like I've seen him before, just recently. He's not one of the two men who were harassing Taryn. I didn't get a good look at them, but I know that much.

Could he be "the boss" that Taryn had mentioned, the one she stiffed out of six hundred dollars?

It may be a lot of money for her, but would a business owner cross states lines just to stalk a couple of friends of hers? Seems unlikely. Then again, they did lock her in a room, threaten her with this alleged boss, and travel over a hundred and fifty miles to break her windshield. For true sleazebags, she'd be well worth the trouble, even if they had to get through me and Knox first.

I shouldn't look over again, but it's bugging the shit out of me. I almost can't help myself.

When I finally give in to the urge, it's illuminating but costly. There's a scar beneath the center of his left eye that makes it look slightly clownlike. I caught sight of it coming out of the men's room at Saddlebrook Saloon not long before Taryn arrived.

I'm able to put this all together because he's looking right at me again. It's the same mean, ugly, condescending assessment he gave me when we were walking by each other in close quarters. I know posturing when I see it. I've learned to live with it without making a fuss and didn't think much of it at the time.

I do my best to make our exchange look like an accident, and I'm aided by the waitress, who sets a greasy brown bag and a disposable drink tray with all the coffee fixins' in front of me.

"I gotta go." I pile my cash on top of the bill and put my hat and sunglasses back on.

"Do you need any help?" Knox asks as I get up.

I pick up the bag and coffee, wondering how I'm going to hustle with all this stuff in my hands. I shouldn't ditch it, though. Then he'll know that I know. "Big guy. Trench coat. Let me know if he follows me out."

There's a clear passage to the exit, and I don't wait for Knox's response.

I use my back to open the door and cross the sidewalk, bumping shoulders with someone. Then I step in front of an oncoming car. The guy has plenty of time to stop, and I would have slipped past without incident, but he's irate anyway and leans into the horn.

While he lowers the window to cuss me out, I'm darting over the other lane. I'd have enough time to get inside my truck without bothering anyone if my hands weren't full.

First, I secure the coffee in the holders, and then I drop the bag on the floor of the passenger side. I hop in and get the door slammed, just avoiding another honk. When the car is in gear, I launch into a U-turn the moment there is the slightest break in traffic.

I swing close to Dotty's. At the speed I'm going, I don't catch anything suspicious. This isn't surprising for any number of reasons. My back was turned for a few critical seconds. There's also foot traffic, street traffic, and obstructions to hide behind.

When I check my mirrors, I slow down a little. I'm not getting the impression that anyone is on my tail.

A few turns later, the text finally comes in.

He's got a big pile of bacon that must have cost a fortune. He ain't goin anywhere for a while.

Now I'm questioning my instincts, but if I were him, that's exactly where I'd want me—doubting myself and lowering my guard.

Sam Barber - Straight and Narrow

https://youtu.be/uqomAmZsbHM