Diane looked up at me, lines of worry between her eyebrows, and my chest tightened. Greedy for the sight of her eyes and lips, I took a second to look my fill, noticing small differences in her appearance. She’d lost weight. Her eyes were too big. Her lips were thin. Her skin wasn’t peaches and cream but rather an unhealthy shade of skim milk. This beautiful woman I’d been dreaming about for weeks was finally here, with me, within arm’s reach, but all was not well.
I’d have to be blind to not notice Diane was terrified.
“Hey, come here.” I took Isaac’s helmet from her fingers and fit it over one of the handlebars, placing my helmet on the other side before wrapping my arms around her. Time was short, but right this minute my woman needed comfort. I held her.
And even though I’d been determined to not be relieved, or anything but diligent and watchful, my resolve wavered. Diane was here, finally in my arms. A surge of gratitude ballooned and overwhelmed me. No matter what happened in the near or distant future, for this moment, we were together.
And that—for now, and after so many weeks apart—felt like more than enough.
Instead of staying at the safehouse just long enough for Diane to pack, get ready, and allow her and her daughter to say their goodbyes—which had been the original terms of our agreement—Cletus asked Diane to recount her version of events from the night of Kip’s murder. Listening and watching as Diane relived it all again had me wishing I was free to put Cletus’s head through a wall.
But I wasn’t free. I belonged to Diane, Diane belonged to Jennifer, and Jennifer belonged to Cletus. As long as the sneakiest of the Winston brothers remained important to Diane, I wouldn’t lay a finger on him.
I watched Jennifer during the tale, cataloguing her expressions and trying to read her thoughts. The young woman made no secret about her disdain for me—which didn’t bother me any—but she obviously also felt scared for her mother. That did bother me.
Diane couldn’t walk away from Green Valley if it meant her daughter lived in a state of perpetual misery and worry. Soon they’d say goodbye, and if Jennifer broadcast her fear then like she broadcasted it now, Diane would never leave.
Thus, once Diane finished recounting the events and excused herself to the bathroom, leaving the three of us alone, I said, “Jennifer.”
Diane’s daughter blinked, staring around the room like the sight of it confused her, but she didn’t look at me.
So I repeated, “Jennifer,” and waited until her focus landed on me where I stood next to the table. “You don’t know me, but I keep my promises. I will take care of your mother. She will want for nothing, and she’ll be safe.”
“Except her family,” she said flatly. “She’ll want for nothing except her family.”
I heaved a silent sigh. She was right. I’d have to figure a way for us to communicate with Diane’s kids without risking her safety. Maybe if Jenn felt certain her mother was reachable she’d be less fretful.
I was just about to make her a promise along these lines when she said, “I still don’t understand why you were there that night. Why were you there, Mr. Repo?” Sounding and looking exhausted, her intelligent gaze flicked over me. “You never answered. Were you there for my mother? To see her?”
“That was part of the reason, yes.” I wouldn’t lie to her, but I saw no logic in volunteering all my reasons for being present that night.
“So why else? What other reason did you have? Hmm?” She crossed her arms, her glare full of challenge. “Did you plan this?”
“No.”
“Then why were you there?” she demanded in a rough whisper, visibly angry.
I met her challenge steadily for a second, determined not to answer. Telling Jennifer the truth about Jessica being my daughter would serve no purpose other than adding another layer of uncertainty. I didn’t know Diane’s daughter; I had no idea how she’d react to the news. Maybe it would make the woman less likely to trust me when she already barely trusted me at all.
I looked to Cletus for help. He knew Jennifer, he knew how she’d react, he wanted Diane safe. I’d let him make the decision. And he did.
“He hoped Jessica James would be there,” he said plainly.
We traded a look—mine bracing, his apologetic—and I hoped to God he knew what he was doing. Diane needed to leave. But one word from her daughter and she’d stay. She’d go to prison.
“That makes absolutely no sense,” Jennifer ranted at both of us. “Why on God’s green earth would Mr. Repo care if Jessica James was . . . was—” Abruptly, the anger drained from her features and was replaced just as suddenly with understanding.
I held my breath.
“Are you Jessica’s father?” she blurted, her eyes full of wonder.
Lowering my eyes to the floor, I absorbed the impact of her words. Hearing them all together like that, out loud, from someone else, struck me like a blow and I struggled to swallow.
Eventually, I managed to return her stunned stare and to say, “Not in any way that matters,” and hoped this would be the end of it. I hoped this information would stay between the three of us and I hoped this revelation didn’t jeopardize all my meticulous plans to keep Diane safe.
She looked at me like was something different, someone new, a puzzle she was working frantically to solve. Shaking her head, she asked, “Why didn’t you—”
“Tell her?” I laughed, frustrated. “Why would I do that? Why would I ruin her happy life?”
“But—but you’re her—”
“I’m not. The sheriff, that’s her daddy. Janet, that’s her momma. Jackson is her brother. They’re her family, not me. Jessica has always been where she belonged. How much of a selfish asshole would I have to be to take her away from people who were always better equipped to love and care for her than I’ve ever been?”
“What about her mother?”
I chuckled again, my mouth turning sour with the taste of old wounds. “That woman didn’t know how to love. She knew how to have fun, how to . . . make money. How to be brilliant. How to be cold. But loving came about as naturally to her as walking with two legs comes to a snake. No. Jess . . . Jessica James isn’t mine.” I closed my eyes against the onslaught, wishing again for the freedom to do as I wanted, to leave, to ignore this woman’s questions.
But I didn’t have that freedom. And even now, standing here under this young person’s judgement and scrutiny, I didn’t really want that freedom. Just like I didn’t really want the freedom to tell Jessica the truth. If I’d felt free to blow up Jess’s world, then I wasn’t a man worthy of her.
I wanted Jessica happy, and I wanted Diane safe, and if either of those things meant giving up some of my freedom, then so be it. Freedom at the direct expense of another person’s wellbeing was the worst kind of evil. It was selfishness masquerading as liberty, hypocrisy wearing the clothes of perseverance and grit. I wanted none of it.
“Then why show up at our engagement party?” she pushed.
I opened my eyes then and looked at her. I wouldn’t argue. I wouldn’t justify myself. I had my reasons, they were the right ones, and that was enough.