Page 17

Chapter 17

Tobias

The whiskey bottle sat on my coffee table, its amber contents catching the light, matching the generous measure in my tumbler. I downed the first three like shots before sitting and savoring this one. I suppose I should have followed Holly's orders to eat something. But truth be told, I don't need a mother hen right now. I know she's just trying to help and make sure I'm alright. But what I really need is someone to solve these fucking break-ins. Shit, at this point I'd settle for just a clue as to who the hell these guys are. They're like fucking ninjas, in and out without so much as a fingerprint. I slammed back the rest of the glass.

"Fucking ninjas suck."

The day's events played through my mind as I refilled my glass. Man, what a damn day it was. Pharmacy break-in. Law's news—I could have gone all damn day without hearing that bit of information. But as much as I hated hearing it, I needed to know. Oh, my deputies' faces when I told them. And then the Whitakers—poor Whitakers have been through enough. Cameron and Melanie are hiding; those poor kids can't even live in their home because of that Armani suit-wearing asshole.

"I swear if he hurts any of them, I'll shoot him myself. Hell, maybe I'll just shoot him anyway." I cheered the idea pouring and downing another, noticing the burn as it went down had faded.

I poured and swirled more whiskey in my tumbler. My mind went to the only thing I hadn't thought about: the council meeting.

"Bastards," I muttered to the empty house. Outside, rain had started to fall, a gentle patter against the windows that would normally be soothing. Tonight, it just felt like another layer of isolation. I thought about turning on the TV for background noise but couldn't summon the energy to search for the remote. Instead, I sipped the rest of my glass while the images of an angry Ruth filled my head. She went to bat for me. I filled my glass, raising it in the air.

"To Ruth and her little hairy kangaroo." I threw back the drink, then laughed at my comment as I replaced the drink. "Hairy kangaroo, that's funny."

I leaned back into my couch, catching the photo of Joan on the mantle. She looked vibrant, full of life, completely unaware her time with me would be cut brutally short.

"Oh, Joannie, it's a mess. Everything is such a damn mess," I told her. "If you were here, what would you tell me to do?"

I knew what she'd say. Joan had never been one to mince words. She'd tell me to eat. I was an idiot for not eating before drinking. She'd also tell me to call for backup sooner rather than later. She'd tell me to stop being so damn stubborn and call Ruth.

"But she's so much younger. What will the town think? What would you think?"

The image of the carousel emerged, the animals circling as the music played. Joan's hurt, angry face looking at me.

I sighed and drank my drink, then filled the glass.

"You're not even here and I let you down." The truth was, I'd failed everyone. Failed the town by not catching these criminals. Failed my team by working them to the bone with no results and now adding more danger. Failed the business owners who'd trusted me to keep them safe. Failed myself by letting Michael's operation thrive right under my nose for years. Most of all, I'd failed Joan by turning into this rigid, rule-bound shell of a man she begged me on her death bed never to become.

Holding my glass, I grabbed the bottle and took a long drag. What a fucking joke I made of that request.

For fifteen years, I'd convinced myself I was doing fine. The respected sheriff. The pillar of the community. The dependable father to Tim. I'd followed all the rules and maintained all the boundaries. When all she wanted was for me to ride the damn carousel. And now, Roo was mad at me too.

My phone was in my hand again before I realized what I was doing. Ruth's number appeared on the screen. My thumb hesitated over the call button. Slugging back the whiskey, I hit the button and put it on speaker phone.

It rang four times before she answered, her voice cautious. "Tobias? Is everything alright?"

"Ruth." Her name came out in a sigh. "Roooo."

"Are you okay?" Concern immediately colored her tone. "It's late."

"I'm fine." The lie slipped out easily. "Just...sitting here thinking of ninjas, carousels, and you."

A pause. "Ninjas? Tobias, have you been drinking?"

"Not drunk enough," I laughed, a hollow sound. "Why? Why did you do it? You looked so mad."

She yawned. "Sorry, it's late. Do what? I don't understand."

"I wanted to hear your voice." The whiskey had dissolved my usual walls. "I miss you."

Another pause, longer this time. "I miss you too," she finally said, her voice softer. "But this isn't like you."

"Maybe it should be." I took another swig from the bottle. "Maybe the real me isn't the man you think I am."

"What does that mean?"

"It means I'm a fraud, Roo-Roo." The words poured out like someone turned a garden hose on high. "Everyone looks at me like I'm some paragon of virtue and strength. The upstanding sheriff who always knows what to do. But I don't. I'm just making it up as I go, and I keep getting it wrong. So, wrong and now, now it's just a shit show with the main attraction on his way."

"Tobias, you're exhausted and you've been drinking—"

"What I am is a failure, fail-u-re." I interrupted. "I can't protect anyone. Can't stop the break-ins. Didn't even know, had no idea."

"You've lost me, Tobias, no idea of what?"

"Hold on, I need a drink." I hefted the bottle and drained it. "Didn't know what Michael was doing right under my nose for years. Y-E-A-R-S Roo-y, Roo, Roo. And now he's coming back, and I'll fail at stopping him too."

"Michael's coming back?" Even in my current state, I could hear the shock in her voice.

"Shit." I rubbed my face. "I shouldn't have said that. But it's okay, Law knows, deputies know, family knows now Roo Ruth knows. Yeah, you can know, it's ok. I will tell you."

"Tobias, listen to me. You're not thinking clearly. No more drinking tonight, okay?"

"I'm thinking more clearly than I have in years." I laughed again, that same empty sound. "Clear enough to know I can't have you."

"What?"

"You deserve better, Ruth. Someone who isn't broken." The whiskey kept the words flowing. "Not me, I’m broken."

"You don't get to decide what I deserve," she said, anger edging into her voice.

"I'm sorry." And I was. "Sorry for everything."

"Tobias, go get some sleep. Everything will be better after you sleep." Her voice softened again. "Please, go drink some water."

I insisted, "It's better if you stay away from me. I'm bad news, Ruth. Bad for the town, bad for you. Bad for the hairy kangaroo, too."

"Hairy kangaroo? Tobias, I'm not going to argue with the booze. Call me tomorrow when you're sober and we'll talk." She hung up before I could respond. I stared at the phone, feeling even worse than before.

Time blurred after that. I vaguely remember calling Tim, my words slurring as I told him what a disappointment I'd been as a father and how horrid it was that my brand new whiskey bottle was now empty. I apologized for being too rigid, too focused on rules and structure. The conversation ended with Tim saying he was coming over, and me insisting he stay home.

The rain lulled me to sleep in my chair.

Morning announced itself with brutal efficiency—sunlight piercing through the curtains I'd forgotten to close, stabbing directly into my eyes. My mouth felt like I'd been chewing on sand, my head pounded with each heartbeat, and my back screamed from a night spent awkwardly in my Lazy Boy.

"Damn," I groaned, slowly pushing myself upright.

The empty whiskey bottle on the coffee table told the story of my night. Fragmented memories surfaced: talking to Joan, calling Ruth, calling Tim, telling them both I was a failure.

"Fuck," I muttered, my voice like gravel.

The sound of a key in the front door made me wince. I knew who it was before the door swung open, revealing my son standing there with grocery bags in his hands, his expression a mixture of concern and disappointment.

"Hey Dad, you look like hell," Tim said, chuckling, stepping inside and closing the door with his foot.

"Good morning to you too." Rubbing my temples, "What are you doing here?"

Tim moved to the kitchen, setting down the bags with more force than necessary. I could hear him filling the coffee pot, cabinets opening and closing.

"I told you last night I'd be over with breakfast."

I groaned and gagged at the thought of food.

"So," he called from the kitchen. "You didn't eat yesterday, did you? Want to tell me what last night was about?"

I groaned again. "Not particularly. I don't remember most of it."

Tim appeared in the doorway, arms crossed. "Let me remind you, my father, rambled drunkenly about what a failure he is, to his son, the town and some hairy kangaroo, whatever that is."

I closed my eyes and blew out a breath. Shit.

The coffee maker gurgled to life, filling the house with the rich aroma of brewing coffee. Tim disappeared back into the kitchen, returning moments later with a large glass of water and aspirin.

"Take these," he ordered, handing them to me. "Then shower, it will help."

I complied silently, swallowing the pills and draining the water glass. The cool liquid felt like heaven on my parched throat.

Tim continued, "I'm going to make breakfast while you clean up. Then we're going to talk."

The hot shower helped, allowing me to wash away some of the physical grime even if the emotional mess remained. By the time I emerged, teeth scrubbed, dressed in fresh clothes, the smell of bacon and coffee had replaced the stale scent of whiskey.

Tim stood at the stove, flipping eggs with practiced ease. He glanced over as I entered, his expression still wary.

"Have some juice," he said, nodding toward the table. "Food will be ready in a minute."

I instead took the full coffee cup; the first sip was perfect—strong, black, no sugar. Just how I liked it.

Tim brought over two plates loaded with eggs, bacon, and toast. He set one in front of me and took the seat opposite.

"Think you can eat?" He asked, eyeing me.

"Yeah, thanks." I took a piece of toast and some bacon. The eggs, I'd wait on.

The food helped ground me, settling my stomach and clearing some of the fog from my brain. Tim waited patiently, watching me with an expression that reminded me so much of Joan it almost hurt. When I finally set down my fork, he leaned forward.

"You want to tell me what's going on? Because in my entire life, I've never seen you like this."

I sighed, staring into my coffee cup. "It's been a rough few days."

"Bullshit," Tim countered. "It's more than that. You called me at one in the morning to tell me what a terrible father you've been. Which, by the way, is complete nonsense."

"Is it?" I looked up at him. "I've spent your whole life trying to mold you into something you're not. Pushing you toward the military when you wanted to travel. Criticizing your choices because they didn't fit my rigid view. Even now, I can't seem to stop trying to control everything around me."

Tim's expression softened. "Dad, you've made mistakes. All parents do. But you've always been there for me, even when we disagreed. That counts for something."

"It's not enough," I shook my head. "I should have done better. Been better."

"This isn't just about us, is it?" Tim's perceptiveness had always been sharp. "What else is going on?"

I hesitated, then decided Tim deserved at least part of the truth. "The break-ins, then the death. The damn Mayor called an emergency meeting just to tell me in front of the community that I'm not doing my job. And to top it all off, Michael, who escaped federal custody, has been seen heading this way."

Tim's eyes widened. "Fuck, that's a lot to take on. Michael? As in, the psycho who terrorized the Whitakers?"

"The same."

"Shit," Tim whispered. "No wonder you're stressed. But that doesn't explain the drinking, or the self-doubt," he trailed off, studying my face. "But before we dive into all of that, I have to know who's Roo and what's this about you rescuing her hairy kangaroo?"

The question caught me off guard. I didn't. My eyes met his. I did. Damn it. "Ah, she's a business owner in town. Ruth Manchester. She owns the flower shop."

"I know who Ruth is," recognition dawned on Tim's face. "Ruth is Roo?"

I nodded, feeling heat creep up my neck.

He put his hand up, "I don't want to hear about her hairy kangaroo. Sounded last night like you like her."

"It doesn't matter," I replied, falling back on my standard line. "It wouldn't be appropriate. The hairy one is her dog, Joey."

"You know her dog, huh. You did say something last night about being too old and not good enough for her. Which is complete nonsense."

The shame of my drunken confessions washed over me. I can't believe I told him about Ruth. "Tim—"

"No, Dad. I'm talking now." Tim leaned forward, his gaze intense. "Mom's been gone for fifteen years. Fifteen years. And in all that time, I've never seen you be this way, not since Mom."

"Mom," I muttered.

"She loved you, she still loves you, just like I do. We all want you to be happy." Tim's voice softened. "Does Ruth like you?"

"Don't."

"Why not? You need to live, Dad. Spoiler alert—there's more to life than being the pillar of virtue, sheriff."

The accusation stung. "That's not fair."

"Isn't it?" Tim challenged. "You've been that way my whole life."

"You don't know what you're talking about."

"I think I do." Tim's voice remained gentle despite his blunt words. "You know Mom was vibrant, full of life. I don't know Ruth all that well, but it seems she has the same qualities. Mom also believed in seizing opportunities, in living fully. She never would have wanted you to spend fifteen years alone, punishing yourself for some imagined inadequacies."

I stood abruptly, unable to sit still under my son's too-accurate assessment. "It's more complicated than that."

"Is it? Or are you just afraid?" Tim remained seated, his calm demeanor a stark contrast to my agitation. "Afraid to take a chance. Afraid to let someone in. Afraid to admit that maybe, just maybe, you deserve some happiness."

"I have responsibilities," I argued, pacing the kitchen. "The town, the investigation—"

"Yeah, so?" Tim interrupted.

"She's too young," I countered back. "People would talk."

"How much younger? Don't make me call her and ask," Tim stared at me.

Clearly seeing he wasn't going to give this up, I let out an exasperated sigh. "Thirteen years."

"Shit, that's all? Who cares."

"You don't understand. She could want a family, I already have one. She's young and spry, I sound like a bowl of Rice Krispies every time I get out of bed. She doesn't want that. Not to mention, what would the town think of a Sheriff who robs the cradle."

Tim shook his head. "Damn, that's a lot of excuses there, Dad. First, have you asked Ruth if she wants kids? Asked if she sounds like a certain breakfast cereal in the morning? I mean, maybe she sounds like Corn Pops. I see the problem there—Corn Pops and Rice Krispies definitely can NOT be together. Goodness, you're right, whatever would the town folk say."

"Funny," I rolled my eyes.

"You're right, it is. Dad, all of those reasons aren't yours to make, they're Ruth's. Who, by the way, isn't a child; she's a grown woman with a thriving business. I'm pretty certain she can make a good decision. Why don't you learn from her and make some of your own?"

The fight drained out of me. "When did you get to be so smart?"

Tim smiled, a sad little quirk of his lips. "I had a good teacher. A man who taught me to look for the truth, even when it's uncomfortable."

I closed my eyes, feeling the weight of years of self-imposed isolation pressing down on me. "I don't know if I can change."

"All you have to do is talk to her, with an open mind." Tim replied, pointing at me. "I bet she's a good listener."

"You think it's that easy, huh?" I couldn't keep the sarcasm from my voice.

"No, it's probably the hardest thing you'll ever do." Tim stood, coming to stand beside me. "But I think it's worth it. The way you talked last night, I think she means more to you than you're admitting to yourself."

I remembered fragments of what I'd said to him: her laugh, her strength, the way she challenged me, the copper fire of her hair.

"I called her last night," I admitted. "Told her pretty much the same thing I told you. That I'm a failure. That she deserves better."

Tim winced. "Yeah, women love hearing that from drunk men at midnight."

"I fucked up."

"You did," Tim agreed, no sugar-coating. "But fuck-ups can be fixed. Apologize. Sober. In person. With flowers. From her own shop, which might be awkward, but I bet she'd appreciate the gesture."

Despite everything, I found myself smiling. "When did you get so knowledgeable about women?"

"Dianna's been training me for years." Tim grinned.

The moment of levity faded as my phone buzzed on the counter. Holly's name appeared on the screen.

"It's Holly," I said, reaching for it.

Tim nodded, beginning to clear the breakfast dishes. "Go ahead. We can finish this conversation later."

Ending the quick call with Holly, I went to the kitchen. "I have to go. Leave the dishes, I'll do them tonight. Thank you for everything." As I hugged my son, I thought to myself that maybe, just maybe there was room in my life for someone else.

Breaking apart, Tim smiled. "Go save the town, Dad. But promise me you'll think about what I said."

"I will," I promised, meaning it. "I will."