Page 30

Fish or cut bait.

It had been Old Man Ayers who had told me that saying. It was relevant now. Candy Crush was getting boring. I looked down at my arm and knew that cutting was out of the question, so fishing was what I needed to do. But I didn’t know how. I had a freshly minted master’s degree in physical therapy. But I also had inherited a boatload of money, so I didn’t have to work for a few years, but that was stupid.

I was stupid.

So stupid.

The haze of the phone screen and the candy was even blurrier. That was when I realized I was crying.

Dammit. I needed to get my shit together. I shoved the phone away and rested my head against the arm of the chair. I needed to sleep, but the bedroom was too far away. Licorice and chocolate floated past my closed eyelids as I drifted off to sleep.

***

Zarek

I didn’t want to wake her up. My instinct was to carry her to bed and let her go to sleep, but I couldn’t. Wednesday, I was going to a twenty-four-hour shift and I wanted to get her some coverage before I left her. Slayer wasn’t going to cut it.

She must have sensed my hand hovering over her shoulder because her eyes opened.

“Hi.” She gave a ghost of a smile.

“Hi. You ready for dinner? I’ve got cheese sauce for the broccoli.”

“You went to the station today. I should have made food,” she said as she shoved up from the chair, her phone falling to the floor.

“I didn’t ask you to come to Dallas so you could cook.” I followed her into the dining room and noted that she wasn’t favoring her injured foot in the slightest.

“Thank God, cooking has never been my thing. Even when I was firing on all cylinders, mac and cheese was usually as good as it got. Zoe was the chef.”

“I remember.”

It gave me hope to hear her talk about herself not firing on all cylinders. It was the most self-aware statement she’d made since I’d found her in bed back in Jasper Creek. Maybe this conversation would go better than I’d been thinking it would.

“How did you become such a good cook?” Chloe asked.

Another good sign, she was asking questions. “We take turns at the station. One of the older guys named Gus, he’s close to retirement, is a great cook. He made sure that when it wasn’t his turn to cook, that the rest of us could produce a good meal. The hard part is learning how to make something for just one or two people.”

“What do you mean?” Chloe asked as I forked two slices of ham onto her plate.

“At the station I cook for fifteen grown men and women. Here, I’m just cooking for me. So, I screwed up the first couple of times I tried to reduce the recipes. I ended up with enough spaghetti for five nights the first time I made it here at home.”

When I poured the cheese sauce on her broccoli, she motioned for me to scoop another spoonful. I laughed. “Like cheese much?”

“Hey, you’re the one who wanted me to eat.”

“Touché. But you’re still only eating half the calories your body needs.”

She set down her fork and looked at me with hurt eyes. “I’m better than I was.”

“You’re locked away or huddled on the chair in my office most of the day playing on your phone. You don’t talk. Your sisters call. Not just Trenda and Zoe, but Maddie, Evie, Piper, and even Drake has called. You won’t talk to any of them.”

“I don’t have anything to say.” I could barely hear her. Dammit, she had just been interacting, now she had crawled back in her shell. So much for hope.

“Chloe. You need help. Real help.”

“You told Trenda that I needed time, space, and care. I heard you.”

“Well, I’ve given you time and space, now you need care.”