But as I looked at her pale face, I knew it was a lie.
My mother wasn’t alive.
And it was my fault.
When she tells you a time to meet, always be twenty minutes early. Don’t forget.
I didn’t forget. I tried so hard.
But it was all my fault.
She was on the ground because I was late.
My fault. My fault. My fault.
If I’d been twenty minutes early, she’d be alive.
It was as clear as if I were standing there instead of sitting in Zegas’s office. Blood. And her face, forever frozen in a wide-eyed expression I’d never forget.
After that, I’d gone between two buildings and thrown up. Then I’d run home and vomited again. I should’ve been there for Teague and tried to do something for Mother. But I’d been too horrified.
Zegas narrowed his gaze. He’d just witnessed me go back in time to a fresh hell that had been on repeat most of my life.
“How is this relevant to the situation at hand?” I snapped, desperate to get away from the memories.
“I just always felt it was odd. A well-known and respected woman in the city is gunned down in broad daylight. Nobody saw anything and the story simply disappeared.”
“And you feel now is a good time to satisfy your curiosity?” I asked sharply. It was inappropriate and off-putting. I felt as if I were in an interview for a gossip magazine instead of a meeting with my legal counsel.
He clicked and unclicked his pen. “Were you aware my father was a prosecutor?”
“I’m really not interested in trading family stories.” I’d wasted my time coming here, aside from the fact it had allowed me to avoid facing Lexie.
“Kinda funny, isn’t it? He went after bad guys and I defend them.”
I failed to see the relevance so I sat in silence, hoping he’d get to the point.
“I was in my first year of college when that happened. I may have chosen a different niche than he had, but we were close. It was because of him I chose the law.”
Zegas leaned forward, arms propped on the desk. “He was the prosecutor on your mother’s case. At least he was going to be.” He stared at me. “Until he was told to drop the case.”
What? My mother could’ve had justice instead of just one of another in a long line of unsolved crimes.
“Who instructed him to do such a thing?”
“Your father.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Lexie
Unknown number.
I’d received three calls like that in the past hour. Every time my phone vibrated, I’d hoped it was Lincoln.
It was almost midnight.
Did these solicitors have no manners?
I sent the call straight to voicemail and rolled toward Lincoln’s side of the bed. Still empty.
Would he want me here when he came back?
Lincoln wasn’t one to speak casual words he didn’t mean. Maybe that was scarier than if he did. Because he’d wouldn’t have just spouted off all of those things for no reason.
And it was one of the things I respected about him. When he spoke, his words were worth listening to.
I burrowed down into the pillow. Could this be our new home?
I hadn’t let myself think about relationships much over the years. It was wasted time. But I had my assumptions, and one of them was that if we ever did reach the point of potentially moving in with someone, it would take years to take that step.
I’d never imagined it feeling so right so soon.
Was I making a mistake?
Eric was so attached to Lincoln already. And if something went wrong, he would be devastated.
Breaking up when everyone lived in separate places was less complicated. If I gave up our apartment, it would take some time to find another one. What if Lincoln booted us out immediately?
I had Eric to think about. We couldn’t live on the street. And crashing with my best friend wasn’t an option since she was currently living with my—what was Lincoln to me?
I wasn’t sure what an adequate word was.
Lincoln.
He was just my Lincoln.
Muffy launched onto the bed, stepping on my thigh in the process. Lincoln appeared a few seconds after. He hesitated when he noticed me in his bed, but continued into his room.
He looked exhausted.
Muffy stood on the edge of the bed, wagging his tail. Lincoln brushed his head as he passed.
Silence descended. He didn’t speak as he moved through his bedtime routine.
Muffy lay across me, looking for a prime view into the closet where Lincoln had disappeared. I rubbed behind his ears as my nerves spiked.
I couldn’t decide if Lincoln’s silence was better than words. What if the words were get out or goodbye or what are you still doing here?
Had I no confidence in the man? At worst, he might send me to another bedroom, but he’d never make me wake up Eric in the middle of the night to leave. He could be callous, but he wouldn’t be cruel.
When he finally climbed into bed, the warmth from his freshly-showered body radiated toward me. Muffy pounced, licking him in the face before settling on a spot at the foot of the bed.
I lifted Lincoln’s arm and scooted next to him. I didn’t know what to say. Only knew that I wanted to be close to him.
Once I was tucked against him, he tightened his arm around me. His heartbeat was steady under my ear as it thumped.
I closed my eyes, letting the sense of protectiveness wash over me.
This right here represented so much.
Safety.
Support.
Partnership.
Love.
I stiffened as the last word came so easily. The biggest one of all.
“What’s wrong?” Lincoln was so in tune with my mannerisms, it was mind-blowing.
“I love you,” I blurted. I couldn’t breathe. Not only had I just realized it myself, but I’d never said that to anyone but Eric and Beau, and those were different kinds of love.
“I’m sorry that’s a bad thing,” he said flatly.
I popped up. “No.” I pressed my lips together and tried to regroup. “I wasn’t answering your question,” I finally said. “I—All of this is new for me. I’m not sure how to handle it. But you have been the one thing making a really hard time more bearable.”
Once I started speaking, the words came out in a tumbled rush. But if anything, I’d been completely honest with Lincoln since I’d known him. I’d never held back. Maybe I had in other areas of my life. Maybe I’d played it safe. I’d had to. There was so much at stake.
But with Lincoln, I’d been unafraid to speak my mind, even the times that weren't necessarily a good thing.
And in typical Lincoln fashion, his face was an absolute stone. No emotion. Not a twitch or a blink. He simply stared as if he hadn’t heard me or I’d spoken in a new language he couldn’t comprehend.
I tapped on his head. “Are you in there?”
And it was like a chisel to rock. His features cracked as he let out the most beautiful, deep laugh.
I was glad I was lying down because the rarity was shocking.
“How do you do it?” he asked when he finally settled.
I wanted to tickle or poke him until he laughed again. The novelty of that sound would never wear off. What if you could make him do it more often?