Obsessed

Chapter 18

The days following the crash passed in a strange blur.

Ronnie was on strict medical leave, confined to her home with painkillers, gauze pads, and orders to rest. A large patch of her side was bruised and tender, and though the vest had saved her life, the internal damage and embedded shrapnel still left her weak and sore.

She hated it.

Mark had stopped by every day. Sometimes with food, sometimes with updates, but always with a quiet kind of concern that warmed her in ways she didn't quite understand. He didn’t hover or ask questions. He just… showed up. Made her tea. Sat with Theo when she was too tired. Changed the gauze when her hands shook too much.

And when he wasn’t there, he was at the precinct, pushing for answers.

Because Elise had vanished.

It didn’t take long for the team to uncover the truth about the “construction detour.” The entire site—the cones, the signs, even the workers—had been fabricated. A masterfully executed setup. Surveillance footage was conveniently missing, hacked and looped just long enough to avoid showing the collision.

Elise’s escape wasn’t luck.

It was a plan.

A message.

And it made Mark’s blood boil.

Thanksgiving morning came cold and clear. For the first time in years, Mark found himself looking forward to something. He stood in front of the mirror in his modest apartment, smoothing out the dark gray, fine-knit sweater over his crisp white button-up shirt. A black tie peeked through the crew neck, paired with tailored dress pants and polished boots.

He looked… decent. Not like a guy heading to a crime scene.

After combing his fingers through his slightly damp hair, he grabbed the wine and bouquet from the kitchen counter—pink hibiscus, her favorite—and headed out the door.

He pulled into Ronnie’s driveway just after four.

The house looked warm and glowing from within, wreaths of dried fall leaves hanging on the door and a few pumpkins still lingering on the porch. Before he could knock, the door flew open with a creak.

Theo stood there in plaid pajamas with a cartoon turkey on the front, grinning ear to ear.

“Mark!”

Mark barely had time to respond before he was pulled into a hug around the waist.

Behind him, a tall, lean man with graying blond hair and piercing gray eyes stepped into the doorway. He wore a deep burgundy cardigan over a white shirt and slacks, holding a glass of red wine.

“You must be Mark,” the man said, sizing him up with a slow grin. “I’ve heard quite a bit about you.”

Mark gave a polite nod. “And you are?”

“Uncle Gale.” The man stuck out a hand. “Ronnie’s told me you’re the brooding, overly intense one who wears too much black. I can see she wasn’t exaggerating. You’re very handsome.”

Mark blinked.

Gale just winked.

Before Mark could recover, he heard the click of heels on hardwood.

And then he saw her.

Ronnie walked toward the door with slow confidence, the black mini dress hugging her body in all the right ways. The ribbed knit fabric clung to her curves, the v-neck dipping off one shoulder, exposing a hint of smooth porcelain skin. Her long legs were bare, the hem of the dress just brushing mid-thigh. Her hair was swept up in a high ponytail, a few strands curling around her face and neck.

She looked…

“Hey,” she said softly, her smile warm. “You clean up nice.”

“So do you,” he managed, clearing his throat as he handed her the wine and flowers. “These are for you.”

“Pink hibiscus,” she said, eyes lighting up. “You remembered.”

Mark nodded. “Of course I did.”

“Come in,” she said, stepping aside. “Before Uncle Gale tries to flirt with you again.”

“I’m not trying,” Gale called from the kitchen. “I’m succeeding.”

Ronnie rolled her eyes and led Mark inside.

The house smelled like roasted turkey, cinnamon, and something sweet—possibly pie. Theo scurried past them with a toy dinosaur, his laughter echoing down the hallway. The table had been set with gold-accented plates and cloth napkins folded into crisp fans. Candles flickered in low holders, casting a warm glow over the dark wood.

Ronnie placed the flowers in a vase on the windowsill while Mark watched her.

“How’s the pain?” he asked quietly.

She turned slightly, her fingers brushing the stem of a flower. “Manageable. Still sore.”

“Should you be up like this?”

“It’s Thanksgiving,” she said with a shrug. “I’m not missing it. And Gale did most of the cooking. I just bossed him around from the counter.”

Mark chuckled. “Sounds about right.”

They gathered around the dining table, plates passed down and filled with turkey, stuffing, cranberry sauce, and sides that looked straight out of a holiday cookbook. Before Ronnie even sat, she leaned over Theo’s plate, organizing his food into neat, separated sections. Nothing touched. She used a butter knife to cut each bite into precise, symmetrical squares.

Mark watched her with quiet admiration. Even something as simple as this—cutting food—was done with care, patience, and love. Her entire focus was on Theo. As always.

The boy beamed at her once she finished. “Perfect,” he whispered, like it was their little secret.

Dinner was full of laughter and warmth. Gale animatedly told stories about Ronnie’s teenage years—like when she tried to dye her hair pink and ended up with a blotchy orange mess. Or when she was caught sneaking back in after curfew and tried to blame it on a “rogue raccoon.”

“Ronnie!” Mark laughed, raising his eyebrows at her.

Ronnie covered her face with one hand. “Don’t believe him, he exaggerates.”

“I do not!” Gale said, hand dramatically over his heart. “That raccoon excuse was the best thing I’ve heard in my life.”

Even Marvin cracked a rare smile from across the table, his deep voice joining the teasing.

Mark found himself smiling more than he had in years, laughing freely and watching Ronnie from the corner of his eye. Every now and then, she’d catch him—and her lips would curve into a smile that made his chest tighten.

After dinner, Gale brought out the pies—apple, pumpkin, and a strange but delicious pecan-gingerbread hybrid he claimed was his “magnum opus.” Theo made a complete mess, whipped cream dotting his nose and cheeks, hands sticky with sugar.

Ronnie stood with a laugh, brushing crumbs off her dress. “Alright, c'mon, pie goblin. Let’s toss you in the tub before you get this all over the couch.”

Theo groaned but followed her without complaint, dragging his dinosaur behind him.

Mark was left alone with the uncles.

Gale immediately poured himself another glass of wine.

Marvin raised an eyebrow. “Might wanna slow down, Gale.”

“I’m fine,” Gale replied, waving him off. He turned to Mark, wine glass in one hand and a sharp, amused glint in his eye. “So. Detective.”

Mark raised a brow. “Yes, sir?”

“Let’s cut to the chase. You into my niece?”

Mark blinked. “I—”

“He is,” Marvin said, interrupting. “He’s just trying to be respectful.”

Mark flushed slightly, caught between honesty and discretion. “Ronnie’s… incredible. I care about her. And Theo.”

“Good,” Gale said, leaning on the back of the chair. “Because she doesn’t need a fling. Or a fixer-upper. She needs someone who gets her. Who won’t just get what they want and ghost her or push her when she’s not ready.”

“I know,” Mark said softly.

There was a pause. Then, Gale's voice shifted, losing some of its usual edge.

“She told you about how she got Theo, right?”

Mark nodded. “She said you helped her get custody. That was… incredible of you both.”

“She needed him,” Gale said. “We were worried at first, honestly. Thought he might remind her of him.”

Mark’s brow furrowed. “Who?”

Marvin stiffened, setting his wine down a little too hard.

But Gale—the open book, the one who’d never been good at keeping things buried—exhaled and shook his head.

“William. That f*****g monster. Theo’s father.”

Mark’s spine straightened. His fingers tightened around his glass.

Gale kept going, even as Marvin shot him a warning look.

“Hopefully he’s dead by now. Pedophiles don’t last long in prison. Especially not the kind that rape their own stepkids.” He took a long sip. “From the age of nine until she was eleven. That’s how long it went on. And her mother?” Gale’s jaw clenched. “She didn’t lift a finger. Turned a blind eye. Called Ronnie a liar.”

The words hit Mark like a brick wall. His blood turned cold, and yet his skin burned.

“She finally came to our house one day,” Gale continued, his voice tight. “Crying. Bruised. Wouldn’t look us in the eye. We knew something was wrong… we just didn’t know how bad until she finally said it out loud.”

Mark sat frozen, his mind racing.

“We got custody,” Gale said. “Fought tooth and nail. And we did everything we could for her, but there’s some s**t that sticks, you know? She still hates being stared at too long. Hates the dark. Still flinches when someone touches her without warning.”

Marvin cleared his throat and nudged Gale sharply in the ribs. “That’s enough.”

But the damage was already done.

Mark sat there, his heart thudding in his ears. The puzzle pieces—the ones he’d been quietly collecting for weeks—were starting to snap into place. Her reactions, her distance, the look in her eyes when she thought no one was watching.

He felt sick.

And furious.

And protective in a way he hadn’t expected to feel so deeply.

Gale sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything. That’s not my story to tell. But if you’re going to be in her life… you need to know what you’re walking into.”

Mark swallowed the lump in his throat and nodded slowly. “Thank you. For telling me.”

Marvin let out a quiet breath. “Just… be patient with her.”

Mark looked down the hallway, where faint splashing sounds echoed from the bathroom as Theo giggled.

“I will,” he said softly. “For as long as it takes.”