Obsessed

Chapter 55

The world didn’t stop when someone died.

It didn’t pause or shudder or acknowledge the fracture of a soul.

Instead, the sun came up. The sky turned a shade lighter. Radios played, traffic buzzed, and somewhere—someone laughed like everything was the same.

But for Mark, the silence was deafening.

He sat alone on the steps outside the precinct, a cigarette burning low between his fingers, barely touched. His leg throbbed with every heartbeat, the thick wrap beneath his jeans doing little to numb the ache. But he welcomed the pain. It reminded him he was still alive.

Alive—while Jackson was gone.

The phone in his jacket vibrated for the third time.

He didn’t look.

He knew it was the commissioner —more questions about the cabin, the lake, the trail of bodies William and Victor had left behind. But Mark’s mind wasn’t there. It kept looping back to a snowy backroad. An overturned SUV. And a bullet.

Jackson had been driving Ronnie to see her mother. They were supposed to be safe. Together. He probably joked about the weather, probably made some inappropriate comment just to make Ronnie roll her eyes and crack a smile.

Then the plow hit them.

Mark seen the aftermath with his own eyes. The blood. The broken glass. Jackson had managed to shield Ronnie's unconscious body before Victor shot him in the head.

Execution style.

Like he was nothing.

Mark clenched his jaw until it hurt.

The autopsy said it was instant. That he didn’t suffer.

But Mark suffered for him.

Jackson had been more than a partner. He’d been a brother. Someone who kept him grounded through years of hell and c*****e, who teased him relentlessly but always had his six. And now he was gone because he’d protected the woman Mark couldn’t bear to lose.

It should’ve been him.

It was supposed to be him.

Across town, the hospital lights buzzed softly over Ronnie’s head. She sat cross-legged on a vinyl couch, draped in a hospital-issued hoodie, legs tucked under her like a child trying to disappear into the corner of a room.

She hadn’t spoken to the staff much. Not since the lake. Not since the fire. She barely ate. Barely slept.

Everyone wanted a statement, answers, something she couldn’t give yet. Her body was healing—slowly—but her mind…

That was another story.

She kept seeing it. The flash of headlights. The snow. The shriek of twisted metal. The way Jackson’s hand slammed against her chest to brace her, like even in his last moments his instinct was to protect her.

Then blackness.

Ronnie didn’t remember being dragged from the wreckage, but she remembered the cold. The smell of gasoline.

She looked down at her hands—still trembling.

She hadn’t cried. Not fully. Not since she woke up, the police told her about Jackson. The way he’d died. The heroism. The tragedy.

And all Ronnie could think was—its her fault.

She was the reason Jackson was there.

And now he was gone.

It was close to midnight when Mark finally walked through the hospital doors and into the quiet private recovery room.

Ronnie looked up slowly as he stepped in, still limping.

Their eyes met.

Something fragile cracked open between them.

Marks eyes were hollowed out, bloodshot. He hadn’t slept. Not really. Probably hadn’t stopped blaming himself long enough to even try.

Ronnie rose slowly from the couch.

They met halfway—without a word—and just stood there, inches apart.

Then she moved.

Her arms wrapped around his middle gently, almost hesitantly.

Mark didn’t hesitate.

He buried his face in her hair and held her like she was the only thing tethering him to the earth.

Neither of them cried.

Not then.

Not yet.

They just held each other in a silence thick with unspoken grief, trauma, guilt, and something deeper neither of them dared name out loud.

“I should’ve been there,” Mark whispered hoarsely.

Ronnie shook her head against his chest.

“He was protecting me.”

“He was protecting you because I wasn’t there. Because I let you go without backup. Without me.”

“You didn’t know,” she murmured.

“I should’ve.”

Ronnie pulled back, just enough to look up at him. “It wasn’t your fault.”

Mark’s jaw tensed, but he said nothing.

They were both broken in different ways. But somehow, even shattered, they fit together. Two halves scraped raw by the world.

“I miss him,” Ronnie whispered. “So much.”

Mark nodded. “Me too.”

She slid her hand into his, intertwining their fingers.

Neither of them said it—but the words were there, wrapped in the silence.

We’ll survive this. Together.

Two days later, a detective from Search & Recovery approached Mark outside the precinct with a clipboard and a tired look on his face.

“Still no body,” he said grimly. "But we're confirming the death."

Mark’s brows drew together. “You sure he didn’t make it out?”

“We’re sure.” The man flipped a page, showing sonar scans and depth maps. “The lake drops off fast. Ice is nearly four inches thick in places, and the cold... well, our divers can’t stay under long. Visibility’s s**t. But between the hole, the weight, and the trauma he sustained—we’re calling it.”

Mark stared at the printouts, jaw tight. “So we’re done?”

“We’re listing William Granger as deceased. Pending official recovery, but… even if the body surfaces months from now, it won’t change the outcome. There’s no way he survived. The water’s freezing. The ice is unstable. He wouldn’t have lasted more than two minutes.”

Mark didn’t thank him. Didn’t nod or say anything at all.

He just stood there, fists clenched at his sides, and breathed out slowly.

Dead. He was finally dead.

And yet the relief didn’t come.

Not yet.

—

Jackson’s funeral was held the next day later under gray skies and flurries of gentle snow. It felt cinematic, almost too surreal—like it was happening on a screen, to someone else, in another world.

The flag on his casket barely moved in the wind.

Ronnie stood beside Mark near the front, her black coat buttoned all the way up, gloves wrapped tightly around trembling fingers. Her eyes were dry—but only because there were no tears left to shed.

Dozens of officers stood in rows, dress uniforms crisp, hats against their hearts. The Honor Guard gave him a full salute. A bugler played taps. The sound was haunting, slicing through the stillness like a blade.

Mark didn’t blink when the shots rang out for the twenty-one-gun salute.

He stood tall, chin up, expression unreadable.

But his fingers never let go of Ronnie’s.

They buried him beside his father, according to his wishes. Jackson had once joked that he hoped the afterlife had hot sauce and country music.

Ronnie had smiled then.

She didn’t smile now.

After the service, the crowd dispersed slowly, murmurs of condolences and quiet weeping surrounding them.

Mark stayed behind with Ronnie, watching the earth swallow the final piece of the only man who’d ever made him laugh on the battlefield.

“He would've hated this suit,” Mark muttered after a long silence.

Ronnie exhaled a soft breath. “And the flowers.”

“He hated lilies. Said they smelled like old people.”

She laughed once. Just a breath. Then she reached down, pulled a small packet of hot sauce from her pocket, and placed it on the headstone.

“For the road.”

Mark’s chest tightened as his throat caught.

He didn’t cry.

But damn, it was close.

—

New Year’s Eve came with a bitter wind and an airport terminal full of groggy travelers. Mark and Ronnie stood side by side just beyond security, waiting near Gate 7 as the plane from Florida began to unload.

Ronnie clutched her scarf, heart pounding, fingers twitching at her sides.

She hadn’t seen Theo in weeks.

He didn’t know what had happened. Marvin and Gale had been careful—insisting they’d keep him busy with Disney World, Sea World, Zoos, new puzzles, and movies galore. They told him Mark and Ronnie were working on a “big important case,” but nothing more.

Ronnie had FaceTimed him once since the lake.

She couldn’t hold herself together long enough to do it again.

Mark shifted beside her, still limping slightly. He wore a hoodie and coat, his beard a little thicker, his eyes exhausted. But when he looked at her, he offered the smallest smile.

“He’s going to be so happy to see you.”

Ronnie nodded quickly, eyes locked on the crowd emerging from the gate.

Then—

“RONNIE!”

She barely had time to react before a flash of blue jacket and dark hair barreled into her like a little rocket.

“Theodore—!” Her arms folded around him automatically, catching his weight as he clung to her like a koala.

“I missed you so, so, so much,” he said in a rush, squeezing her neck. “I saw Mickey and Donald and there was this roller coaster that made my tummy do the upside-down and—AND—Uncle Marvin bought me cotton candy the size of my HEAD!”

Ronnie laughed, hugging him tighter, the sound wet in her throat.

“I missed you too, Teddy Bear.”

He pulled back just enough to cup her face in both little hands, his expression serious.

“You smell like hospital and shampoo.”

Mark chuckled under his breath behind them.

Theo’s eyes lit up the second he noticed him. “Mark!”

Mark crouched slightly—his bad leg trembling a bit as he did.

“Hey, buddy.”

Theo ran into him without hesitation, arms flying around Mark’s neck. “You have bandages. Did you get hurt?!”

“Only a little,” Mark said with a wince. “I heal fast.”

“Like Wolverine?”

“Exactly like Wolverine.”

Theo nodded, deeply satisfied. “Cool.”

Marvin and Gale appeared behind them, both wearing sunglasses and exhaustion. Marvin held two carry-ons and a stuffed Stitch. Gale had an iced coffee and the expression of someone who’d barely survived TSA with a child on a sugar high.

“Oh thank God,” Marvin muttered dramatically. “Take him.”

Ronnie gave him a watery smile as she reached out for him next. “Thanks for everything.”

“You owe us a lifetime of foot rubs and homemade cookies,” Gale said, pulling her in too. “But we’re just glad you’re okay.”

Marvin glanced at Mark, giving him a subtle once-over. Then, he nodded. “You too, soldier boy.”

Mark gave a small smirk. “Thanks for keeping him safe.”

Marvin raised a brow. “Wasn’t easy. He convinced two strangers at the gate that I was kidnapping him because I didn’t give him a second brownie.”

Ronnie’s eyes widened. “Oh my God.”

Mark chuckled. “Sounds about right.”

Theo tugged Ronnie’s sleeve. “Can we go home now? I wanna watch Wall-E and eat chicken nuggets.”

“Yeah,” she said softly, brushing his hair back. “Let’s go home.”

And for the first time in weeks—maybe months—home didn’t feel like a faraway place.

It was waiting.