The Way My Heart Beats

Chapter 12

"That's it? We just wait?" Amelia questions disheartened.

We sit in my truck taking in everything that had just happened. I lean against the steering wheel staring out of the windshield mindlessly as Amelia is curled into the passenger seat facing me.

I suddenly miss Clara so much my heart is crushing slowing like a vice grip is closing in on it tighter and tighter. The ache burns into my veins setting my blood on fire. Anger builds up in my bones as tears well up in my eyes threatening their release. My grip on the steering wheel so tight my knuckles turn solid white.

"Grant?" The sound of her voice cloud the true sound of Amelia's. After all of this, being in a coma and taking care of her, this is how I lose her? "Grant?" Amelia's voice coming closer, but her sudden grasp on my arm is what brings me back from my thoughts.

I look at her not trying to hide anything. A tear escapes. She looks down not able to keep eye contact with me while trying to hold herself together.  She takes a deep breath and gathers her composure. She looks back up at me with about as much uncertainty as I feel. "Your guy, Mitch, he's good, right? I mean, you trust him?"

"Yes. Definitely. Nobody I trust more to handle this." She shakes her head as if she's reassured a bit.

"What's the history there? He said he owed you?"

I lean back into my seat rubbing my hands down my thighs and lick my lips. "A few years ago, his wife was murdered. He was the main suspect. They almost convicted him for her murder. Even with his reputation at Chicago PD, they had some pretty convincing evidence. I was a character witness along with testifying against the guy who really did it; his partner."

This information oddly didn't take her off guard like I thought it would. "Go on.." she urges with a sense of calm.

"We'd been overseas together when we were in the Marines. They went on to the police academy afterwards, but I needed out of the action. The PTSD was eating me up as it was. I sought help and used carpentry as therapy." I pause and clear my throat before continuing. "We were all out at the bar one night. Just the three of us—Mitch, Lance, and myself. I haven't really drank much since my divorce because I didn't need to end up where I was after I was discharged from the military. So, I was sober. Anyways, Lance was plastered. He kept saying weird stuff all night like, "Weren't you divorcing Beth anyways?" and "Guess you beat her to the punch with this murder thing, huh, Mitch?"."

"How did Mitch take that?" Amelia asks.

"He's a laid back kind of guy. He knew Lance was wasted, and he just didn't want anymore added drama so he kept his cool. When Mitch went to the bathroom, Lance leans over to me and says, "that bitch deserved what she got. You should've seen the way she kicked and screamed when I had my hands around her throat. I figured she liked it that way." Then, he laughed it off. I played it cool because I didn't want him to run off thinking I thought he was serious. There was a slight chance it was the alcohol, but the way he said it was too real. Not to mention, she was strangled to death. I turned in a statement the next day. The cops checked into it, and turns out his alibi didn't hold up. Evidence turns up that she'd been sexting him. It's not like he was innocent in that, but I guess he got pissed at her because she was all talk and went after her."

"Shit. That's crazy!" Amelia leans back into the seat crossing her arms and just stares out the windshield.

"Yeah. I'd like to think it was all PTSD from being overseas and seeing everything we saw, but he wasn't like the rest of us. It was easier for him to kill than a normal soldier. Not that it's ever easy, but in that atmosphere there's a numbness to the true reality of firing that gun knowing it's going to take someone's life. When you get home—that's when that reality hits."