Tyler walked me to my room, pausing just outside my door. He looked pained over what he was about to say. “I know you’ve had a long day, but I need you to go in and pack your bags.”
“What? Why?”
“Because Trex might have gotten you out of jail, but Chief is beyond pissed. He wants you back in Estes Park. He’s already called Jojo.”
I covered my face. “Fuck. Fuck … Because of one mistake?”
“Sneaking into a restricted area, and then getting arrested is a big one.” He looked down the hall at nothing, having a hard time looking me in the eye.
“Am I out for good?”
“I don’t know. Give me some time to talk to him. I’m going to let him cool off first.”
I exhaled, wishing I could rewind the day and start over. “What about you? Are you still mad?”
Tyler’s jaw clenched, and then he folded his arms around me. I closed my eyes, pressing my cheek against his chest. There was nowhere safer for me than Tyler. “I’m just glad you’re okay,” he said.
“Stay with me,” I whispered.
He kissed my hair. “A car will be waiting for you outside in fifteen minutes. Chief wants you on the road heading north. I’m just here long enough to make sure you’re packed, checked out, and on the road. Then I have to get back to fire camp.”
“You’re not coming with me?”
His eyebrows pulled together. “I have a job to do, Ellie. You have to go home.”
My eyes filled with tears. “I don’t have anywhere to go.”
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a single key, the light glinting off the silver. “Lone Tree Village in Estes. 111 F. We’re never there, so it’s mostly storage. I’m not even sure if there are sheets on my bed. It’s not a penthouse, but it’s a place to stay. My bedroom is the last door on the left.”
I took the key, sniffing. “Tyler…”
“Just … take it,” he said. “I’ll be home in a couple of weeks. We can figure it out then.” He stepped back, waving to me before turning for the elevator.
“I thought you were supposed to make sure I get in the car?” I asked.
He stopped in his tracks but didn’t turn around. “I’m sorry. I don’t think I can watch you leave.”
My bottom lip trembled, and I held the key to the sensor, hearing the lock click before I pressed down on the handle and pushed through. My clothes were still laid out, ready to go, but I would be lucky to ever get to go on a call again.
The wall felt cold against my back as I slid down the scuffed white paint to the aged orange and brown carpet. My phone buzzed, and I held it to my ear.
“Ellie?” Jojo said.
I covered my face with my hand. “I fucked up, Jojo,” I said, pressing my lips together to stifle a sob.
“You’re right. You did. Now you need to pack your things and get right back on the wagon. Do you hear me?”
“Do I still have a job?”
“You know you do. I’m not saying what you did is okay, but it’s an uphill battle. You lost this one. Come home, and let’s start preparing for the next one.”
My face crumbled, and I took in a deep breath. “I don’t deserve it, but thank you,” I whispered.
“Hang up, pack, and get downstairs. The car will be there soon. When you get home, go straight to bed and I’ll pick you up for work first thing in the morning. Got it?”
“Got it.”
“Stand up. Clean slate starts now.”
I took a deep breath, simultaneously standing and pressing END. It didn’t take long to pack the few things I’d laid out, and then I was out the door, taking the stairs instead of the elevator.
Darby dropped the marker she was using for her newest doodle masterpiece, and stood up. “Ellie? Are you okay?”
I paused at her desk, placing my key card in front of her. “Yeah. I have to leave.”
“You have to? Why?”
“I screwed up. I’m being sent home.”
Darby shook her head in disbelief even when she’d heard it from me. “Screwed up how? Just because you were drinking?”
“It’s a long story,” I said. “Trex can explain it to you.”
“If you ever come back … be sure to stop by and say hi.”
I smiled. “I will.”
A man older than my father, who dressed like a Baptist preacher and smelled like cheap aftershave, offered a contrived smile before taking my backpack. The cowlick on the top of his white hair was misbehaving, despite what looked like a quarter cup of gel he’d combed through it.
I waited for him to open the door, but he opened the trunk and threw in my bag. I opened the door myself, thinking the sticky carpet and trash tucked in the back of the passenger seat was the perfect ride for a woman who’d just left county jail.
The two and half hours to Estes Park seemed especially long when having to breathe in the smell of mothballs and possibly a fart or two. When we reached city limits, the driver turned his head while still keeping his eyes on the road.
“Do you have an address?”
“Lone Tree Village. Building F.”
He sighed. “Do you have an address?”
“Hang on,” I said, looking through my phone. “Thirteen-ten Manford Avenue.”
The driver poked at his GPS and then sat back, resuming his mission to ignore me.