The more I thought about it, I had no reason to dislike or distrust Luke except for the tag of criminal I’d slapped on him—and Nesbit’s accusations. Just the memory of that Nesbit jerk made me sick. Did I have any reason to believe him over the man I’d spent a wonderful week with? If people knew what I’d done, they’d say the same about me—criminal, bank robber, bad person.
I smiled when I thought about having Luke’s hands on me. His strong hands had been so gentle taking care of my cuts and bruises. My cheeks heated at the memory of our nights together and how he’d made all my cares melt away. And even though he’d claimed to hate his sister’s cat, I’d not seen anything other than words thrown its way.
That Nesbit character’s treatment of Luke this morning had been rude, but mine had been even worse.
Nell reappeared. “I saw that smile. What did you figure out?”
I valued her opinion. “What do you know of Luke Carver?”
“I let him eat here, don’t I? I know he’s a good man who got a very raw deal.” There was history in that statement I needed to know.
“And you think I can trust him?”
“It’s up to you to find your way in this world.” She patted me on the shoulder before she left. “For what it’s worth, after my Spencer, he’s the first person I’d go to if I was in trouble.”
Half of my fries still stared back at me on the plate. I dabbed one in ketchup and ate it. My treatment of Luke this morning had been as cold as my food was now, and he hadn’t deserved it.
On my way out, Nell waved. “I think he’ll be glad to see you.”
“Luke?” I didn’t dare ask what she knew about me and him.
She nodded.
I wished I’d been smart enough to talk to her a week ago. Good people and bad people. It sounded simple enough.
Luke
Debbie had left hours ago to get her check and not returned. It could only mean one thing: she wasn’t coming back, except maybe with a friend to pick up her things.
I ignored the knock at the door. The curse of the Nesbit brothers was never-ending. I didn’t need another run-in with Riggs right now, lest I tell him to shove it. After two more knocks, I finally got up to answer.
Debbie shifted to her other foot when I opened the door. “I’m sorry.”
“For what?” I wasn’t about to admit how glad I was to see her again.
“For not asking to hear your side of the story.”
“Nobody ever does.” That was the ever-loving truth of the matter. It was predictable as hell. Maybe it was the shared stigma, but other ex-cons were the only ones who didn’t prejudge me.
I knew Debbie’s type: judgmental and fickle. She’d rendered an instant judgment of my character and left, and I surely didn’t need a Kaycee repeat. “You’ve said you’re sorry. I forgive you. Have a wonderful life.” I closed the door before the sight of her pulled at the scab I’d determined to grow over the memories I’d made with her.
She knocked again almost immediately.
I opened the door again. “What else?”
“I really am sorry, and…”
“Spit it out, Princess.” A little meanness on my part ought to do the trick.
Her nose wrinkled at me calling her Princess, but she deserved it, and this would be easier for both of us if she decided to walk away now and go back to hating me because she thought I was cut from the same cloth as her stepdad.
“Nell says I should trust you.”
Nell was on the short list of people I felt had my back in this town, and her vouching for me brought an unintentional smile to my lips.
I quickly replaced it with a scowl. “And what the fuck do you think?” I spat.
“I made a mistake. A big one, and I’m asking for a second chance.”
Asking for a second chance was a common refrain from my fellow ex-cons. It was something we all yearned for—a chance to fix the past—but it was something we were almost never granted. It was unfair of her to use the phrase.
“Please,” she added. “I need your help.”
That tipped it over the edge for me. I was caught once again by my code. The strong protected the weak—always. My code was overdue for a modification that included an exception for her kind.
I opened the door wider. “Only if you’ll listen to everything I have to say, the whole fucking truth. And I want to hear the real reason you’re running. All of it.”
She stood there, nagging fear written across her face.
“I won’t bite, and I’m a good listener.” I regretted the words of encouragement as soon as they escaped my mouth. I hadn’t meant to be the cause of her fear, but at the same time, she needed to leave me alone if she couldn’t deal with my past. The last thing I needed was false hope that this time would be different.
It took a second, but with the slightest nod she stepped inside, and I was stuck.
I closed the door behind her. Now I’d have to sully her with my sordid history. “I should have mentioned—”
She cut me off. “No, I’m the one who should be sorry.”
Looking at her now, she seemed even more vulnerable than when I’d first brought her here. “I meant to tell you, but…” For a moment I tried to think of the right excuse, but I didn’t have one. “Well, I should have.” It would have been easier on her if I’d explained my past before Nesbit had shown up.
We wandered toward the kitchen.
“Wine or beer?” I asked, not knowing how to start.
“Wine would be good.” She took a seat.
“Full disclosure this time,” I began. “Let me tell you my sordid history, and then you can decide if you feel safe here.” I uncapped the bottle and poured.
“I do feel safe with you. I just…overreacted.”
I brought the glasses over and handed her one. “Let me explain anyway.”
“You don’t need to. Nell said—”
“Do you have to argue with everything, Princess?”
“Sorry.” She looked down at her glass before gulping the wine. “Go ahead.”
I took a large swallow before starting. “I get it that you’re bothered by the fact that I’ve been convicted of a crime.”
She twisted her glass and looked up. “What were you accused of?”
She asked it in a way that gave me a chance to deny my guilt, which wasn’t necessary.
“I beat a man. It’s called assault—felonious assault, in my case.” That was as simple as I could make it.
“Self defense?”
“No.” I didn’t need to hide from the truth.
She lifted her glass and sipped. “And you went to jail?”
I swallowed a laugh before it got out. “No. Jail is a country club compared to prison. I was in Augusta for almost two years, not an experience I would wish on anybody.”
She fiddled with her glass. “Did you do anything else?”
“You mean, like, am I a career criminal?”
She didn’t meet my eyes, which confirmed that was the question.
“That’s the one and only thing—not counting parking tickets and speeding.”