Between Here and the Horizon(84)
In the space of five seconds, we’d gone from on the brink of f*cking to Sully kicking the truck door open and jumping out of the vehicle, his chest bare, roaring at the top of his lungs. “Hinchliffe, you motherf*cker. What the hell is wrong with you?”
Hinchliffe? Hinchliffe. Oh, no. The cop that showed up after I reported Ronan’s death? Lord have mercy. My own shirt was nowhere to be seen, so I grabbed Sully’s and threw it on, quickly climbing out of the car after him. Hinchliffe was in uniform, flashlight still gripped in his hand. Sully had him by the throat, and was about to punch him square in the face.
“Sully! Stop!” I ran through the snow, grabbing hold of the arm he had raised and pulled back, ready to strike. The moment I touched him, Sully let go, snarling under his breath.
“What the f*ck are you doing, man?” he hissed, shoving Hinchliffe. “You’re spying on people making out in cars now?”
Hinchliffe spat on the floor, rubbing at his neck. “I’m a police officer, Sully. Fuck, man, sex in public is an offence. And so is assaulting a cop. I could write you up right now if I wanted.”
“You’re gonna arrest me?”
“Of course not.”
“Then what’s the point in writing me up? Fucking pathetic, dude.”
“Whatever. You’d better get out of here before I call for backup.”
Sully barked out laughter. “Backup? You mean Caruthers?”
“Let’s just go, Sully.” I threaded my fingers through his and squeezed. I knew we were safe from another explosion of rage when he squeezed back. Turning to me, he gave me a small smile, but I could tell he was still fizzing with anger.
His dark gaze remained fixed and locked on me. “All right,” he said. “If that’s what you want.”
“It is.”
Hinchliffe grumbled after us as we both got back in the car. Sully climbed into the driver seat, still simmering, and grabbed hold of the steering wheel, gripping it tight. “I’m sorry. Fuck. I shouldn’t have lost it like that. I just—the thought of him seeing you naked…”
“I doubt he saw anything at all,” I told him. “The windows were too steamed up.”
Sully turned to me, face very serious, and his sober expression broke into amusement. His head rocked back, his eyes closed and he laughed. “Jesus, they were pretty fogged up, huh? Damn it. You’ve turned me into a teenager, Lang.” He started the truck, gunning the engine so the tires spun, kicking up snow, and we burned out of there, leaving Hinchliffe on the side of the road.
When we got back to the lighthouse, I fully intended on picking up exactly where we’d left off before we’d been so rudely interrupted. My phone started ringing in my purse before I could even slip out of Sully’s t-shirt, though. Once upon a time I might have ignored the call, but not now I was responsible for two children; I couldn’t afford to pick and choose which calls I answered and which ones I didn’t. I picked up without looking at the caller ID, keen to get the call over so Sully and I could focus on each other again. Sully ran his hands over my shoulders, down my back, kissing at my neck as I spoke into the cell phone.
“Hello?”
“Ophelia? Oh, thank goodness, honey. Where have you been? I’ve been trying to call you for hours.”
It was Mom. Her voice was strained, frantic, and she was running her words together, speaking so fast I could hardly understand her. “I’m sorry, I didn’t hear my phone. What is it? What’s wrong? Mom? Are you there?”
A choked sob crackled down the line. “Oh, honey. It’s your father. I’m sorry, sweetheart, but he’s dead.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Consequences
Heart attack.
He’d gotten up early in the morning and gone down to the pier with his fishing gear. Mom had kissed him on the cheek and told him to be back by midday, which he hadn’t done. She’d stewed for most of the afternoon, ready to chew him out when he got home for not coming to help with lunch service at the restaurant, and then by four she’d begun to get worried. He wasn’t answering his phone. She’d walked down to the pier, but he was nowhere to be seen.
That’s when she’d called the police, and they’d told her what had happened. He’d grabbed at his chest and toppled over the railings into the water at nine in the morning. Two other men had jumped in after him, trying to save him, but he’d disappeared into the water and was nowhere to be found.
At two in the afternoon, his body had washed up onto the shore five hundred feet down the beach, out toward El Segundo. Three skaters found his body first, but they didn’t call for help. They went through his pockets, looking for anything of value. A woman walking her dogs on the strand had chased them off and called for the police. Dad’s wallet, his wedding ring and the Saint Christopher he always wore around his neck were gone, so the police had no means of identifying him until Mom called the station to report him missing.
“God, I am so sorry, O. Is there anything I can do to help?” Rose was fussing around me in the kitchen, offering to make tea, coffee, sandwiches, anything to try and make me feel better. There was nothing to be done though. I wasn’t going to be feeling better any time soon.
“Thanks, Rose. Really, it’s okay. I just need to get back home as quickly as I can. Can you watch the children? I don’t know how long I’ll be gone for.” Taking them with me was out of the question. And the thought of leaving Mom when she needed me most was difficult to comprehend, too. Rose rubbed my shoulder reassuringly.