Chapter Thirty-Four - The Detective’s home

I couldn't hold it anymore.

The tears came fast and hard, choking my throat, stealing my breath. I pressed my free hand against my mouth to muffle the sound, but it was useless. The sobs escaped anyway, raw and ugly and unstoppable.

"Alexa?" Detective Cross's voice was sharp with concern. "Alexa, where are you? What's happening?"

"I'm at the chapel," I managed. "The old one. Near the edge of campus."

"Stay right there. I'm coming to get you. Don't move."

The line went dead.

I sank onto the nearest pew, my legs shaking, my breath coming in ragged gasps. The tears kept coming, hot and relentless, soaking my cheeks, dripping onto my jacket. I'd been holding them in for so long. Weeks. Months. Years, maybe.

And now they wouldn't stop.

---

Fifteen minutes later, headlights cut through the darkness outside the chapel windows.

I stood up, wiped my face with my sleeve, and walked to the door. Detective Cross's car was parked on the grass, the engine still running, the driver's side door already open.

She walked toward me, her boots crunching on the gravel. She was out of uniform, wearing jeans and a dark coat, her hair pulled back in a ponytail.

Without a word, she pulled me into a hug.

It wasn't a gentle hug. It wasn't soft or careful. It was fierce and strong and exactly what I needed.

"I've got you," she said. "You're okay. I've got you."

I cried into her shoulder. She held me tighter.

When the tears finally stopped, she pulled back and looked at me.

"You look terrible," she said.

"I know."

"Come on. Let's get you out of here."

---

Her car was warm, the heater blasting, the seats worn and comfortable. A child's car seat was buckled in the back, pink and covered in sparkles. A small stuffed rabbit sat in the passenger seat, its ears flopped over, its button eyes staring at nothing.

"Whose is that?" I asked, nodding toward the rabbit.

"My daughter's. She refuses to go anywhere without it. Which means I refuse to go anywhere without it, because if she wakes up in the middle of the night and Bunny isn't there..." Detective Cross shook her head. "World War Three."

I almost smiled. "How old is she?"

"Five." She pulled onto the main road. "Her name is Lily. She's going to be thrilled to meet you. I've told her all about the brave girl I've been working with."

"You told your five-year-old about me?"

"I told her I have a friend who's very brave and very sad, and that she should be extra nice if she ever meets her." Detective Cross glanced at me. "She's been practicing her best manners."

I didn't know what to say. No one had ever called me brave before. No one had ever told their child to be nice to me.

"She sounds wonderful," I said.

"She's a terror. But she's my terror."

---

Detective Cross's house was a small ranch on a quiet street, the kind of neighborhood where neighbors waved and kids played in the front yard. The lawn was neatly mowed. The shutters were painted a cheerful blue. A bicycle with training wheels lay on its side near the garage.

It looked like a home. A real home. The kind I'd only ever seen in movies.

"Come on," she said, leading me up the path. "Lily's asleep, so we have to be quiet. But I can make tea. Or coffee. Or something stronger, if you're into that."

"Tea is fine."

She unlocked the door and stepped inside.

---

The living room was cozy, warm, lived-in.

A couch with mismatched pillows. A coffee table covered in children's books and half-finished coloring pages. Photographs on the walls: Lily as a baby, Lily at a birthday party, Lily in a superhero cape, her arms outstretched, her face split in a huge grin.

Detective Cross was in several of the photographs too. She looked different. Softer. Happier.

"That's her father," Detective Cross said, pointing to a man in one of the photos. Tall, broad-shouldered, dark hair, kind eyes. He had Lily on his shoulders, both of them laughing. "Marcus. We're divorced now, but we're still friends. He comes over every Sunday to have breakfast with Lily."

I immediately recognized him, he was the officer that came to check when I and Ashley’s room was ransacked. "He seems nice." That was all I could say.

"He is. He's a good father. Just not a good husband." She shrugged. "Sometimes that's how it goes."

I thought about my own father. The way he'd walked out of the chapel. The way he'd run from me my whole life.

"Sometimes fathers just leave," I said.

Detective Cross looked at me. Something soft passed over her face.

"Come on," she said. "Let's have that tea."

---

The kitchen was small but tidy. A kettle on the stove. A bowl of fruit on the counter. A drawing on the refrigerator, crayon stick figures holding hands under a rainbow sun.

"Lily made that," Detective Cross said, following my gaze. "It's our family. Me, her, Marcus, and Bunny."

"Bunny is part of the family?"

"Bunny is the most important member of the family. Don't let her hear you say otherwise."

She made tea. Chamomile, because she said I looked like I needed to sleep. We sat at the small kitchen table, our hands wrapped around our mugs, the steam rising between us.

"So do you want to tell me what happened?” she said.

I stared into my tea.

"I met my father tonight," I said.

Detective Cross didn't react. She just waited.

"At the chapel. He texted me. Said he wanted to talk."

"Did he hurt you?"

"No. He just... talked. And then he left."

"What did he say?"

"That he was trying to protect me. That Earl's death was an accident. That he didn't kill Alice."

"Do you believe him?"

"I don't know." I set down my mug. "He's been lying to me my whole life. I thought he was dead. My whole life, I thought he was dead. And now he's here, and he's wearing a mask and leaving warnings in my room and following me in the dark."

"That's not protection. That's stalking."

"I know. But he's also my father." My voice cracked. "And I don't know what to do with that."

Detective Cross reached across the table and took my hand.

"You don't have to figure it out tonight," she said. "You don't have to figure it out tomorrow. You just have to keep breathing. Keep putting one foot in front of the other. And let the people who care about you help."

"Like you?"

"Like me. Like your friends. Like that boy who's been texting your phone every five minutes for the past hour."

I looked down. My phone was buzzing. Myles.

"I pushed him away," I said.

"Did you mean to?"

"No. Yes. I don't know." I ran a hand through my hair. "He told me about his mom yesterday . She killed herself. And I just…I don’t know I’m a mess.”

"Hey, don’t say that about yourself.”

I sighed "I’m sorry, I just don’t know what to do."

"Yes, you do.”

I looked at her. At her tired eyes and her gentle smile and the wisdom of someone who'd seen too much and loved too hard.

"I'm scared of losing him," I admitted. "Everyone I love leaves. Or dies. And I can't... I can't go through that again."

"So you'd rather push him away before he has the chance to leave?"

"Yes."

"That's not living, Alexa. That's hiding."

I knew she was right. But knowing and doing were two different things.

---

We talked for another hour.

About nothing. About everything. About her divorce and her daughter and the cases that kept her up at night. About the foster homes I'd survived and the sister I'd lost and the father I'd never known.

She didn't judge me. She didn't pity me. She just listened.

When the clock struck midnight, she stood up.

"You can stay here tonight," she said. "The couch folds out. I have extra blankets in the closet."

"I should go back. My friends will worry."

"They'll worry more if you don't come back at all. But they'll understand if you need a night away."

I thought about Ashley's cat socks and Madden's sharp tongue and Myles's sad eyes.

"I'll go back," I said. "But thank you. For the tea. For the talk. For not treating me like I'm crazy."

"You're not crazy, Alexa. You're grieving. There's a difference."

She walked me to the door.

"Call me if you need anything," she said. "Anytime. Day or night."

"I will."

"And Alexa?"

I turned.

"He's not going to leave. That boy. The one who's been texting. He's not going to walk away just because you pushed him." She smiled. "Trust me.”

---

She drove me back to campus.

The ride was quiet, comfortable, the kind of silence that didn't need to be filled. The streets were empty, the houses dark, the world asleep.

She dropped me off at the dorm.

"Get some sleep," she said.

"I'll try."

"And eat something in the morning. Real food. Not coffee."

"Yes, ma'am."

She smiled, waved, and drove away.

---

The dorm was quiet.

I climbed the stairs, my footsteps soft on the carpet, my mind heavy with everything Detective Cross had said.

The door to my room was closed. I pushed it open.

Ashley was asleep. Madden was curled up on the floor. And sitting on my bed, his back against the wall, his eyes closed, was Myles.

He'd waited for me.

I stood in the doorway, watching him breathe. His face was peaceful in sleep, the worry lines smoothed away, the tension gone from his jaw.

I walked to the bed and sat down beside him.

He stirred. Opened his eyes.

"Hey," he whispered.

"Hey."

"You're back."

"I'm back."

He reached for my hand. I let him take it.

"I'm sorry," I said. "For pushing you away. For being a mess."

"I'm sorry too. For walking away. For not staying."

We sat there in the dark, holding hands, neither of us speaking.

"I'm scared," I admitted.

"Of what?"

"Of losing you. Of losing anyone else I care about."

He squeezed my hand. "You're not going to lose me. I'm not going anywhere."

"How do you know?"

"Because I've already lost everyone I loved. And I'm not doing it again."

I leaned my head on his shoulder. He rested his cheek against my hair.

And that was where my eyes drifted themselves to sleep.