Deploy, Part One (Rawlings #1)(42)

Either way, Justice planned to die with the truth of that night unspoken. At least, not in utter detail, the detail she relived every night.

“I just gotta check and see if my mom sent me anything real quick.”

“Right,” Atticus said as he leaned back against his door.

A person should not be terrified, and excited to approach a mailbox. Justice knew as much, but she couldn’t control her emotions anymore than she could control the weather, not lately anyways.

The little old post lady looked up at her, then did a double take. Justice smiled shyly then made her way to her box.

At first, she couldn’t get the key to work, which didn’t surprise her. Murphy’s Law had been her best friend for a long while. Simple things like opening doors, pouring a glass of tea, bushing her teeth...you name it, something went wrong and it would blow up in her face. Which was, in truth, the reason she was a horrible waitress as of late, not that she rocked it out before all this drama.

With a grunt and a pull, she finally managed to jerk the door open and when she did, letters spilled down over her feet.

She gasped a grin as if she had just won the lottery and hundred dollar bills were raining down around her. Some of it was junk mail, but right on top she saw more than one letter from Declan.

In a rush she knelt down and sorted it all as fast as her shaking hands would let her, tossing the junk mail in the bin, but not before checking it twice to make sure there wasn’t a precious letter tucked within.

She had all that was left in a pile tucked in her apron, hidden from Atticus’s questioning gaze and was ready to leave when the lady said, “Miss,” causing everyone in the post office to look her way.

Justice glanced over her shoulder and saw her pushing a plastic U.S mailbox toward her. “Here’s the rest.”

Justice gaped.

The old lady shrugged. “It wouldn’t fit.”

Hearing her heart pound Justice made her way to the counter. Getting home with all of this was going to be the trick of the century.

“Keep the box,” the lady said, going back to her task, a lingering smile on her lips. “Write back.”

The plastic container wasn’t filled all the way to the top, but there were bound stacks that made what was in her apron look like a joke.

Nerve. She felt it swell in her and she had not read one damn word.

She pulled her phone out and sent Murdock a text. “Don’t need a ride. Already gone. See you Sunday.”

She was off the next day and he had planned to go fishing with his buddy Jacks. Which made no sense. He’d always said fishing was a joke, if he didn’t have gun he didn’t care to hunt anything, but lately, it had been his deal and she was good with it. It kept him away for hours at a time.

“What’s up?” His text was instant.

“Just needed space.” That was her tagline lately, and for the most part, he got why and tried to give it to her, on his terms of course.

“K.”

Then with her head held high, she put the box under arm and walked outside. She ignored the significant smirk strapped across Atticus’s face as he reached for the box, putting it in the middle of the seat then for her hand to help her up.

She sat up straight up in the passenger seat. “Can you take me home please?”

“What? Murdock’s truck not big enough for your haul?”

She slid a glare at him.

He laughed. “I only work for food.” He rubbed his belly. “Growing boy.”

Her eyes grew wide in shock. “I just fed you.”

“Right, but I’ll be hungry by dinner. I’m sure I can mow or fix something ‘round your place ‘till then.”

She smiled, but her eyes watered. “Yeah...that’d be nice.”





Twelve


Declan had to have started writing the letters hours after he arrived, as he waited to be processed.

“If you remember anything I’ve ever said, remember the words I said this morning...fight, Justice. Don’t fall when I’m not there to catch you...”

“I know you’re stubborn...always have been, but asking for help when you need it makes you strong not weak.”

“Day one was a bitch...I had a dream about you last night. It wasn’t good...”

“Day two...”

“Day three...

“Day Four...

“Day Five I just opened a letter from my dad! What the hell happened? Are you okay? I know I told you that you didn’t have to write back, but, Justice, I have to know...”

There were letters from every day, sometimes two a day. The week right after her dad died, there were days there were three. For the most part they were a page long, sometimes two. He told her what he knew, which was basically the story that everyone was told. He told her he knew she was ‘banged up’ pretty bad. And that Murdock was with her all the time.

The avid reader in her was able to devour the letters like a novel that was written just for her, and in a way it was. Once he understood she wasn’t going to write back about anything she went through with her father, or answer his point blank question if she Murdock were together, he began to use the letters as a journal.

His thoughts on his day, what he learned, where he fell, and where he succeeded. She knew who his close friends were, and in most cases what he did that day step-by-step, how good or bad it was.