Colliding Love - Tucker Billi...

At the police station, I sit outside with my driver, waiting for Sawyer to arrive. My manager has just sent confirmation that my biological grandparents are thrilled that I'm willing to meet. Since I don't know what will happen with the trade, my flight off the island is tonight. Tomorrow, we'll have a visit before I fly back here. There and back. Just enough time to asses them in person with no commitment for more from me in any way.

Part of me wants to tell Sawyer, take her with me, but another part of me is scared to get any closer, to let her in even more when the ticking clock counting down our time together is so loud that I can barely think of anything else.

Sawyer's pulls up next to me in her silver BMW i7, and she climbs out of the driver's seat with a worried expression on her face.

"Are you okay?" she asks when I get out to greet her. "When you said "meet me at the station" I was worried you'd been arrested."

"Not yet," I say with a slight smile.

"What's going on?" she asks as I lead the way toward the station.

"I have something to show you." I hold open the door for her, and the air conditioning hits us both at the same time, an immediate break from the rising humidity outside. She shivers, and I take her hand.

"At a police station?" She lets out a nervous laugh and squeezes my hand. "Seems ominous."

At the front desk, I hit the bell on the chest high counter, and peer toward the back where officers are milling around.

"Can I help you?" one of them approaches us.

"Looking for Alan Tusker. Celia Tucker gave me his name."

The officer in front of us raises his eyebrows, and Sawyer stiffens beside me, withdrawing her hand from mine. It's the reaction I expected, but it still makes my heart kick with a shot of unease. Having her mad at me might be practical, but it's the one of the last things I actually want.

"You talked to my mother," Sawyer whispers fiercely beside me. "When?"

"I'll grab Alan for you," the officer says, moving away from the counter and leaving Sawyer and I alone.

"This morning," I say, half turning toward her. "I had to." I meet her gaze, and I shutter mine. She's not going to make me feel guilty for protecting her. Of all the things I might regret, this won't be one of them.

"Sawyer?" a male voice says from across the counter.

"Yes," she says, the word tight.

The officer, portly and older, comes around the side of the counter and gestures for us to follow him. I go without hesitation, but it takes Sawyer a beat to follow us. God help me if this lead goes nowhere, and Celia has really just fucked me over. Given the stories I've heard at the family events I've attended with Sawyer, I think it's possible.

He leads us into an office and indicates two chairs for us to sit in. There's a large computer monitor on the desk, and he types in information before turning his attention to us.

"Celia called. Said you were coming. Officer Foster had a system of inputting crimes related to the Tuckers when no further action was being taken."

The word "related" is an interesting choice, but I'm not here to question police corruption on the island. I just need Stephen Foster to have kept good records the night Sawyer was assaulted.

"All the evidence will be there?" I ask.

"Should be. He was a big cover your ass kind of guy in relation to Mrs. Tucker. Had to be." He focuses on Sawyer. "Just to ease your mind, if you weren't here in person and didn't know about the Tucker database, we wouldn't be having this conversation. We don't give this information out to just anyone."

Which, hopefully, means that Dalton has no idea this database exists. His behavior and the way he's walking around like the cat that's going to catch the canary would support that.

"My assault is in there?" Sawyer asks, voice shaking.

"Stephen Foster was the one who responded to the call?" Alan asks, typing some information into the computer.

"Yes," she says, and the word is thick with emotion.

I take her hand, and I'm surprised when she doesn't try to draw away. Instead, when she turns to look at me, I can't read anything but anxiety in her expression.

"Date?" Alan asks.

"June 10th."

"Address?"

Sawyer rattles off the location of Dalton's building and apartment number.

Alan rotates the screen for us to see, and the pictures of the back of her head cause such a rush of rage that I realize my emotions aren't nearly as well controlled as I'd like to believe.

The pictures of her face show a bruise on her cheek and a cut lip. She said he pushed her, but I've been in enough fights to see this as more than a shove.

"Doc?" I say.

"I don't remember the injuries on my face," she whispers. "Just my head."

"I'm no doctor," Alan says, "but that head injury was likely some sort of concussion. Paired with the trauma of being assaulted, memory loss is normal. It's why we try to document so carefully." He enlarges the report at the bottom. "Officer Foster clearly indicates domestic violence, a punch or slap to the face—mentions something about a ring on Worthington's hand likely causing the gash on your lip—and then the corner of a table causing the contusion on the back of the head."

"I did get knocked out."

"Statute of limitations on domestic violence is a year. You've got a couple months, but then this evidence is more gossip than legally binding."

"It's a bit more than gossip," I scoff.

"I'm just saying, Ms. Tucker wouldn't have legal recourse to go after him. Civil court is different. Criminal is what we're talking about here."

"Where's the paperwork to file," I say.

"Wait," Sawyer says, her other hand landing on my arm. "I need a minute."

"Sure thing," Alan says.

"Can we have the room for a minute?" she asks Alan.

He turns off the monitor and heaves himself out of the chair to amble out of the office.

"What's the hesitation?" I ask as soon as Alan closes the door.

"It all becomes so public," she whispers. "What will people think?"

"That he's an abusive asshole who shouldn't be in a government position." All my Christmases coming true with one filing. Celia told me before I left that Dalton would lose his government seat. Any criminal charges or convictions immediately kick someone out of office in Bellerive.

"What if he releases the photos and videos anyway?" She worries her lip.

"He looks like a vengeful fuck. He hit you, doc. Those pictures..." I take a deep breath and I grip the arm of the chair with the hand that isn't holding hers. After this, I need a skate, but I have to head to the airport instead. "Whatever he might have told you when you regained consciousness, he hit you."

She releases my hand and buries her face in her hands. Her shoulders shake, and I stand up to drag her into my arms. She clutches onto me while she cries.

"I don't think I remember it right," she cries.

"We've got the evidence, doc. We've got the evidence. Officer Foster did his job." I run one hand along her back while my other cups her head. There's so much helpless anger rolling through me. My desire for vengeance is limitless.

"Will people believe me?" she asks, stepping back from me and wiping her eyes. "Why would people believe me?"

"Anyone who has ever met you will know, and those photos..." I take another deep breath. "Those photos... You can't see those and deny what happened." There's a good chance if I ever see Dalton Worthington again I'll be repaying him for that punch with my own fist. To think he could have trapped her into an abusive relationship by forcing a pregnancy on her makes my blood boil. "What if he does it to someone else?"

Bringing that up might be playing dirty, but Sawyer isn't one to let others suffer.

She collapses back in the chair, head in her hands. "I should file, right?"

I sit down beside her again, and I rub her back. "If you get any pushback on the island or on social media, I'll use every avenue I've got to make sure people know where I stand. You won't face it alone, doc. I won't let you face it alone."

She leaves her chair and climbs into my lap, burying her face in the crook of my neck.

"I'll file," she whispers.

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