4. Gabe

FOUR

Gabe

The crisp mountain air bit into my skin as I swung the ax down with a satisfying thunk .

Another log split clean in two, adding to the pile that was supposed to get me through winter. I wiped sweat from my brow, my muscles protesting the morning's labor. It was only September, but Silver Ridge didn't mess around when it came to cold.

"Smells like an early winter," I muttered to myself, stacking the last of the wood against the side of the cabin. The place wasn't much to look at—a rough-hewn structure hidden an hour away from town—but it was mine, and it kept the Montana chill out.

I stepped inside, the door creaking on its hinges behind me. My boots left prints on the wooden floor that I'd sweep up later. I glanced around the room—sparse and unadorned, save for the furniture I'd built myself. Spartan living never bothered me; it was the clutter in my head I couldn't tidy up.

Heading to the kitchen, I grabbed a beer from the fridge, the cold bite of the bottle seeping into my palms. It was a feeble attempt at numbing what came next—the memory of Ben Martin's funeral.

It had been a somber affair, and despite not being wanted, I'd shown up—out of respect, or maybe just for old times' sake. Dad had insisted on going, his stubbornness legendary even if he was barely mobile since his stroke. Seeing him in that state, struggling to move, tore through me.

But he was a Mitchell, and Mitchells didn't back down. Not even from death itself.

I stayed at the back during the service, out of sight but not out of mind…especially not from Kat. Hell, I could feel her disdain from a hundred yards away. She had every right; I'd given her plenty to hate. But when I saw her standing there, so damn strong and unwavering like she was holding up the world…something shifted.

"Damn it," I muttered, leaning against the counter. "You got no business thinking about her like that."

But I couldn't help it. The way grief had carved out the softness in her, left her with this raw, fierce beauty—it caught me off guard. Kat wasn't the clumsy kid I'd made fun of anymore. She was a woman forged in the fires of loss, and it only made her more…

No.

I took a swig of beer, trying to wash down thoughts that had no place here.

The knock on the door was unexpected. Brow furrowed, I wiped my hands on my jeans and made my way across the room, wondering who had reason enough to trek all the way out here. Normally the only person who came to visit unannounced was Clay, a recluse like me from up the road—but this sounded like business.

I swung the door open and found Chris Langley on the other side, his deputy uniform a big difference from the usual t-shirt and jeans he wore over here. I cocked an eyebrow, but still invited him in.

"Officer," I jibed. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Hey, Gabe," he started, stepping inside. "Sorry to drop by unannounced."

"Never mind that. What's going on? You're lookin' all kinds of serious." My throat tightened with a mix of suspicion and concern. Chris wasn't just a buddy—he was a cop, and cops didn't show up in full uniform to shoot the breeze.

"Let's sit down for a bit, alright?" Chris suggested, his gaze steady.

"Sure," I said, leading the way to the living room, my mind racing. "But you're making me nervous, man."

We took our seats—Chris on the old sofa, me in an armchair I'd snagged from a yard sale years back. The cushions were familiar with my weight, but now they felt stiff under the tension brewing in the room. Whatever Chris was here for, it wasn't good. And somehow, I knew it linked back to Silver Ridge's latest tragedy—Ben's death, Kat's grief, and the past that kept chasing me, no matter how deep into the woods I went.

"Well…spit it out," I muttered. "What have I done now?"

Chris sighed. "Kat told Sheriff Callahan that you might be responsible for what happened to Ben."

I had to process that for a beat…then two.

Chris just watched me like this was an interrogation.

"What the hell, Chris?" I finally said.

He held up a hand. "I know you didn't do it, Gabe. But Kat's pushing hard on this, and we've got to follow every lead."

"Jesus." I scrubbed a hand over my face, the stubble there scraping against my palms. "Fine. Ask whatever you need to."

"Alright." He leaned forward, elbows on knees. "Where were you the day Ben was shot?"

"Town. Getting groceries for Dad." My voice was flat and matter-of-fact, because I didn't have anything to hide, damn it. I pushed up from the couch, heading to the kitchen drawer where I kept the receipts. I didn't wait for him to ask for proof; the accusation alone was enough to have me defending myself.

"Here." I slapped the receipts onto the coffee table between us. "And before you ask, I took the backroads 'cause the traffic through town is a bitch when school gets out. A dozen people saw me, easy."

"Okay." Chris picked up the receipts, eyes scanning them quickly, then set them back down. "That checks out. Thanks, Gabe."

"Good enough for you?" I asked, my voice tight with irritation.

Chris didn't relax though; his eyes were still on me, questioning. "I still don't quite get taking the back roads. They add a good twenty to your trip, even if you're dodging traffic."

I felt the defensive wall go up. "You know damn well I'm not great with crowds anymore." The words came out sharper than I intended, but damn it, he knew why. Knew what the service did to me. How people made me feel trapped, like I was back in that godforsaken desert.

"Any new guns, Gabe?" Chris's voice was soft now, but insistent.

"Are you serious?" My voice spiked, incredulous and raw. "What—do you think I left the grocery store and decided to stop by and kill Ben Martin on my way to my dad's house?"

"Hey," Chris held up his hands in a calming gesture, "I'm sorry, man. I have to ask these things. Kat's got Sheriff Callahan's ear right now and she's…she's being real damn tenacious."

I sank back down into my chair, the sound of the old wood creaking under my weight. It was like they could all still see the angry kid I used to be, before I had any discipline, before I learned control. My head fell into my hands as I let out a long sigh.

"Chris, I get it. You're doing right by Kat and Olivia. Hell, if we don't figure out who actually did this, they're still in danger." I couldn't look at him. Couldn't bear to see the pity or doubt in his eyes. "Things were bad before I enlisted…can't deny that Kat's got reason to suspect me, given our history."

"I swear this isn't about that," Chris said. "And hell…that was a real long time ago. You've punished yourself enough for the past, haven't you? Everyone knows you and Ben were just kids when that fight happened."

His words hung in the stillness of the cabin, an echo of a decades-old memory I had tried to bury under layers of discipline and miles of foreign sand. But no matter how far I'd gone, I couldn't escape who I was back then.

The offer of absolution sounded sweet, but some sins clung like burrs on old denim.

Instead of answering, I stood and walked over to the fridge, my movements stiff, my mind churning. I'd finished my beer, and this conversation warranted another.

"Beer?" I asked, pulling out two bottles.

Chris glanced at his uniform, the badge glinting in the light from the window. "I can't. I'm working." His eyes met mine, a silent struggle there. Then he looked down at his watch. "Yeah, well…I guess I'm off duty now."

We ended up on the wooden porch, the creak of the aged planks a familiar tune to my ears. I tipped back in my chair, catching a glimpse of the sky stitching itself into dusk. The stars out here were unreal; I would never get tired of them. We talked about ordinary cop business, what was going on in town, who was dating who…until I glanced at him, the buzz from the beer loosening the knot in my tongue. "Why do you stick around, Chris? With all the crap I dragged you through?"

He squinted up at the sky, as if seeking wisdom from the stars. "Cause there's a decent guy in there, Gabe. Buried deep, sure, but he's there. Saw him come out more than once when you wore those Marine blues. That angry kid didn't stand a chance."

"Maybe." I wasn't convinced. The anger felt like it was etched into my bones.

We spent hours swapping tales, our laughter echoing in the night. Stories of Ben and Kat crept in, laced with nostalgia and a twinge of regret. Back when life was simple, and our biggest worry was being late for curfew.

"Ben's murder though…" Chris's voice trailed off, his smile fading like the light around us. "It's left a damn void. Kat and Livy…they're carrying too much."

"Kat's strong," I muttered.

"Strong doesn't mean invincible," Chris countered. "Worries me that the Sheriff isn't taking this seriously enough."

Chris's words hung in the air, heavy as the Montana night. But we didn't talk anymore about it; there was nothing more to say.

We would watch out for them. I was damn sure of that.

Hours slipped by, and the stock of beer in my fridge dwindled to nothing. Chris eventually slumped over, his snores soft but steady. I managed to talk him into going inside and crashing on the couch, and I tossed a blanket over him and killed the lights before trudging to my room.

I should've been out cold in seconds, the way I usually was after a few. But not tonight. Tonight, my eyes stayed fixed on the ceiling, my mind racing along with my pulse. Kat's face haunted me—the raw grief in her eyes, the kind of pain you don't just shake off.

"Damn it," I whispered into the darkness, rolling onto my side. Maybe I should check on her, make sure she was getting by alright. She didn't want me there, she made that clear enough—but what if she needed someone?

And hell, it wasn't just about making sure she was okay. I was drawn to her, this magnetic pull I couldn't explain. She wasn't the same girl I'd picked on back in high school—no, she'd grown fierce, her spirit burning bright enough to rival the sun.

Kat had transformed from that awkward teen into something else entirely, stepping up to fill shoes far too big for anyone. I admired her for it, respected her. And I wanted?—

"Stop," I told myself, rolling over. Wanting was dangerous territory. Wanting led to all kinds of trouble I couldn't afford.

But damn if I didn't want to see her, even if it was just to assure myself that the fire hadn't gone out. That she was still fighting, still standing strong amidst the chaos that had swallowed her whole.

"Sleep, Gabe, sleep," I murmured, flopping back down.

But sleep was a stranger tonight, and thoughts of Kat were insistent houseguests refusing to leave.