With fumbling fingers, I unlocked it and tore out of my house, my bare feet going from the smooth flagstone walk to the biting gravel of my driveway, and I didn’t care.
I threw an arm out, half hugging my granddad’s truck, running my arm along its side, the hood as I rounded it to get to the driver’s side.
I got there, whispered my chant of, “Together, keep it together. Get in the truck and go. Together, keep it together,” in an effort to get the key in the hole to open my door without wasting another second dropping them from my violently shaking hands.
It worked.
The door made not a noise when I threw it open (WD-40 could not be beat).
I climbed in the seat, slammed the door, locked it and went to the ignition.
“Together, keep it together. Keep it together.” I kept at it to focus on getting the key in, the truck started up and getting the fuck out of there.
It worked again and I threw the truck in drive, did a tight turn in the wide (but not that wide) circle of gravel that was the end of the drive at the front of my house. And I floored it when I hit the lane.
Through this, I did not look anywhere or think anything but where I was going.
And I continued to do this as I drove like a fucking lunatic down my lane, Ponderosa Road and all the rest until I hit Main Street.
I must have taken that street in the early morning dark going seventy.
I did not care.
I drove direct to the police station, screeched to a halt at an angle to the front doors, taking up both handicap spaces. I threw the truck in park, pushed open my door, shoved myself out of the truck and ran to the front door.
It was locked.
I looked through the glass door at the officer at the desk and started banging with open palm at the door.
“Let me in.”
It came out as a scratch.
I cleared my throat, still banging, and shouted as loud as my damaged throat would let me. “Let me in!”
I heard a buzzer.
I yanked open the door, threw myself through it and raced to the desk where the officer was already standing and on the move, beginning to make his way around it, eyes locked to me.
I came to a rocking halt and declared, “Someone tried to strangle me.”
That was when the tears started to flow and there was nothing for it.
I sank down to my knees and totally lost my shit inside the Carnal Police Department.
Chapter Nine
Christ Almighty
Deke
Deke drove to Jussy’s house Monday morning knowing one thing.
If she didn’t go out and get them sandwiches that day, he was doing it.
She’d had her space.
They could do this.
And they were fucking going to.
He was not losing her the only way he could have her.
Which meant he was just not losing her.
These were his thoughts as he turned into her lane but he had them knowing Jus would be in that place. That was who she was. If she could take all the shit that was fucking with her life—her brother acting like an asswipe, her friend descending into a world not a lot of people pulled themselves out of—then shake that off and do it with a smile and a wiseass crack, she could get into the right space with Deke.
These were his thoughts when he drove up the lane, and if he was honest with himself, he was not even close to content with them, but he was not giving himself another choice.
When he saw two police cruisers in the lane, these thoughts were history.
He had no thoughts.
His gut had clamped in on itself and the pain was pure agony.
That didn’t mean he didn’t shove his truck into park, throw open his door with such strength he had to kick out a boot so it didn’t slam right back, and he angled out of the vehicle without even cutting the ignition.
He didn’t close the door as he jogged toward Jussy’s house.
An officer came out, looked to Deke, and Deke did not spend all his time in Carnal. Not to mention, they had a lot of new cops since the department was swept clean after Arnie Fuller’s downfall. He did not know this guy.
He did not care.
“Sir—” the cop started, one hand going to rest on his gun, the other arm lifted toward the aggressively advancing Deke.
“Where’s Jus?” Deke demanded.
“Sir, I need to know—”
“Where’s Jus?” he roared but didn’t wait for an answer.
He began running, right by the guy, right toward the house.
“Sir, that’s a crime scene. You cannot go in there,” the officer bit out quickly.
Crime scene.
Deke’s gut twisted, the excruciating pain shooting straight down, to his balls, and straight up, to clog his throat, and he sprinted into her house.
“Goddammit! Sir! You cannot go in there!” the officer shouted after him.
“Jesus, Deke,” Jon, one of the officers he did fucking know came out of the hallway that led to Jussy’s bedroom.
“She in there?” Deke asked, his gut now in knots so goddamned tight it was a wonder the coffee he drank that morning didn’t come up.
“No, man. She’s down at the station with Chace,” Jon answered.
She was down at the station.
With Chace.
Deke turned on his boot and sprinted the other way.