Meet Me Where the Oak Tree Grows novel Chapter 51

"Hey, bro, that crew's reappeared, huh? The last stash we nabbed was theirs."

Detective Cooper lounged on the couch, his clothes looking like they'd been through a hurricane, and he wore the look of a man who's seen too much. Jonah sat opposite him, his face clouded with concern.

As soon as they picked up on my footsteps, the conversation cut off like a snapped wire.

Detective Cooper deftly switched gears. "Hey there, Lana, just woke up? Those college entrance exams really knock the wind out of you. You should totally take it easy for a bit."

"Oh, by the way, where's Aunt Marie? Did she head out to get groceries?" He paused, a flicker of annoyance crossing his face. "The folks in the alley have been running their mouths, spreading all sorts of nonsense. They told me Aunt Marie—" He stopped short, the words catching in his throat like a bad taste.

The living room was heavy with silence.

Detective Cooper looked between me and Jonah, bewilderment etched in his features. "Why's everyone acting like a statue?"

"It's true," Jonah said, his voice as steady as a rock.

Detective Cooper froze, disbelief creeping across his face like a slow dawn. "You've got to be kidding me. She was fine when I left, and now this?

"I don't buy it. Maybe she's just ticked at me? Fine, I'll clear out, and when she's cooled off, I'll come back. No biggie." His voice wavered, thick with emotion, and his eyes misted over. He fumbled with his jacket, his hands shaking so much it was a struggle to zip it up.

"She wanted me to tell you she's sorry. She didn't mean to lash out at you," Jonah explained.

"Enough! I don't believe any of it!" His voice was raw and bitter. Detective Cooper couldn't face reality, so he chose to bolt, leaving the zipper half-done as he rushed out the door.

He'd told me he wouldn't leave, but it seemed like he was about to break that promise.

At night, I perched on the couch, waiting for him, straining to catch the familiar rumble of his motorcycle as it drew near.

The bike came to a halt in the driveway, but he didn't hop off right away. I wandered to the door and spotted him, one long leg draped over the other, leaning against the bike. A cigarette dangled from his fingers, the sharp angles of his face standing out against the night, his long lashes casting shadows as the harshness of his features softened in the smoke's embrace.

The light next to him was swallowed by shadows.

Seeing me, he put out the cigarette, the storm in his eyes slowly replaced by a clear, gentle light.

"Why're you still up?" he asked, his voice a soft rumble.