Page 3 of Before You Can Blink (Rust Canyon #4)

Jett

May

“Would Jett Sullivan please report to the principal’s office?”

The request was issued over the wall-mounted speaker in the corner, and every eye turned in my direction as my classmates let out an obnoxious “oooooh” in unison.

Rising from my desk, I looked to Mrs. Chambers for permission to leave.

She dipped her chin. “Go ahead, Jett.”

Turning toward the door, I passed Wade on the way out, and he asked, “What’d ya do?”

I shrugged. “Hell, if I know.”

“Language!” Mrs. Chambers called out from behind me.

“Sorry, ma’am,” I muttered before slipping out of the room .

The walk to the office didn’t take long. Rust Canyon boasted a population of only six hundred souls, and with less than half of those being under the age of eighteen, our singular school was small.

When I reached the door, my hand froze on the knob when I saw Sheriff McKinley speaking with Principal Taggart through the glass wall.

There was only one reason he could be here in conjunction with my summons to the office. He’d found out I was the one who had spray-painted the mural on the water tower.

Pop would tan my hide for this one. The Sullivan name was one held in high regard in town, and he was gonna blow his top when he had to bail his only son out on a vandalism charge.

Accepting that I was caught, I pushed into the office, ducking my head as I greeted the secretary. “Afternoon, Ms. Harris.”

Her lips curved into a sad smile. “They’re waiting for you inside, honey.”

Dragging my feet like a dead man walking, I made my way to the open door to Taggart’s office. I took a steadying breath before knocking on the wood frame to alert the men inside of my presence.

Two sets of eyes landed on me, and the identical grim expressions on their faces told me I was sunk.

“Jett, why don’t you come in and take a seat?” Principal Taggart motioned toward one of the chairs set opposite his desk.

Conditioned to follow orders, I stepped inside before dropping onto the chair.

The quiet latching of the door behind me had my head whipping around, and when I saw Sheriff McKinley’s large body between me and the only exit, I gulped.

Nothing like a little preview of what I could expect when he locked me into a cell at the station later.

Clasping both hands atop his desk, Principal Taggart began, “Jett, I’ve called you down here today because I’ve received some upsetting news. ”

Sweat gathered on the back of my neck, and I squirmed in my seat. “Sir, I can explain—”

He lifted one hand to cut me off, and I zipped my lips immediately. It was probably for the best; if I ran my mouth, I’d likely land in even deeper trouble.

Taggart curled his fingers in a beckoning gesture to the man standing at the door. “Sheriff, do you want to take it from here?”

The sheriff stepped forward and leaned against the principal’s desk so that he remained facing me. “Earlier today, we got a call that your daddy collapsed while out on a job.”

My back went ramrod straight. “This is about my pop? He okay?”

Sheriff McKinley let out a heavy breath. “I’m sorry, son, but he’s not.”

Heart racing, I stood. “Which hospital is he in?”

“He’s not in the hospital.”

My brows drew down. “What do you mean he’s not in the hospital?”

Peeking over his shoulder, Sheriff McKinley looked to Principal Taggart for backup.

“What the sheriff is tryin’ to say, Jett, is that your daddy has passed.”

A buzzing filled my ears, and I shook my head in disbelief. “No, you’re wrong. My pop only just turned forty last week.”

Sheriff McKinley nodded in understanding. “No one can blame you for having a hard time wrapping your mind around the fact that he’s gone. Milton was far too young to be taken from us, son. On that, we can agree.”

Chest growing tight as the truth began to sink in, I rasped, “What happened?”

“Based on the eyewitness account, the county coroner suspects that it was an aneurysm. If that’s the case, he didn’t suffer. He was gone before he even hit the ground.”

If what he was saying was true, one minute my father was alive, and the next he wasn’t. Just like that, as if God snapped his fingers and decided on a whim to take him from this earth.

A thought struck me like a bolt of lightning, and I gasped aloud. “My ma. I need to get to her.”

I made it halfway toward the door when a hand landed on my shoulder. “Not sure that’s a good idea, son. She was in a bad way when I left her.”

“No fucking shit. Her husband just died!”

Jesus, saying that out loud for the first time was like a knife piercing my heart. My palm pressed tight to my sternum in an effort to quell the all-consuming agony emanating from within my chest.

I still couldn’t believe it. In my mind, when I got home, he’d be there, sitting in his recliner, nursing a cold beer like he did at the end of every day.

But the lead ball of grief growing heavier in my stomach by the minute warned me not to get my hopes up.

“I’m going home.” The words were issued over my shoulder as my feet were already moving from Principal Taggart’s office.

“Hold up, Jett! I’ll drive you.” I could hear Sheriff McKinley huffing and puffing as he tried to keep up with my quick strides.

He grabbed my elbow to steer me toward the front entrance, and I jerked out of his hold. “Don’t touch me.” My voice took on a low, lethal edge.

The sheriff let out a heavy sigh. “I know you’re hurtin’, son—”

Humorless laughter fell from my lips. “Son.” I shook my head. “Is this what it’s going to be like now? Every man in town taking me under their wing because my pop’s gone?”

“Jett, listen—”

“No, you listen!” I roared, pointing a finger in his face. “Do me a favor and make sure to spread the word that no one can fill the shoes my father left behind, and I don’t need or want anyone trying. ”

Sheriff McKinley’s lips pulled down, but he had the good sense to keep his mouth shut as he nodded his acceptance of my request.

He could pity me on his own time; I needed to get home.

Before he could stop me, I bolted for the door, digging in my pocket to retrieve the keys to my rust bucket of a pickup.

Jumping into the driver’s seat, I turned the ignition and peeled out of the parking lot.

A quick peek in the rearview mirror caught the police cruiser trailing me.

Guess Sheriff McKinley couldn’t take a hint.

The ranch-style house I’d called home my entire life came into view, and in my haste to get to my mother, my truck tires clipped the curb, and I grimaced when I heard the scrape of metal against concrete. But bottoming out and fucking up my undercarriage was the least of my worries right now.

I barely managed to put my pickup in park before my boots hit the pavement, and I was running to the front door. Clearing the three porch steps in a single leap, I came to an abrupt halt when the sound of animalistic cries with an undertone of shattering glass reached my ears.

Hearing the news of my pop’s death was one thing, but I knew the minute I crossed the threshold and saw the impact it had on my mama, my world would never be the same.

Closing my eyes, I dragged in a deep breath, holding it inside my lungs before slowly exhaling.

You’re the man of the house now. You have to make sure she’s taken care of. That’s what Pop would expect from you.

With a shaky hand, I turned the knob and pushed inside, but nothing could have prepared me for the scene I walked in on.

Chest heaving as tears streamed down her flushed-red face, my mother lifted a kitchen chair over her head and brought it down with a crash. There was a sharp crack as wood splintered in every direction.

“Goddammit, Milton!” she screamed at the top of her lungs .

Bending down, she grabbed one of the broken chair legs and used it to smash the TV.

“‘I’ll take care of everything, Betsy, don’t you worry,’” she used a mocking tone as she imitated my father. “What the fuck am I supposed to do now? Huh? You promised me forever! This whole thing doesn’t work without you!”

I stood there frozen, watching the destruction play out, knowing I needed to step in, while at the same time terrified of putting myself in the line of fire.

Betsy Sullivan was thirty-eight. She didn’t have a single gray hair, and yet she was a widow. How fucked up was that?

Next came the picture frames, which were ripped off the wall and hurled across the room. The raw cries torn from her chest echoed in my ears, and there wasn’t a world in which they wouldn’t haunt my dreams for years to come.

The woman I witnessed self-destructing might as well have been a stranger because my mother was a take-no-prisoners, doesn’t-give-a-fuck-what-anyone-thinks kinda woman. She didn’t break; she didn’t fall apart.

“Ma . . .” I said her name slowly as I took a cautious step forward.

Head lifting, she turned in my direction, but with her blue eyes glazed over, it was almost as if she was staring straight through me.

Glass crunched under my boots as I ventured closer, approaching slowly with the hope that I wouldn’t set her off again with sudden movements.

When only a few inches of space remained between us, I banded both arms around her.

Immediately, she began thrashing in my hold, crying out for my father, then crying out for God, until eventually, her words became incoherent, and she sagged against my chest, the fight seeping out of her as great gasping sobs wracked her body .

As much as I wanted to reassure her that we would make it through this, the words got stuck in my throat because I couldn’t imagine how we would carry on without my father. He wasn’t just a man; he was the backbone of our family.

A hand landed on my shoulder, causing me to jolt and my mom to let out a weak whimper.

“Jett, honey?”

I craned my neck to find that the town physician’s wife, Annie Stevens, had let herself in through the still-open front door.

“Why don’t you let me take it from here?” she offered.

Nodding, I swallowed thickly, allowing her to ease my mother from my arms into hers.