Sawyer's office smells of leather, gun oil, and the pine-scented cleaner used throughout the Grizzly Ridge Sheriff's Department. I sit across from his imposing oak desk, staring down at the photos he's laid out, all evidence of Brad's escalating behavior.
Alongside the snapshots of my bruised wrist are images Elias captured on his property's trail cameras: Brad and his cousin lurking near the cabin perimeter, rifles clearly visible. Screenshots of threatening text messages Brad sent during our relationship. A report from my landlord detailing property damage to my apartment after I left.
"It's a solid case," Sawyer says, collecting the photos into a folder. "Judge Harmon's not completely in Cooper's pocket, whatever pressure the mayor's applying. These," he taps the folder, "will trump whatever story Brad's spinning."
I nod, not entirely convinced. After six months with Brad, I've seen how easily he manipulates situations, how quickly he can transform from aggressor to victim.
Elias stands by the window, his large frame silhouetted against the bright spring sunlight. He hasn't spoken much since we arrived, letting Sawyer handle the legal aspects while keeping silent watch. But I can feel his attention, a steady, comforting weight that hasn't wavered since we entered the sheriff's office.
"What about the... other accusations?" I ask, unable to avoid the elephant in the room any longer.
Sawyer leans back in his chair, gaze moving between Elias and me. "Brad's running his mouth, but he's got no proof of anything inappropriate. Because there isn't any, right?"
The question holds no judgment, just a sheriff doing his job. Still, heat rises to my cheeks.
"Nothing happened before I was of age," I confirm. "Nothing happened while Dad was alive. What's between us now is nobody's business."
My deliberate echo of Elias's earlier words isn't lost on Sawyer. The corner of his mouth twitches, almost a smile.
"That's what I thought." He closes the folder with finality. "For what it's worth, your father wouldn't have objected."
The unexpected statement catches me off guard. "What?"
"Bill." Sawyer's eyes, so similar to Elias's, hold mine. "He knew how Elias felt about you. Had known for a while before he got sick."
I glance at Elias, finding him equally surprised by this revelation. His posture has stiffened, attention fully on his brother now.
"Bill and I talked about it," Sawyer continues, seemingly immune to our shock. "Night before he passed. He said if anyone was going to look after you when he was gone, he'd rather it be Elias than some college boy who didn't know which end of a gun was which."
Emotion tightens my throat. The idea that Dad had known, had perhaps even anticipated this connection between Eliasand me, changes everything. Undermines the guilt that's been shadowing Elias's every look, every touch.
"Why didn't you say something sooner?" Elias's voice is rough with feeling.
Sawyer shrugs. "Wasn't my place. Bill asked me to keep it between us unless it became necessary. Figured you two would sort it out eventually. Or not."
I'm still processing this bombshell when the office door bursts open, revealing a deputy whose name I can't recall.
"Sheriff, we've got trouble at the diner," he says breathlessly. "Coopers and McKennas. About to come to blows."
Sawyer's on his feet instantly. "Which McKennas?"
"Finn and Luke."
"Christ." Sawyer grabs his hat. "Keep these two here," he instructs the deputy, gesturing to Elias and me. "I'll handle this."
As he strides toward the door, he pauses to give Elias a pointed look. "Stay put. Last thing we need is another McKenna in the mix."
The door closes behind him with ominous finality. The deputy, clearly uncomfortable with his babysitting assignment, mumbles something about standing guard outside, leaving Elias and me alone in the suddenly silent office.
"Did you know?" I ask once we're alone. "About Dad?"
Elias shakes his head, moving from the window to take Sawyer's vacant chair. "Not a clue. If I had..." He trails off, the implications hanging between us.
"Would it have changed things?" I press, needing to understand. "If you'd known Dad didn't object?"
He considers this, his face a study in conflicted emotions. "I'd like to say yes. That I would have approached you sooner, been honest about what I was feeling. But truthfully? I don't know."
His honesty stings a little, but I appreciate it. Elias McKenna doesn't deal in comfortable lies.
