Page 10 of Silent Bones

“There has to be someone else.”

“There isn’t.”

He released a low sigh. “Where do you want me?”

A moment later, he hung up.

Noah lowered the phone slowly, thumb lingering over the dark screen as if that might change the outcome.

When he turned, Mia was already pulling her duffel bag off the Bronco’s tailgate, dragging it back toward the porch. He felt his stomach drop. Ethan stood frozen near the cooler, shoulders tight, his face pulled into a frown he was trying hard to smooth out.

Noah felt the breath push out of him, sharp and useless. “Mia…”

She looked over, ponytail swinging, and gave him a faint smile. “We figured.”

“Hey, buddy,” Noah said softly, crouching to Ethan’s level. His son’s lower lip trembled just for a second, then firmed.

“It’s okay, Dad.” Ethan’s voice was steady. “You have to go.”

Noah closed his eyes briefly, pressing a hand to the back of his son’s head, drawing him in for a quick, hard hug. “I’m sorry.”

“We get it.” Mia’s voice came from behind, softer now. “We really do.”

That was the part that landed hardest.

A few years ago, there would’ve been tears, protests, slammed doors. Now there was just this: quiet understanding, practiced disappointment. His kids were learning to carry the weight he couldn’t always set down.

“Rain check,” Noah said, clearing his throat, trying for a smile that felt crooked at the edges. “I swear.”

Mia gave him a look, half amused, half tired. “That’s what you always say.” But she came forward anyway, wrapping her arms around his waist.

“I love you guys,” he murmured into her hair.

“We know.”

Hearing that didn’t make it any easier.

By the timeNoah slid into the driver’s seat, the Bronco felt heavier, as if the air inside had thickened. He turned the key, the engine coughing once before settling into its familiar growl. Gravel crunched under the tires as he pulled down the narrow driveway, past Ed’s place. Ed lifted a hand in a half-wave, a coffee mug in the other. He veered out onto the road skirting High Peaks Lake.

The morning had sharpened now, the mist burning off the water, leaving the pines crisp against a sky so blue it hurt to look at. Noah kept one hand loose on the wheel, the other drumming absently against his knee, eyes flicking between the road and the blur of trees beyond.

He’d told himself, once, that he could balance it all. Work, family, the demands that came knocking at all hours. That if he just held on long enough, things would settle, the scales would tip back.

But the truth was, the job had teeth. It bit into you, piece by piece, and some days you didn’t notice how much was gone until you reached for it and found nothing left.

How many more times, he wondered, before the kids stopped waiting?

The road curved gently along the lake, past old cabins and summer homes, with the occasional glimpse of a dock or canoe through the trees. Tourists would be filling the town soon; hikers, kayakers, families looking for wilderness adventure with just enough Wi-Fi to keep them anchored. High Peaks always buzzed this time of year, its quiet corners briefly crowded, its small-town edges softened by the hum of summer money.

Noah barely saw it.

His mind kept circling back to Savannah’s voice on the phone, the edge he’d heard under the apology, the way she hadn’t answered when he asked what they’d do without him.

The Daily Grindsat at the corner of Main and Jefferson, its wooden sign swinging faintly in the breeze, the smell of coffee and fresh-baked pastries seeping through the open front door. Noah parked, cutting the engine, his fingers lingering for a beat on the steering wheel.

He ran a hand over his face, drawing a slow breath.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, the questions were already lining up: What kind of scene required him? What kind of violence froze a whole department? Why had her voice sounded like something worse was coming?