It’s during this time I make a life-altering decision.
I decide not to return to Nashville. Or to college. I’m staying here in Flintlock with Jack because this is where I belong. With him.
Two nights ago, while lying in his arms, he turned to me, his hair falling in dark waves and spilling over my shoulder. “Stay here with me, wildflower,” he said, entwining his fingers with mine. “Stay here and be mine.”
Looking up into his beautiful face and watching those dimples flicker either side of his mouth, I grin at him. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Things take a big turn about a week after moving into the clubhouse when Riley calls me on my lunch break.
“Your troubles are over, babycakes,” she says, and I can hear the excitement in her voice as she yells into the phone.
“What are you talking about?”
“They arrested Officer Johnson.”
“For what?”
“For doing exactly the same thing to another woman that he did to you!”
I’m in the bedroom I share with Jack—his old fuck room—and I am walking toward the bed. “No way!”
“Yes, way!” I hear my phone beep. “I sent you an article from the local newspaper. Gah, I knew he was a creep. There was just something off about him, you know.”
I drop to the edge of the bed. Officer Johnson is the insidious creature behind my four months of personal hell?
“This is unbelievable.”
“Nope, it’s totally believable. And you know what it means… it means, you can relax now, Bronte. I’m leaving first thing in the morning, and I’m driving up there so we can celebrate. This is such good news.” Her exuberance is infectious, and my cheeks break with a smile.
She’s right.
It’s over.
I can relax.
I can really fucking relax now.
“You’ll need to come back to make an official complaint, but we can drive back together.” She lets out a squeal of excitement. “It’ll be a mini road trip.”
The idea of returning to Nashville to make an official complaint against Officer Johnson is appealing, but the thought of leaving Jack stirs something in my chest.
“We’ll talk when you get here,” I say soberly.
“The cops will probably ring you.”
“Good. I’m ready to tell them whatever they need.” I blow out a relieved breath. “God, Riley, I can’t believe it’s finally over.”
Riley squeals again. “I’ll be there tomorrow afternoon. Make sure you get margarita mix.”
After I hang up from my enthusiastic best friend, I open the article and start to read.
Late this afternoon, the sheriff’s department confirmed the arrest of one of their own. Officer Dominic Johnson was taken into custody to face harassment and stalking charges. Officer Johnson stands accused of following and repeatedly trying to contact a local woman who he had met on official business. The offenses include unconsented contact, harassment, and stalking.
Since his arrest, several women have come forward to complain about his behavior toward them while doing his job. One woman complained that he seemed more interested in gaining her phone number than solving a break-in at her home. Another woman contacted our news office to say she found him ‘creepy and out of line’ when he stopped to help her with a flat tire and then asked her out on a date.
Officer Johnson has been suspended until the case has been heard in court.
It’s a small article with only minor details, but the newspaper probably has to be careful about what they say considering he hasn’t been found guilty. However, what it says gives me enough of an idea of what has gone down.
Officer Johnson hasn’t just been messing with me, he’s been messing with other women.
Relief and empathy meet inside me, but it’s a bittersweet feeling. Knowing it’s over is comforting, but knowing he’s been tormenting other women as well makes me feel sick. A coil of unease unfurls in my stomach when I think about him standing in my apartment only minutes after climbing into my room and taking a picture of me asleep in my bed.
I think about the photograph Riley found after he’d left and the words, ‘you’re next’ scrawled across it. I would bet my soul he’d gotten off on attending the call to a crime he’d committed and then seeing me so rattled, so scared.
Sick fuck.
I hope they throw the book at the creep.
My cell beeps with a new message.
Riley: Get ready to party, girlfriend. I’m on my way.
I find Jack in his office, and he smiles when he looks up and finds me standing in the doorway.
“What’s put that smile on your face, wildflower?”
I dance across the room to him and lean against his desk, handing him my cell opened to the newspaper article. Amused by my light-footedness and risen mood, he smiles as he accepts it.
“What’s this?” he asks.
“It’s an article Riley sent me. It’s about Officer Johnson.”
I watch as he reads the article, his dark eyes moving across the screen, and his brows pulling in as he absorbs every word.