46. Colt

46

COLT

“It’s not fucking funny,” I said, scowling as I shoved a spoonful of cereal into my mouth.

Ridley’s lips twitched as she sat cross-legged in the chair opposite me at the kitchen table. “Depends on where you’re sitting, I guess.”

I lowered the spoon from my mouth and used it to point to my ear. An ear that was bandaged, thanks to that serial-killer cat. “Look at my ear.”

She choked on a laugh. “Maybe she thought you secretly wanted an ear piercing.”

I glared at the ridiculous woman opposite me. “Has anything about me ever led you to believe that I secretly wanted an ear piercing?”

Ridley’s blue eyes danced as she grinned. “Okay, maybe she was marking her territory. She obviously loves you.”

I dropped the spoon into my bowl with a clatter. “Her love is toxic. No, deadly. She’s going to end up on one of your true-crime podcasts but for cats.”

“He doesn’t mean it, Tater,” Ridley yelled in the direction of her room.

I swore I heard a hiss in response.

Ridley turned back to me, amusement still in her eyes but some anxiety there too. While I’d caught up on a little paperwork, she’d proofed the podcast episode she’d recorded last night and hit publish . She pulled a knee to her chest, hugging it tight. “I’m scared to look.”

I moved then, always unable to stay away from Ridley in any sort of discomfort, even if it was simply nerves. I crossed to her, lifting her from the chair and then settling us both into it again.

“I don’t know what it says about my dedication to the feminist cause that I like when you manhandle me,” she grumbled.

I chuckled. “It says you need others to respect that you can do it yourself, but sometimes it’s nice to have someone do it for you.”

Ridley burrowed into me, seeming suddenly small. “A good way to think about it.”

I held her to me, running a hand up and down her back. “You want to look together?”

“Yes,” she said on an exhale. I reached for her phone, and she slapped it out of my hand. “Not yet!”

“Ridley,” I soothed her, trying not to laugh at her ridiculousness, no matter how damn adorable it was. “Whatever’s on the internet is on there. Whether we look or not doesn’t change that there are going to be some kind souls and some assholes.”

She pulled back a fraction, looking up at me. “That’s a hell of a poem, Law Man.”

“Simple truths.” I slid my hand along her jaw and took her mouth with mine. My tongue stroked in, and I didn’t miss a moment of drowning in her taste. When I pulled back, her eyes were just slightly hazy. “Let’s do this. You and me.”

Ridley’s hand tightened on my uniform shirt. “You and me.”

I lifted the phone, and she tapped in the code. Nibbling on her bottom lip, she toggled to Instagram and then to her profile. She clicked on a video that she’d obviously recorded that morning, talking about the new episodes.

“Hello, internet friends,” it began but was quickly cut off as she opened the comments section, and it filled the screen. I could feel the tension in her body as her muscles wound tight.

Mine soon followed at the sight of the first comment.

Crybaby bitch.

Fucking hell. Why were some human beings so awful? But then I caught sight of another.

Thank you for your bravery. My best friend has been missing for eight years, and no one gets how your life just stops. How part of you will always be stuck in that moment. You get it. You care. Keep fighting. #BringAveryHome

Ridley scrolled from one comment to the next. I lost count in the sixties because there was no end in sight. And there were certainly assholes. And creeps. But more, there was so much support and love.

You’ve fought for countless others. Now it’s our turn to fight for you. #BringAveryHome

If anyone can find your sister, it’s you. You’ve got this Ridley! #BringAveryHome

When Ridley tapped the hashtag, it already had over thirteen thousand entries. People who were spreading the word and sharing Avery’s story—and Ridley’s too. Because they cared.

I didn’t realize Ridley was crying until I felt the drops hit my arm. Curving around her, I saw the tracks of silent of tears left on her cheeks. But it wasn’t grief in her eyes—it was something else entirely.

“They’re with me. They’re helping,” she whispered.

I pulled Ridley tighter against my chest. “Of course they are. And it’s because of everything you’ve done for others. They see everything you’ve given, and now they’re giving a little of it back.”

Ridley looked up at me, so much hope in those blue eyes. “Do you think it’ll help?”

Just a couple of months ago, I would’ve shot the idea down. I wouldn’t have thought there was any way countless internet sleuths would ever break a case. But that was before Ridley. Before I was reminded of the good in people. That pain didn’t always change us for the worse; it could change us for the better too.

“With all the people you’re reaching, all the people they’re reaching in return? We’re going to have our best shot yet.”

Ridley beamed, the echoes of her tears still glimmering on her cheeks. “We’re going to find her.”

I dropped my forehead to hers. God, I hoped so. For all of us.

My phone dinged, pulling me out of the moment, and I snatched it up from the table, reading the incoming text. My whole body tensed, going solid beneath Ridley.

She twisted in my lap, concern lining her features. “What is it?”

I swallowed, trying to clear my throat. But it didn’t do any good. “It’s Emerson. She wants you to interview her. She wants to tell her story.”