“That’s because we’re alike,” he said with a big grin. “That’s what mama always says.”
Maisie kissed his cheek. “That’s because we’re awesome, and awesome people should eat all the chips.” She turned the open bag to him. “If your mother asks, this never happened.”
He shoved a hand into the bag and chomped away. “Deal.”
Across town, Beckett pulled his dark gray Ford F-350 Super Duty to a stop outside the police station after they’d dropped off Maisie at home. The River Rock Police Station had moved into the old courthouse on Main Street long before Hayes had worked there. The skies had opened twenty minutes ago, a downpour settling over the town, bringing sheets of rain from the west. Beckett’s headlights caught the droplets, the windshield wipers set to high, unable to keep up with the hammering of the rain.
The front door was right there, and Hayes fought against his churning stomach at the thought of walking through the doors.
Obviously sensing his hesitation, Beckett said, “I can take you home. It’s been a long day. Why don’t you sleep on this?”
Hayes glanced at his lifelong friend. The only man he’d ever admit his weaknesses to. “I did this to Maisie. I need to fix it.”
Beckett threw the truck into park. “Oh, yeah, you stole your own truck and set it on fire?”
Hayes snorted. “I should never have agreed to stop at that damn amusement park.”
“That’s idiotic,” Beckett spat. “For one, you sounded fucking happy when I called. Second, you had no idea that stopping there would lead to someone stealing your truck and Maisie’s trailer.”
Hayes thrust his hand in his hair, the truck feeling a little too hot for his liking. A little too small even. “I should have kept us on track. You didn’t see her.” His chest tightened, and he blew out a harsh breath to ease the tension. “She needed this win. To do this for her grandfather. The blow of the failure—”
Beckett gave a dry laugh.
Hayes snarled in Beckett’s direction. “This is funny to you?”
“Funny?” Beckett hummed the word like he was tasting it on his tongue. “No, it’s too fucking sad to be funny. How about we stop playing this game where you’re helping her because of any other reason than you care about her.”
“I do care about her,” Hayes said in an instant.
Beckett gave a knowing look. “You want me to say how much you care about her?”
Hayes’s gaze cut to the rain droplets in the headlights. You love her echoed in the truck between them.
Beckett added, “For the life of me, I can’t figure out why the hell you’re dancing around that fact.”
Hayes swallowed the thick lump in his throat. Lost in the rain beating the windshield, he forced the words out. “What if I get this all wrong? Fuck this up and hurt her.”
Beckett hesitated. “Ah.”
He knew how broken Hayes was. A few days after the murder, Beckett had pulled Hayes’s drunk ass out of a bar. In his drunken stupor, he’d cried the truth to Beckett, sobbed in a way Hayes didn’t know himself capable of sobbing, that he’d failed to protect his wife and put a bull’s-eye on her back. Hayes listened to the steady rhythmic beating of the rain and admitted something he never thought he would. “I can’t…” Lose her got caught in his throat.
Beckett drew in a deep breath and blew it out slowly. “Listen, man, Maisie’s got a big, loving heart. Don’t hide from her. She’s got hard love for you, my friend. Either talk to her, tell her everything, and see how it plays out, or don’t, but dancing around this is going to hurt her more than telling her the truth.” He cupped Hayes’s shoulder. “It’s been a long time, buddy. It’s time to move on from this.”
Hayes bowed his head and nodded. Unsure what to add beyond that, he said, “Thanks for picking us up.”
“Of course,” Beckett said.
Hayes opened the door then and stepped out in the pouring rain.
“Hayes,” Beckett called. He turned back, the warm rain battering his face. Beckett gave a soft smile. “Tell Maisie you came here tonight to fix this for her.”
“Why?” The warm water dripped off Hayes’s nose.
“Just tell her.”
Beckett slowly drove off as Hayes slammed the door shut. He watched the headlights fade into the darkness before he turned toward the station. His gut twisted. This time, he pushed that weakness aside. He’d come for a reason, and he couldn’t run, not anymore. He’d failed to protect Laurel. He would not fail Maisie. He blew his drenched hair out of his face and tr
otted up the stairs, entering the station quickly, wiping his boots on the mat.