Epilogue

Next Spring

We pull up to the field Marnie has renamed Beeville. She pushes the truck door open, and Ed hops out, chasing after an unsuspecting blackbird.

Marnie watches him splash through a mud puddle. “He’s going to need a bath when he gets home.”

“If you wouldn’t let him in the bed, we wouldn’t have to worry about it.”

I climb out of the truck, and she slides out behind me.

She breathes deep. “Petrichor.”

“Petri-what?”

She grins. “Petrichor. The smell after rain.”

“Damn, woman. You turn every little thing into a miracle.”

“It is a miracle.”

She slides an arm around my waist.

We survey the field. It’s still early. The sun has risen, but there’s still a peachy glow to the hillside. Raindrops hang on every blade of grass. As we walk along the lane, I spot a spiderweb, dewdrops clinging like diamonds to each thread.

I breathe deep, filling my lungs. Excitement fills my chest. I’ve been working on this secret project for months.

Months.

And Marnie is the curious sort. Keeping it from her has been half the battle.

We come around the bend, and she spots the rest of the trouble.

The good kind of trouble.

The kind that’s worth every drop of sweat, every bee sting.

Bringing Marnie into my life is the best thing I’ve ever done.

But we didn’t necessarily get a happily ever after. I don’t know if those exist.

And I don’t know if you’d really want one. Because, if you were just happy all the time and never experienced anything else, how would you know the difference? How would you know you were alive?

Marnie talks about chiaroscuro. The contrast between light and dark. She’s a word collector and damned if she isn’t expanding my vocabulary.

But there are some things that are too big, too important, to be contained by ordinary words.

Chiaroscuro.

Darkness and light. We wander this world through shadows and pools of sunshine, but it’s worth every step, because we’re hand in hand.

We lost Thomas back in September. A thunderstorm passed through the night before. Like the universe was giving Thomas one last show.

It’s been tough for her, but unfortunately, she and I both are old hats at this kind of thing.

I can’t take away the shadow, but I can try to be a light for her.

We walk around the bend and my little project comes into view.

Daisies, by the thousands, bob in the soft breeze.

Marnie sucks in a breath, her fingers squeezing mine. “Dusty.”

Her eyes dance as she peers up at me. “This is where you put the new beehives?”

I nod. “You like it?”

Her smile is so bright it’s blinding. She throws herself into my arms, knocking the wind out of me. I chuckle, wrapping her up in my arms and lifting her feet from the ground.

Setting her down, I shove my hands in my pockets. “I have one other surprise for you.”

She turns away from the field of daisies to peer up at me.

I hold out my arm, pulling the bandage off my forearm. Where there was once just a single, inked daisy, there are now two.

She steps closer, running a fingertip gently around the perimeter. “That’s for me?”

I nod, unfurling my fingers. A diamond ring winks up at her. “And so is this.”

I drop to one knee and take her hand. “Marnie Black, I love you more than words can say. You’re the first person I want to see when I wake up and the last person I want to see before I close my eyes at night. You’re giving me something to believe in and I can’t imagine a world without you in it.”

My throat gets thick and I have to pause. “Will you marry me?”

Her eyes glow and those freckles look so pretty on her cheeks. She nods. “Yes.”

Her arms wrap around my shoulders, and she pulls my head against her tummy. “I love your new tattoo.”

She murmurs. “But there’s just one thing wrong with it.”

My heart dips and we both peer down at the new ink. “What’s that?”

“It’s missing a bud.”

Her finger hovers over one of the daisies. “There should be a third one, right there.”

It takes me a minute to catch her meaning. And then it takes me another minute to catch my breath. My eyes are watering. Must be the pollen in the air.

I press my face into her stomach and hug her close. “Marnie.”

She runs her fingers through my hair. “Dusty.”

God, I like the way my name sounds on her lips.

Say it again, Marnie.

Say it again.

Thank you for reading The Best Kind of Bad.

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Jordan Trygg is an independent author. Every review and rating matters.

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Sneak Peek of Officer Petty Goes Viral…

This cozy read is a full-length novel about a St. Louis Police Officer and his temporary girlfriend, Quinn.

Against their will, they’re everybody’s favorite (fake) influencer couple…

Dane

I’ve changed my stance on Halloween.

It has to be one of the worst nights of the year for a cop. It gives people license to be stupid.

Parked in a dark drive, I point the radar gun at the passing traffic. Glancing at Smith’s empty seat, I feel my shoulders tensing.

Maybe I’m being extra grumpy in his honor. He’s no longer my partner. He’s no longer a cop. That incident with the asshole at the bar got us in more trouble than either of us expected. We followed protocol. Well, not counting the whole smashed phone part. In the past, no one would have blinked an eye at something like that.

But after all the riots this last summer, the entire city has been on edge. The police department has been under fire and apparently, they’ve decided to jettison any cop that might be a potential risk.

Long story short, Smith took an early retirement and I’m without a partner.

Thank God they haven’t put me on leave yet. After the incidents this summer, there was a lot of chatter about PTSD. But what I told them then, and I’ll tell them now, is the best thing for me is to stay busy. Sitting still just gives the ghosts a chance to find me.

I peer down the road. A little sedan is east bound with no headlights. I throw on my overheads, casting the world in blue and red. The car, a silver Ford, immediately slows and pulls into the old Hungry Boy parking lot. I climb out of the car, looking around. I can remember coming to this place back in the 90s with my folks. It was a popular place back then. Now, it’s just creepy. I glance up at the creaking Hungry Boy sign. It groans in the wind. The city needs to just bulldoze this place. But there’s a lot of things the city needs to do.

Approaching the vehicle, a small woman rolls her window down. She’s a pretty brunette with sleepy eyes. It’s too early to say if those heavy-lidded cat eyes are just what she looks like or if she’s stoned. Her lips are plump, almost oval shaped. She’s got on a thick, cozy sweater and a pleated skirt.

Tennis skirts are my weakness.

“Good evening, ma’am. I’m Officer Petty.”

She snorts, quickly covering her lips. “Wait, really? That’s your name?”

Honeymoon’s over. I’m not in the mood for this shit. “Do you know why I pulled you over?”

“I have no idea. I know I wasn’t speeding.”

Wind howls overhead, causing the sign to creak ominously.

Fucking Halloween.

I study her face, searching for telltale signs of drugs or alcohol use. “You were driving without your headlights.”

“Wait, what? Really?”

She glances down at her steering wheel.

“License and registration.”

Her eyes widen slightly. “Am I in trouble?”

“Not yet.”

I flick my flashlight on, scanning her driver’s license. Quinn Laurent. 32. Organ donor. She lives near Cherokee Street. That’s a colorful part of town. I glance down at her. “Where are you coming from?”

“Downtown. My friends and I were out.”

I look at her. “Have you been drinking?”

“Not really.”

I tilt my head. “Not really? Is that a yes or a no?”

“No,”

she hesitates. “Well. Yes. A little. Barely anything.”

“Out of the car.”

She frowns. “Seriously?”

“Out of the car, now.”

She stares up at me in disbelief. I reach down and tug the door open. My hand swoops in to snag her wrist, but at the last minute, I flip my hand over.

She heaves a sigh, putting her hand in mine. Her palm is soft, her fingers are icy.

It’s a cold night.

Quinn wraps her arms around her middle, shivering in the relentless wind. I almost feel bad for making her brave the elements. But better to be safe than sorry about these things. If she got into an accident while under the influence, she might ruin more lives than just her own.

I’m trained to make observations about people. Anymore, I do it without thinking. But when I’m looking at Quinn, it doesn’t feel as professional as it should. She’s short and curvy. Her eyes are a fascinating hazel shade. Her skirt flutters prettily in the breeze. My eyes scan downward.

I didn’t notice the knee socks. They’re orange. I think it's an odd fashion statement until I remember it's Halloween. “Is this part of a costume?”

Breath clouds in front of her heart-shaped face. “I’m Velma.”

I give her a blank look.

“From Scooby Doo? It made more sense when I was with the group. Are you going to make me walk the line?”

There’s a ghoulish sheering of metal. I look up in time to see the Hungry Boy sign sheer off its pole before tilting towards us.