14. Conflicted

CONFLICTED

T hree in the morning and sleep was a lost cause. My bedroom ceiling hadn't changed in the years I'd lived in it, but I was studying it like it might hold answers to questions I wasn't even sure how to ask. The fan spun lazy circles, casting shadows that reminded me of the way Elliot's hands moved when he talked - all graceful confidence until something caught him off guard, made him real.

Fuck.

I rolled over, punching my pillow like it was responsible for the thoughts that wouldn't quit. Down the hall, I could hear the old house settling, creaking like it was laughing at me. Fifteen years on the force, handling everything from bar fights to drug busts without breaking a sweat, and here I was, undone by a pair of green eyes and a kid's laugh.

Here's the thing about small towns - they had a way of cracking open the parts of yourself you thought were sealed tight. Like how I noticed the way Elliot's whole face changed when he smiled at Tommy. How my chest did this weird flip thing when they both looked at me like I belonged in their orbit. How I'd spent the afternoon setting up that spare room with baseball gear and comics, pretending I wasn't building something that felt dangerously like hope.

Screw it. Sleep wasn't happening.

My feet hit the floor with purpose this time. The kitchen had always been my refuge - something about the simple chemistry of cooking, the way ingredients combined to make something whole. Like how my mother taught me: precise measurements, careful timing, everything in its place.

Tomorrow would bring what it brought. Questions, complications, probably a few small-town whispers. But right now, measuring flour in my quiet kitchen, I was done fighting it. Done pretending I wasn't falling for a man with kind eyes and his kid with a heart big enough to maybe make room for a small-town sheriff still figuring himself out.

Besides, if I was going to have an identity crisis, at least I could have good pancakes while doing it.

Pancake batter splattered against my wrist as I whisked, the familiar motion grounding me after that sleepless night. Tommy had mentioned loving blueberries, so I'd grabbed fresh ones from Miller's bakery at dawn - definitely not because I wanted to see Elliot's face light up when he tasted them. Definitely not.

The kitchen slowly filled with morning smells: coffee brewing, butter melting on the griddle, eggs crackling in the pan. Normal stuff. Routine stuff. Except nothing felt normal anymore, not with my house about to be filled with life and laughter and-

"Holy shit, something smells amazing."

My heart definitely didn't skip at Elliot's voice. But when I turned around, the whisk nearly slipped from my grip. He stood in the doorway looking sleep-rumpled and soft, wearing sweats that rode low on his hips and a faded t-shirt that had seen better days. His hair stuck up in about twelve different directions, and fuck if it wasn't the most endearing thing I'd ever seen.

"Didn't know you could cook," he said, padding into the kitchen like he belonged there. Maybe he did.

"Man's got to eat." I turned back to the pancakes before he could catch whatever was showing on my face. "Coffee's ready if you want some."

His grateful groan as he poured a cup did things to my concentration. "You're a lifesaver. Tommy's still passed out - kid sleeps like the dead when he feels safe."

The casual way he said it, like he'd noticed his son slept better here, made my chest tight. "Good. He needs the rest. Growing kid and all that."

"Speaking of growing kids." Elliot leaned against the counter next to me, close enough that I could feel his warmth. "Any chance one of those pancakes has chocolate chips? He's kind of addicted."

"Second batch." I nodded toward the bowl of batter I'd already mixed. "Got mini chips too - they spread better."

Elliot's surprise was obvious. "You really thought of everything."

"Just want you both comfortable here." The words came out more honest than intended.

A moment of quiet settled between us, broken only by the sizzle of pancakes and the gentle drip of coffee. Elliot moved around my kitchen like he'd always been there, grabbing plates and silverware without having to ask where anything was. We fell into an easy rhythm - me flipping pancakes while he set the table, our movements synchronized like we'd done this a hundred times before.

"Need help with anything?" Footsteps behind me, then Elliot was reaching past me for the syrup. His arm brushed mine, sending sparks up my skin.

"I'm good." My voice came out rougher than intended. "Though Tommy' might want something-“

"Shit, right." Elliot's grin was sheepish. "Kid's got his routines. Chocolate protein shake with breakfast or the world ends."

"Let me guess - your nutritionist's idea?"

"Racing diet stuff." He shrugged, pulling ingredients from the fridge. "Only thing he kept from those days. That and the hat collection."

Watching him measure protein powder with practiced care, knowing exactly how his son liked it, made something warm unfurl in my chest. This was the side of Elliot Blue the cameras never caught - the devoted dad who remembered tiny details, who adapted his world to make his kid feel secure.

"Dad?" Tommy's sleep-heavy voice drifted in. "Is that chocolate I smell?"

"Morning, champ." Elliot's whole face softened as Tommy shuffled in, still wrapped in the blanket from his bed. "Jake made us breakfast."

Tommy brightened immediately. "Sheriff Jake can cook?"

"Apparently he's full of surprises." Elliot's eyes met mine over Tommy's head, something warm in them that made my pulse jump.

"Come here, buddy." I gestured to the griddle. "Want to help flip these?"

Tommy practically bounced over, blanket trailing behind him like a cape. His excitement over something as simple as making pancakes hit me right in the chest. When was the last time anyone had let him just be a kid?

"Like this?" He gripped the spatula with intense concentration.

"Perfect." I steadied his hand, showing him how to wait for the bubbles. "You're a natural."

His beam of pride could have powered the whole damn town. Elliot watched us from the counter, something soft in his expression that I couldn't let myself think about too hard.

We settled into breakfast, Tommy demolishing chocolate chip pancakes while telling us about his dreams - something involving race cars and space ships that had Elliot choking back laughter. The morning sun painted stripes across my kitchen table, catching the gold in Tommy's hair, the green in Elliot's eyes.

"So," Elliot said once Tommy had inhaled his third pancake. "Thought we'd check out the Miller place today, see what needs fixing."

Right.

"Good plan." I kept my voice neutral, gathering empty plates. "Though if you're looking for something to do after, there's these falls up past the old mill. Pretty spectacular this time of year."

"Can we go?" Tommy perked up immediately. "Please, Dad?"

"Sure, buddy." Elliot's smile was gentle. "Though we might need directions."

“Caleb knows the way." The words tasted bitter, but duty was duty. “He usually takes Sundays off, probably wouldn't mind showing you around."

"You're not coming?" Tommy's disappointment hit like a sucker punch.

"Can't today, bud." I hated the way his face fell. "Sheriff stuff, you know?"

"Right," Elliot nodded, understanding crossing his features. "Guess we forget sometimes that you've got an actual job to do."

"Unfortunately, crime doesn't take weekends off." I tried for a light tone, but something must have shown in my face because Elliot's expression softened.

"Maybe another time?" he offered, and fuck if that didn't make my heart skip.

"Yeah." I started the coffee maker again, this time filling my travel mug. Regular routine, normal morning. Except nothing felt normal anymore. “Caleb’s great though. He'll make sure you don't miss anything worth seeing."

Tommy pushed his pancake around his plate, shoulders slumped. "But you know everything about this place."

"Tell you what." I crouched down to his level, this protective instinct I couldn't fight taking over. "How about I write down all the best spots? You can be the expedition leader, show your dad all the secret places."

His face brightened slightly. "Like a treasure map?"

"Exactly like a treasure map." I grabbed a notepad from the counter, sketching out quick directions.

"Really?" The hope in his voice made my chest ache.

"Really." I caught Elliot's eye over Tommy's head, making sure it was okay. He nodded, something warm in his expression that I couldn't let myself think about.

"Better get moving," I said, standing up and grabbing my badge from the counter. The weight of it felt heavier today, a reminder of responsibilities that couldn't be ignored, no matter how much I wanted to spend the day showing them my town. "Lock up when you head out?"

"Of course." Elliot's hand brushed my arm as he took the spare key. Just a casual touch, but it sent electricity through my skin. "Thanks for breakfast. And everything else."

"Anytime." The word carried more weight than I meant it to.

The station hit me with its familiar mix of coffee and cleaning supplies - Evangeline's war against germs never ended. Ramirez lounged against the front desk, probably sharing some story about last night's patrol, but Evangeline's raised eyebrow said she wasn't buying whatever he was selling.

"Morning, Sheriff." Evangeline's voice cut through my lingering thoughts of breakfast and green eyes. She had that look - the one that said she noticed everything and judged accordingly. "Richard called in. Something about his kid being sick."

"Again?" Ramirez straightened up. "That's the third time this month."

"Not our business." I kept walking, though privately I agreed. Richard's excuses were getting thin. "Handle his patrol route?"

"Already on it, boss." Ramirez went to work though he looked to be on edge. From what? I don’t know.

My office welcomed me with its organized chaos - case files stacked precisely, coffee mug collection telling stories of years on the force. Normal stuff. Routine stuff. Except nothing felt routine anymore, not with my house full of life and laughter and-

Focus, Thompson.

The incident reports from my days off created a neat pile on my desk, Evangeline's handwriting crisp and clear on the labels. Small stuff mostly - noise complaints, Miller kids racing their trucks again, old man Jenkins forgetting to lock up. Regular small-town problems that usually centered me, reminded me why I loved this job.

Today they just reminded me what I was missing. What Elliot and Tommy might be discovering without me.

My phone's shrill ring yanked me back to reality. Liam's name flashed on the screen, and something in my gut tightened. Liam never called during business hours unless-

"Jake." His voice cracked on my name. "I need- fuck, I need you at the ranch. Now."

Every protective instinct I'd been trying to suppress snapped to attention. "What happened?"

"It's Jimmy." The fear in Liam's voice made my skin crawl. "Someone- they hurt him bad, Jake. Really bad."

The chair scraped against the floor as I stood. "Where?"

"By the old stables. Caleb found him when he went to feed the horses." Liam's breath hitched. "There's so much blood."

"Don't touch anything." Sheriff mode kicked in, pushing everything else aside. "Keep everyone back. I'm on my way."

The cruiser's engine roared to life as I peeled out of the station lot. Evangeline would handle dispatch, would know from my expression not to send anyone else yet. Jimmy hurt. Jimmy, who'd been there through everything - my mistakes, my redemption, every step of building a life here.

The ranch materialized through my windshield, and my heart sank. Liam and Caleb stood by the barn like sentinels, their stances screaming that something was deeply wrong. Liam's shoulders hunched forward, his usual easy confidence shattered. Caleb stood close, one hand pressed against Liam's back - steady as always, even in crisis.

Gravel crunched under my boots as I approached. The morning air carried the metallic tang of blood mixed with hay and horse sweat. Wrong. All wrong for this peaceful place.

"Jake." Liam's voice cracked on my name. His eyes were red-rimmed, jaw clenched so tight I could see the muscle jumping. "They found him at three in the morning. Security camera caught the timestamp but not-" He stopped, swallowing hard.

"Walk me through it."

"Night guard heard something." Caleb took over, his arm sliding around Liam's shoulders. "By the time he got here, whoever did it was gone. Jimmy was just... lying there."

The scene spread out before us like some fucked up artwork. Blood spatters painted the barn wall in abstract patterns. Jimmy's hat - the one he'd worn every day since I could remember - lay crushed in the dirt. Everything felt wrong, twisted. This was Rolling Hill Ranch, for fuck's sake. Place of second chances and healing. Not violence.

"Security footage?"

"Grainy." Liam's hands shook as he pulled out his phone. "But look at this."

The video quality sucked, but I could make out a figure - tall, built solid. They moved with purpose, like they knew exactly where the cameras were. Not some random act then. Targeted.

"Son of a bitch." The words escaped before I could catch them. Professional distance cracked slightly watching Jimmy fall on the grainy screen, watching someone deliberately hurt a man who'd never done anything but help people.

"Jake." Liam's voice pulled me back. "This is Jimmy. Our Jimmy. Who would-"

"We'll find them." My hand landed on his shoulder, squeezing gently. Touch had always grounded him, even back in high school when I was making his life hell instead of protecting it. "I promise you that."

His eyes met mine, years of history passing between us. From bully and victim to something like friends, bound by shared guilt and redemption. "You really think you can?"

"Watch me." The words carried all the authority of my badge and all the personal vengeance of my heart. "Nobody hurts one of ours and walks away."

Caleb cleared his throat. "Night guard's coming in at noon for a statement. And the feed store across the way might have caught something on their cameras."

Right. Investigation. Focus on the job, not the rage burning in my chest.

"We'll need to canvass the area." I pulled out my notebook, falling into familiar patterns. "Anyone who might have been out late. The bar crowd, night shift workers-"

"Nina was closing last night." Liam straightened slightly, finding purpose in action. "And old man Jenkins sometimes walks his dog at weird hours."

"Good. That's good." I kept writing, kept focusing on facts instead of the way Jimmy's blood stained the ground. "We'll need a timeline. Everyone who saw him yesterday, any unusual interactions-"

"Jake." Caleb's voice cut through my professional facade. "This feels personal."

The words hit like a punch because fuck, he was right. The precision of it, the message left behind - this wasn't random violence. This was a warning.

"Yeah." I met his eyes, saw the same worry reflected there. "Which means whoever did this might try again."