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Chapter Thirty-Two

Tanner

Pushing myself up off my knees, I stand and walk over to the corner of the workshop where Zach is still tinkering on a 2002 Harley Davidson Softail. I lean back against the wall, sliding my hands into the front pockets of my jeans.

“Pass me that,” he curses under his breath, obviously having trouble with whatever he is trying to accomplish.

Crouching down, I hand him the spanner. “Need a hand?”

He chuckles. “I wouldn’t be surprised if you’ve forgotten how to work with your hands, pretty boy. Stick to pencil pushing.”

“Fuck off, Zach.” I stand, resuming my position against the wall. “I taught you everything you fucking know.”

He slides out from under the bike momentarily. “You’re a bit feisty, do you need to blow off some steam? I’ve got a couple of girls on speed dial?” He wriggles his brows at me and I wave him off, I’m not in the mood to play his games.

After another round of beers and catching up on the past six months, the boys and Carter’s little firecracker clear out, leaving Harley and I alone. He has a loft above the shop, whereas the boys live together in a place a few blocks away.

Harley has always preferred his own space and this spot allows him to open the shop early, or work late if need be. The workshop doubles as a place to come together; the boys always congregate here at the end of each day. I’m thankful for that, it provides me with reassurance knowing Harley isn’t always alone.

“Anything you want to tell me?” he asks, now that we are alone.

Working together, we pop the fold out bed from the couch and I collapse back onto it. My mind is spinning with everything I have held in since the last time I came and confided in him.

“Not tonight, I think I need to just pass the fuck out.”

He nods, tossing me a pillow and blanket. “I’m glad you came.”

Harley switches off the downstairs light and walks up the stairs to his loft. I will need to talk to him, tell him what’s going on but the heaviness in my body tells me I might actually sleep tonight and God, I need it.

* * *

Three whole days.

Three days of no contact, with either her or Jesse. I’m itching to know how she is, I can only find out so much from watching her. Regardless of how much it’s driving me insane, I need her to at least think I’m respecting her choice. A choice that is fucking stupid , but her choice none the less.

What she doesn’t know is that Jesse and I will put an end to whomever is causing trouble in her life. His idea is much more law abiding than mine, but we will iron out the details. Regardless on whether we kill the fucker, or Jesse gets him locked up behind bars, he won’t come near her ever again. The latter will require me to keep tabs on the bastard though, which is plain annoying. It also means I’ll have to finish the job once he’s released; but for now I’ll worry about finding whoever it is.

This will be the one and only time I will ever let her push me away. I will make sure she will never have to look over her shoulder again, unless it’s to reach for my hand; because once this is over, I’ll never leave her side again.

Buzzing from my pocket brings me out of my thoughts, glancing at the screen I see Jesse is calling. “Jesse, is everything okay?” I rush out, this whole situation has me on edge and I don’t like it.

“Hey Tanner, woah man — take a breath. Everything is fine.”

“ Fine? Nothing is fine, Jesse.” I clip.

“I know, that’s why I’m calling. We need to get together and figure some things out. Can you come over —”

“I’ll be there, give me an hour?”

“See you then.” Jesse pauses before adding, “She went pretty dark there for the first forty-eight hours, but she seems to be doing okay today. I’ll be heading back there again tonight — I wanted to give her some space for the day.”

“I’ll be at your place soon.”

What else can I say? Thanks for updating me that she survived her depressive episode? The one caused by me walking away from her. Approaching the boxing bag in the corner, I lay into it, each punch a desperate plea for something to fill the void in my chest. My knuckles have healed slightly but it still stings. I welcome the pain, a distraction from the one which has been building in my chest. The boxing bag stills, Harley takes it in his hands and braces his stance. Lifting his chin, he motions for me to keep going and I nod, before continuing.

After a good twenty-five minute session my body collapses onto the couch, sticky with sweat. I could use a shower. Reading my thoughts, Harley tosses a towel at me, hitting me in the head.

“You stink,” he laughs. “Go upstairs and take a shower. I’ll make us something to eat.”

* * *

An hour later I’m sitting on Jesse’s couch. When I first arrived, he shook his head at the sight of my knuckles but he kept his mouth shut. Either he must be learning the meaning of a time and a place, or this whole thing with Kinsley has really shaken him up. I’m starting to think I was too hard on him in the beginning.

“What I can’t work out is who this ‘George Watson’ could be and why he warned Kinsley away from — all of this.” He gestures towards the living room floor where he has what looks to be everything from Kinsley’s spare room scattered everywhere.

“All of this.” I nod towards the mess. “Looked a lot more structured at her apartment.”

“Now who’s trying to joke around? Keep to what you’re good at, T.” Jesse laughs and I can’t help but smile.

“What about the footage of whoever dropped off the photos?”

“It gave us nothing, they had a balaclava on.” He rubs the back of his neck. “Back to square one.”

“Can I see? Just for the sake of it?”

Jesse was right, you couldn’t see a thing from the security footage. The guy even had gloves on, I thought maybe I could pick up on a piece of jewellery or a tattoo or something, something that Jesse had missed.

“Scrap this George guy, it’s leading us nowhere,” I say, getting aggravated. “What are the reasons we have that they would be pursuing Kinsley for? Why is she a target?” Fuck, there are so many more questions … Why her family? Is this all because her dad was a cop? No, it can’t be. It would need to be more, but what?

“These are my possible theories so far.” Jesse takes a breath and picks up a piece of paper, one that has his own handwriting on it instead of Kinsley’s. “One, this is all a retaliation from Kinsley’s dad being the police officer on the case. It doesn’t explain why they waited until now though. Two, they found out Kinsley has been using a Private Investigator and they have sent George Watson in to scare her off.”

“And three?”

“Well, that’s the thing, I’ve only got two theories so far.”

An envelope with ‘To My Daughter’ written in cursive handwriting sits on the coffee table and it catches my eye. “What’s this?” I ask.

“That’s the suicide letter, Kinsley’s mum left her. I haven’t read it —” Jesse opens his mouth to continue talking but closes it again.

I open the envelope and take out the letter. “How old was she when her mum died?” I ask.

“Eighteen,” he answers without missing a beat.

I read over the same sentence three times, there is something cryptic in this message.

Sometimes when you know too much, you need to be silenced. It’s my turn to be silenced. Listen carefully now, be silent, Meadow. Be silent or be silenced.

I let my forearms rest on my knees as I stare at the paper, the longer I stare the more my stomach twists with unease.

“You need to read this, Jesse. At the very least, just this part here.” I hold the letter up to him pointing out the words which have me in a chokehold. There is something not right about the way in which it is written.

Jesse’s pupils dilate as he takes in the information. His reaction telling me this is new, something he wasn’t already privy to. As quickly as the emotions flicker across his face, they’re gone again and he gives a poor attempt at smiling; his facade faltering.

“Are you thinking what I’m thinking B2?”

Inwardly I roll my eyes, but I play along. When the fuck did I fall onto his wavelength? “Why do you get to be B1?”

Jesse throws his head back in laughter. “I need a beer if we are going to keep doing this,” he says, standing. “Do you want one?”

Nodding in response, I pick the letter back up. Maybe the words will explain themselves to me if I stare at them long enough.