Texted Lies, Whispered Truths: Jason Collier's Story

  Texted Lies, Whispered Truths

  Terri Anne Browning

  Lonnie Doris

  Copyright © Terri Anne Browning/Lonnie Doris 2021

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of Terri Anne Browning, Lonnie Doris, and LoMoPro, LLC, except as permitted under the US Copyright Act of 1976.

  Texted Lies, Whispered Secrets

  The Jason Collier Story

  Written by Terri Anne Browning & Lonnie Doris

  All Rights Reserved ©Terri Anne Browning/Lonnie Doris

  Publisher LoMoPro, LLC

  Cover Design Sara Eirew Photography

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  Texted Lies, Whispered Secrets is a work of nonfiction. Although the author and publisher have made every effort to ensure that the information in this book is correct at time of publication, the author and publisher do not assume and hereby disclaim any liability to any party for any loss, damage, or disruption caused by errors or omissions, whether such errors or omissions result from negligence, accident, or any other cause.

  Contents

  Disclaimer

  Preface

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  The Authors Sit Down with Jason for a Quick Q&A

  Lonnie Debunks the Lies

  Final Opinion from the Authors

  Disclaimer

  This is not a work of fiction.

  It is Jason Collier’s narrative in his own words, written by Terri Anne Browning and Lonnie Doris. All information detailed in this book came directly from Jason Collier himself. Most of it was already presented on social media by others involved, while Jason remained quiet.

  Now, you will hear his side of the story.

  From the very beginning.

  This story is true.

  Some names have been changed to protect the privacy of others involved.

  Preface

  “The next time your man says he doesn’t have time for you, remind him Jason Collier has time for a wife, four kids, two fiancées, being police chief, a ministry, a Pinterest page, two coffeepots, and seventeen girlfriends.”

  The moment I read that post on Facebook, I spat the drink of water I had just taken out of my mouth, my bed now soaked and my husband looking at me like I’d lost my mind at my seemingly unprovoked reaction. I wasn’t normally so overdramatic…

  Okay, that’s a lie. I am an author after all. There must be a law somewhere that says all authors must be overly dramatic in at least one aspect of their lives. My husband is an understanding man, and he puts up with my eccentricities. But I was taking a break after writing my newest book, Her Shelter, so he wasn’t prepared for my sudden sputter that sprayed him and our freshly changed sheets with bottled water.

  It was January 27, 2021, and I was decompressing in bed after a full day of homeschooling three kids, dealing with a disabled dog, and basically trying to survive the continued self-enforced quarantine—because, hey, it’s a fucking pandemic and I have a heart condition. My typical end of the day routine included scrolling through social media, more often than not, hoping to find a new book that may have recently released and which might hold my attention for more than 3.2 seconds.

  That was when the post caught my attention. I’d seen a few people talking about some police chief and his many mistresses earlier in the day, but I’d kept scrolling because I honestly didn’t know if they were talking about real-life people or some movie/sitcom that I was too busy and didn’t have the attention span to focus on. Alas, it was very much reality, as I was soon to find out.

  One of Lonnie’s and my mutual friends shared a post, and it was the next thing I saw in my feed. Beyond curious—and noting the 500-plus comments on the picture that had been shared—I quickly fell down the Jason Collier rabbit hole, one that would keep me fascinated for the next two hours before I even lifted my head from my phone. During that time, I was sure my entire house could have caught fire, my children could have invented a cure for COVID while my Frenchies suddenly took up juggling, and I wouldn’t have noticed or heard any of it.

  As soon as I came up for air, I shared the same picture-post that was not just a rabbit hole but, in fact, a blazing dumpster fire. It had been roughly twenty-four hours since the post had first gone live, and already, it was reaching people worldwide. If I was going to be sucked into the whole Jason/Candie/Stephanie/Mr. Coffee drama, then those on my friends list were coming with me. (Not their real names. I have a little respect for people…sometimes. So, they’ve been renamed in an attempt to protect their privacy.) But hey, if you’re reading this, you already know who they really are.

  BECAUSE THEY TOLD YOU WHO THEY ARE!

  To begin with, I was engrossed by the story. Woman catches boyfriend cheating through a mutual friend with his other girlfriend—fiancée? mistress?—and he has a wife? Or so she was telling everyone. Now others were coming forward, and it was looking more and more like a Lifetime Sunday Movie Special. I was already mapping out an entire series focused on the events, in which the group of women come together, become lifelong besties, learn to love themselves for who they really are, and then find true love. With separate men, mind you. They weren’t going to do some weird sister-wives thing. I mean…I had to have more than one book in this series Lonnie and I were already plotting…

  But then, in the background, we both noticed the stories weren’t matching up. The red flags had my stomach turning, because it was all clicking in my head. Someone was sucking up all the attention, keeping herself in the spotlight, and seemingly not giving a damn that the more she egged on the drama, the more she was hurting those who were blameless in this entire fiasco. Jason’s children were being dragged into the mess, and I began to pull away from the drama.

  What had become, to me, a few hours of reading entertainment was actually the crash and burn of someone’s life. Admittedly, I wasn’t all that worried about how Jason Collier was holding up. As an outsider looking in, I couldn’t find any sympathy for the man, when he had brought all of this upon himself.

  His children? They were the innocents, the ones who hadn’t asked for any of this drama to overtake and upend their lives, but that was exactly what was happening. And as I continued to watch—albeit from more of a distance at this point—I saw the damage someone seemed to enjoy inflicting as they destroyed these children’s lives with each post and interview she participated in.

  Lonnie, who was still trapped within the flames of the dumpster fire we had both fallen into, reached out to Jason, and it was then that I reminded myself there are always three sides to every story.

  His.

  Hers.

  And somewhere, mixed into all of the bullshit from either side, the truth.

  Lonnie convinced me that we needed to give Jason a voice, and after some internal struggling, I agreed. Not because of him, but because of the injustice, the pain and humiliation others were inflicting—apparently without remorse—on those who were the true innocents and victims in this train wreck.

  We knew that someone would tell Jason’s story. Whether it was us or some
tabloid or even a more reputable magazine. There was no stopping that train, I don’t care what anyone says. But at least this way, we knew what would be printed, and we could ensure the children would be taken care of with the majority of any proceeds.

  This is Jason’s truth. In his own words. Lonnie and I have worked together to present to you a variation of the story you were so wrapped up in. Because, admit it. You fell down that rabbit hole right along with us back in January. It’s why you’re reading this now.

  Is it fucked up?

  Definitely.

  Do I condone what he did?

  No! No, a million times no—see, I’m back to being overdramatic. Sigh.

  But does he deserve to have his story told?

  Well, fuck, people. Wouldn’t you want your story told if given the chance?

  1

  From the City of Stinnett, Texas, Facebook Page

  “Facebook User” doesn’t recommend City of Stinnett.

  Jan 26 at 10:40 AM

  “Chief Jason Collier is living a double/triple life. I was his girlfriend until yesterday. He lied to me and presented me with fake annulment documents when I found out he was married. I also found out about a 2nd girlfriend, Stephanie, last night. He has lied to us, our children, and asked us both to marry him. He is a poor representative of your town. He would also visit me in Amarillo when he was on shift. We just returned from vacation in Taos on Sunday—meanwhile, his other GF was told he was on work assignment in Portland, OR.”

  That post was suddenly worldwide news, and I, Jason Brent Collier, at the age of forty-one, was now the meme that was taking over the internet. Only the day before, it was still Bernie Sanders, sitting in that chair at President Biden’s inauguration, looking chilled to the bone in his winter coat and mittens. Social media was overrun with people joking that they thought dear old Bernie would be the meme that “Brought America Together Again,” but apparently it was me. Pictures of me and coffeepots, me and a cardboard bride in her wedding dress with the face cut out so that tourists could add their own, not to mention the songs I was now featured in on not only Facebook, but YouTube as well.

  People who didn’t know me were making timelines of all the women I was supposedly dating, engaged to, or even reportedly married to and had a child with. Some of these people, I didn’t even know…

  But unfortunately, several of them I did, in fact, know.

  Not just in passing, but in the biblical sense.

  Because I wasn’t innocent in the chaos that was now taking over my life after a single vindictive post placed on the Facebook page for the City of Stinnett, Texas, where I was the police chief. I had a moment of insanity—admittedly, that moment evolved into several months—but the man the world was currently tearing apart limb from limb wasn’t the real me.

  I was the shy, quiet boy who grew up in Hereford, Texas, “Beef Capital of the World,” which was located about forty-eight miles southwest of Amarillo. My dad, Jerry, was a Vietnam War veteran and owned a full-service gas station where I had my first job at the age of seven, pumping gas. And when I was tall enough, I started doing oil changes and washing the cars that came in for service.

  He and my mom, Carole, were married in April of 1970, and I was their second son. Everyone respected them and knew my brother and me because we worked at the station. In the 1990s, they sold the station and started a car dealership. When they bought vehicles at auctions, I would travel with a group of older men, and we would drive the cars back. I had several other small jobs after that, even learned how to weld from my cousin, but I always knew I wanted to be a cop.

  Working at the gas station, seeing the cops come in for service, I fell in love with the cars and admired the respect the officers got from others in our community. While I was in high school, I went through jailer’s school, and afterward, I worked for a while at the Potter County Jail. I was never promoted, but I was steadily given more and more responsibilities.

  At the age of twenty-one, I attended the Panhandle Regional Police Academy through Amarillo College, while still working full time. I would work the night shift then go to school from eight-to-five each day. I got little sleep during that time, but it was worth it because I graduated quicker than if I would have attended the night classes at the academy.

  I took the state test and passed before getting a job offer from Carson County, where I became a deputy sheriff. After catching the eye of Rob Roach at the Panhandle Police Department, I was recruited and I switched jobs. They paid more at Panhandle, and I was able to receive more training. My police chief, Loren Brand, was from Chicago and retired in 2020 as sheriff of Carson County. I had so much respect and learned a great deal while working with him. When Chief Brand moved up, Rob became the chief of police, and I was promoted to the training officer.

  My career was advancing more and more with each passing year. I loved my job and getting to serve and help those in the community where I lived.

  It was my personal life where things got clouded.

  2

  In early 2001, while I was still working for Potter County Jail and attending the police academy, I met my first wife, M. She worked at the jail with me. The moment I saw her, I was instantly attracted. But having been shy my entire life, I knew talking to her was out of the question. Our coworkers would laugh at the two of us, because any time I would see her coming, I would immediately turn and practically run in the opposite direction.

  During our lunch hour one night, I watched from across the room as she ate her meal. She was licking a spoon, and as I stared, she happened to glance over at me. My blush probably could have lit up the room, I turned so red. Later, when I finally got up the courage to talk to her and ask her out, she gave me a plastic spoon. “I like you,” was written on it, and I held on to that memento.

  Our relationship progressed, and I soon couldn’t imagine my life without her. We went on vacation together to Vegas, and we were so enamored of each other, I think everyone assumed we would come home married and were shocked when we didn’t.

  Not long after that vacation, I bought a ring. For a while, I tried to plan how to propose, wanting to make it romantic and special, but I just couldn’t hold it in. One night, she came over, and I busted out the ring and blurted out the proposal. Without hesitation, she said yes.

  We moved in together, and when I began working for Carson County, she followed and worked as one of the dispatchers. The running joke with everyone was that she got to tell me where to go and what to do both at home and at work.

  In July of 2001, we got married. By October of 2003, we welcomed our first child, a daughter. My girl is incredibly smart and beautiful, and I am beyond proud of all that she has already accomplished in life. She works hard in school and sports, and she plans on becoming a nurse.

  When my daughter was still very young, we found out my mom was sick. She was the type of person who didn’t go to the doctor for any reason. Maybe it was her generation, but I could never remember her or Dad speaking openly about…well, anything, but definitely not their health. By the time they found her cervical cancer, it was too late for treatment. It was her request to have hospice come in, and for weeks, we all waited for the call from Dad that it was her time.

  It’s hard to remember those moments because I was a true momma’s boy, while my brother was closer to our father. Saying goodbye to my mother was one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do. One evening, Dad called and said her time was coming fast.

  That night, I sat by her bed and held her hand. She must have been dreaming and not quite in her right mind. Because of the cancer, she couldn’t even close her eyes, but she kept telling me about when she was a little girl and riding horses. I read her the entire book of Solomon, and as the night went on, I told her it was okay for her to let go, to go on home.

  Not long afterward, she took her last breath while I sat by her side.

  It was harder for me than anyone could have understood. Not just losing her, but not being ab
le to handle or express the grief that constantly seemed to live inside me.

  It caused issues between M and me.

  We separated. She went to live with her family with our daughter, and I moved in with my dad back in Hereford. During that time, we both started seeing other people. I met a woman who had a son. We talked for several months and even began dating, but I didn’t want to be a part-time father. M and I decided to work things out and moved to Ralls, Texas, where I took my first police chief job.

  Life went on. My marriage wasn’t perfect; we had our issues—mainly money and how we handled our finances—and then later on, her parents became a problem. In 2010, while she was pregnant with our son, we moved to Pampa, Texas, and we bought our home in March of 2011. Mostly, the move was to be closer to my dad, but we lost him in July of that same year.

  Losing one parent is hard, but losing both is agony.

  I didn’t know how to work through my grief, and it was all starting to build up inside me.

  The loss once again put a strain on my marriage.

  3

  My weight was something I always struggled with. All my life, I was simply a big boy. But I was getting older, heavier, and frankly, I was miserable. At 430 pounds, I had no energy. And I knew if I wanted to live long enough to get the chance to walk my daughter down the aisle, see my son grow up, and hopefully, one day, hold my grandchildren, then I needed to make a change.