Page 49 of The Lilac River (Silver Peaks #1)

Revolution – The Beatles

Nash

T he air inside the police station was flat and metallic, laced with the scent of disinfectant and old coffee. Fluorescent lights buzzed faintly overhead, casting everything in a washed-out yellow glare that made the face of Ethan Evans, the deputy behind the desk, look older than he was.

As he typed, the clatter of the keyboard echoed too loud in the otherwise quiet room. I knocked twice on the counter with my knuckles.

Ethan looked up; his eyes looked hollow with weariness.

“Long day?” I asked.

Ethan sighed and pushed out of his chair. “Hey, Nash. You could say that. Are you here about your dad?” His gaze flitted between me and the wall that separated us from the holding cells.

“Yeah, did the sheriff tell you I was coming?”

He nodded. “Said you could have ten minutes. Unless you want longer, I can probably swing it.”

“Nope. Ten minutes is all I’ll need.”

“Okay then. Follow me.” He lifted the flap on the counter and ushered me through.

He led me to a door which opened into a corridor where the walls were painted beige-gray, grime creeping into the corners.

On one side was a bulletin board full of forgotten faded notices and pictures curling slightly at the edges.

We didn’t have a lot of crime in Silver Peaks and were lucky to have our own police department.

The neighboring Sweet Maple Falls and Clementine Hill shared.

I knew Joe Harley, the Sheriff, and he had three times as many deputies and a much bigger, more modern station.

“He’s in the last one,” Ethan said. “Right side. Hold your nose. Old Petey’s in the first.”

Old Petey. Regular drunk. Regular arrest. Regularly forgot that jail cells weren’t bathrooms.

The stench hit me like a fist. Sweat and sour misery. If I didn’t picture the mountains outside, I’d think the walls were closing in.

And there he was.

The mighty Mayor Michael Miller, slumped on the edge of a bunk, head in his hands.

His silk tie, undoubtedly funded by stolen ranch money, dangled between his knees like a noose.

His designer suit and Italian leather shoes clashed violently with the plastic mattress and rough, gray-striped blanket.

But it wasn’t the cell that was out of place. It was him. He was the blight.

I didn’t speak.

Just stood there.

Watching, letting myself revel in it.

Reveled in the misery of his downfall. When he finally looked up, his eyes were sharp. Not broken. Not sorry. Still defiant.

“Nice and comfy in there?” I asked, sliding my hands into my jeans’ pockets. All casual indifference because this meant nothing to me. I wasn’t concerned. This was my wish.

His nostrils flared. Anger flushed across his face. Raw and red. “This is your doing isn’t it?” he snarled, saliva gathering at the corners of his mouth, like he’d been forming the words for hours. Rolling them around his mouth. “How dare you? I’m your fucking father.”

He shot to his feet, coming so close I could see every busted capillary in his cheeks. I smelled his cologne, expensive yet drowning in stale whisky. His hands gripped the bars, knuckles white. Confident and threatening.

“How dare I?” I told him, leaning a hip against the wall, at ease with his situation. “How dare you? How the fuck could you do it, huh?”

“What?” The rise and fall of his chest was deep and heavy. “I don’t know what the hell you think I’ve?—”

“Don’t.” My voice cut sharp. “We have the evidence. The chemicals, the lavender farm deeds, Mom’s will. Your hiding place wasn’t so hidden, was it?”

His face only blanched a little, but he was quickly back to calm, collected and full of shit.

“I’ll be out of here before you know it.”

He slammed a hand against the bars, the sound vibrating in my ribs more than my ears. A low murmur of Old Petey’s voice filtered from his cell as he started singing. Low and tuneless. Like a fly that wouldn’t die.

When he smirked, all my ease disappeared. Everything about the creek, the will, the farm paled into insignificance compared to everything else that he’d done. Compared to what really mattered. Lily.

“I don’t think so, Michael.” Inching forward, my hands clenched into fists inside my pockets. “You’re going to pay for everything. Including what you did to Lily and me.”

His expression flickered as I gave him a second to let it sink in. For him to understand that the foundation of everything for me was Lily. I would always fight for our land, for what was rightfully ours, but for her. For her I would ruin the world.

“She told me everything. How you stole ten years from us.” I took a deep breath trying to damp down the fury building in my chest. “Well guess what, you have no control over her any longer. You fucking evil, narcissistic bastard. You took her away from me. You…” My breath was ragged as I inhaled, pushing back the sadness and pain of the last ten years.

“You stole our lives. The beauty we could have had all for what?” I pointed at my knee.

“Because that sure didn’t work out, did it.

And you know what? I could have still made it, even if I had gone to Ohio. ”

His sneer deepened. “You think I did all that because of you?” He scoffed.

“I didn’t give a shit about your football career.

But the people in the NFL? They had power.

They could’ve helped me. And that girl!” His nostrils flared.

“She would’ve ruined it all. Made you think being a damn rancher was enough. ”

“And it would’ve been!” I exploded, grabbing the bars. “I would have been happy shoveling shit if it meant that I got to keep her.”

My voice cracked. My chest ached. My eyes burned with ten years of grief. “But you took that away from us. Destroyed it for your own greed and ambition.”

A door opened and footsteps clipped on the tile. My time was up. But I was done anyway.

“Enjoy your time in prison, Michael. And when you finally get out, don’t come back to Silver Peaks because you don’t have a family here anymore.

I do. I have everything you tried to take from me.

A daughter who loves me, the land that’s rightfully ours, and Lily.

My heart, my home. Always remember that you didn’t just fail, you lost everything. And I won.”

“You done here?” Sheriff Jackson raised a brow. “It’s time.”

“Yep,” I told him, giving the mayor one last glance. One last goodbye “Abso-fucking-lutely.”

“Nash, you little dick?—”

I didn’t hear the rest. Because from that moment on, he was already gone.