of her mother’s words deepened her wounds. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to be closer to her family, but she had to work. She had to support the people she loved most, even if they sometimes forgot how much pressure she was under.
Her mother covered the plate of chicken with plastic wrap, then shoved it into Blake’s hands. “Now run along. And don’t get lost with my chicken.” Her mother pushed her out the door. “And make sure you let his mother know that I’d like my plate back.”
It was like she was eight years old again, her mother moving her along in her pursuit toward her own means. She would never be exactly what Gemma wanted her to be, would always be a disappointment, constantly seeking her mother’s approval and trying to make her proud. No matter how badly she wanted them to, some things would never change.
Splitting the blanket. Trimming away the deadweight. Losing one’s other half. Detective Jeremy Lawrence had heard them all, but they all meant one thing: he was divorced.
He thumbed the empty place on his ring finger where his wedding band used to be.
Genevieve had made such a big deal about the ring when they were first together. She hadn’t wanted him to wear yellow gold, claiming it would clash with her engagement ring—a ring she’d also picked out—and he couldn’t get silver as it would tarnish. He’d felt like an idiot standing there in the jewelry store getting told that tungsten was really the best option for him, but at twenty-two he’d been young and dumb and willing to put up with anything if it meant he got to marry her. Heck, he’d thought himself lucky. She’d been the cheerleader, the girl who could light up a room with a smile and, better yet, make him burn with want with the mere trailing of her fingertips.
Everything, all the way down to her name, had to be classy.
The marriage had been over the minute she had figured out he was just a regular guy, not the idealized version she must have had in her mind.
He reached in his pocket, pulled out the ring and let it drop on his dresser, the dresser he’d had since he was a child. It was funny how a piece of unloved furniture could last longer than a marriage. If nothing else, it proved that a dead oak was stronger than a life built on feelings. Maybe there really was something to being cold, lifeless...at least you could weather the storms.
None of it mattered. He’d gotten a daughter out of their screwed-up marriage. He could be thankful for that, even if Penny didn’t live with him. At least he had something to hold on to.
His father’s footsteps echoed down the hall toward his room; there was a knock on the door. “Jeremy, you in there?”
“Yeah, Dad. What do you need?”
“Your mother’s wondering when you’re going to run out to Robert’s. It would be good if you could get out there before dark,” his father said, as if he hadn’t heard them fighting over Robert for the last ten minutes.
It was funny; he’d been home just a few hours, but when he had set foot in the door it was like he had stepped back in time—parents fighting, brother missing and him searching for a way to escape. Just like when he’d been a kid, he’d found refuge at the neighbors’, but instead of being the one who needed to be saved, this time he’d paid them back for all the times Mrs. W was there for him. Finally things were coming full circle.
And just like the past, Blake had rushed him to the door while she made a point of being out-of-bounds.
He took one last look at the ring, now at home tucked safely away in his past. “I was just about to head out,” he told his father.
“Good,” his father said, turning to leave. “Oh, and Blake is here. Brought over some supper as a thank-you.”
He figured Mrs. W must have forced her to come over. It really was like all those years ago. He loved his family, but he needed to get the hell out of Butte and away from the ghosts that haunted this place—regardless of how beautiful one particular ghost was.
Blake stood in the living room, her hand on the doorknob. She was talking to his mother, who was sitting in her recliner. Blake’s uniform top was stretched tight over her bulletproof vest. The buttons gaped slightly, revealing a T-shirt underneath. As she moved, he caught a quick glimpse of her black bra strap, and he felt his body shift in response. There was just something so right about a woman who wore a uniform and sexy lingerie underneath.
He wanted to rip open her shirt and her vest, kiss the lines of her lacy bra, slip what he figured would be matching black panties down her legs.
Jeremy forced himself to look away, focusing on the painting of a meadow that had hung on the living room wall so long that there was a faint brown smoke line around it.
“Blake was just telling me that she has seen Robert lately,” his mother started. “Isn’t that right, Blake?”
Blake nodded.
“Apparently she was out to his place a few weeks ago.” His mother tapped her fingers on the armrests of her chair.
“It wasn’t anything that major,” Blake offered. “There was just a minor dispute. It was in the Montana Standard. I thought you must have heard.”
He hadn’t read the local newspaper in years, but Blake was right. It was surprising his mother hadn’t gotten a call from the phone tree. Her friends lived for nothing more than to read the obituaries and scan through the weekly police blotter.
“What happened?” Jeremy asked.
Blake chewed on her lower lip, and her gaze flickered to his mother, as if there was something that she didn’t want to say in front of her. “You know, just the normal thing.”
“Was it something to do with his wife?” His mother turned to him. “Tiffany has been threatening to leave him for months now. I told you that Robert needed your help. I wish you could’ve been here earlier, Jeremy.”
“Well, Mom, you know how it is. Work’s been busy,” he said, but he was focused on Blake and how she shifted her weight from one foot to the other.
His mother said something under her breath that he was only too glad he couldn’t hear.
He made his way to Blake and opened the door. “You busy this afternoon?”
Blake glanced down at her watch. “Why?”
He waited for her to step outside and let the door close behind him. “I’d appreciate it if you can fill me in on what’s going on with my brother,” he told Blake.
She waved goodbye to his mother through the glass storm door. “Look, I appreciate what you did with Megan, but I don’t want to get involved with you or whatever it is you have going on.”
“Whoa.” He breathed out, unsure why she had been so abrupt. “I just thought—”
She raised her hand. “No, stop. I shouldn’t have lost my temper. I’m not upset with you. It’s just my mother.” She motioned toward her house.
She had every right to be upset after what she had walked into. It would have taken
