by A. J. Pryor
“You know about my family, yeah?”
He nods. “My life is scrutinized, and Hannah’s is scattered all over the Internet.” The urge to protect Hannah, the need to sue every publication for anything and everything they’ve ever said about me, crawls through my veins. All my energy is focused on not tearing this town to pieces.
“And? You’re a Cage. You should be used to this shit by now.”
He’s right. My life should be old news. But the extra effort I made to keep my name out of the media has turned around and slapped me in the face. I want my name out of the press and Hannah’s even more.
“You love this chick?”
“It’s only been a few months.”
Fuck, yes, I love her. But I’m not telling Coxy that.
“Right. So you’re in love. Fuck the press and fuck the gossip. You’ve seen the crap they write ’bout me? Homeless kid who beat the odds. You think I like having the world know I lived on the streets my whole life? I just wanna play ball. The rest, it doesn’t matter.”
“You were homeless, Coxy?”
“Do you live with your head in the sand? What the fuck kinda news do you listen to?”
I laugh at his pissed-off state. Standing, I grab his arm and pull him in for a hug. “You ever need a place to crash, I’ve got a spare room.”
“Don’t fuck with me, QB.”
I’m in love with Hannah Black.
Having a trash-talking three-hundred-pound black man with dreads notice this makes me laugh.
I grin and head to the locker room. Maverick has showered, towel around his waist, thick gold cross hanging around his neck.
“Sorry, man. Won’t happen again.” I extend my hand, and he takes it.
“I’ll knock your teeth out if you do.”
“I’d like to see you try.”
For the first time since I’ve been back in Chicago, I feel the beginnings of a new family.
Opening my locker, I reach for my phone.
Me: Hannah, meet me at my condo in an hour.
Not waiting for a response, I shower, hoping like hell she can come over. The thought of touching her sparks instant heat in my veins, a burning need having her in my bed will extinguish.
Checking my phone one more time before I leave for the night, there’s no texts, no missed calls. I dial her number and instantly get voicemail.
“Hannah, call me back. I want to see you.”
“Cage, you good? Dixon called me. Thought you needed some talking to.” Reggie’s at my locker, the concern in his voice telling, the stoic expression making my gut twist with guilt.
“You see the press?”
“Yep. I’m handling it.”
I lift a shoulder. “Guess I freaked out. It’s been a long time since my personal life’s been public knowledge. I don’t like it, but I won’t take it out on the team.”
Reggie sits on the bench in front of my locker. When Lily died, Reggie supported me. He never once looked at me with accusations, never once doubted me. I met Reggie the year my mom died. We were freshmen, both rookies on a football team that scared the shit out of us, both trying to find our way among the players who’d already built a name for themselves. My mom had only met him once. I wish she’d stuck around longer to get to know him better. We’ve been friends a long time. He knows my stories, knows my sadness. He never judges. We haven’t lived in the same town in a long time, but this right here, this alone proves moving back home was worth the effort.
“Do you love her?”
I stare at him. There’s always been honesty between us, and I can’t lie to him now.
“Yes.”
He smirks, shaking his head. “I can’t say I love the idea of you with someone like her, but she obviously makes you happy.” He stands, slapping his hand on my shoulder. “Try to enjoy it, D. Your dad has to let it go. Whatever it is, he needs to accept your life and let it go. I’m happy for you.”
“My dad’s gonna shit.”
“Who gives a fuck?”
“Exactly.”
Standing, we bump fists. Reggie leaves and I take a moment to appreciate my life, to note the vast difference in where I am now compared to my life a year ago. For the first time in eleven years, I feel as though I can breathe. I only have Hannah to thank for that.
I grab my bag and walk to the parking lot, most of my teammates already gone for the night. The lot is empty aside from a few lingering cars, and it’s quiet. Too quiet.
Muffled voices draw my attention. Rounding the corner I see Reggie first, his arms crossed, his head bent low in concentration as my dad . . . my fucking dad talks in hushed tones. Anger slices me like a knife.
“What the fuck is going on?”
Their heads swivel in my direction. My dad looks shaken, but Reggie grins, unfazed and like he’s just discovered the secret to life.
Standing next to my truck, they both stare at me, a dichotomy of emotions crossing their features. My dad’s navy suit is slightly wrinkled, his hair a bit disheveled. Weird.
“Anyone going to answer me?” I approach hesitantly, the hairs on the back of my neck rising.
Reggie shakes his head, his grin fading. “Your dad’s a little upset, D. I tried to talk him down, but he’s all yours.” With a shrug, Reggie makes to leave.
A nagging intuition tells me something’s off, that Reggie’s full of shit. But my beef has always been with my father. If something needs to be said, I want to hear it from him. So I let Reggie go, without a glance in his direction.
My dad takes a step toward me. “I had a lot of calls to my office today. People were asking how I feel about my son finding his soul mate.”
Rounding the edge of my truck, I throw my bag in the back and try to read his voice. “What’d you say?”
He walks around to meet me, the sound of his designer shoes echoing off the walls “The truth. I haven’t met anyone named Hannah Black. How important can she possibly be?”
I cringe. “You want to meet her?” I ask.
“No. I don’t. I want you to get rid of her.”
“Don’t you think this is getting a little old, Dad? I’d think the senator’s son in love would be good for the polls. No? Or do you want people thinking I’m gay? Need that vote, do you?”
“It’s not about the polls, Derek. She’s a reporter. It’s her job to expose you.”
“I didn’t do anything. There’s nothing to expose.”
With both hands on his hips, he takes a deep breath. “Murder doesn’t have a statute of limitations. I can’t protect you forever.”
“Good. Stop trying to. The night Lily died was more tragic than finding out my mom decided death was better than a life with her son. But I didn’t kill Lily. Stop acting like I did.”
Opening the driver’s side door, I hop up and slide inside, turning the key and getting the fuck out of there. My dad jumps to the side, avoiding being hit by my speeding vehicle, avoiding anything to do with me.
I race through the city, barely remembering the lefts and rights, and disregarding the honking horns, making it home in less than twenty minutes, more agitated than I was on the field. I’m tired of not being able to live my life. Exhausted.
Pulling the phone from my pocket, I realize Hannah never called me back. It’s past eight. She should be home by now. I call her again, and it goes straight to voicemail. Restless, and needing something to keep me busy, I get back in my truck.
I pull up to her building fifteen minutes later and park on the street. Hannah’s never ignored my calls, never avoided a text. If the media has scared her off, I’ll fight for her. I’ll destroy anyone who gets in our way. I won’t be my dad. I won’t sit back and watch them destroy, Hannah . . . destroy us. My dad, he looked . . . spooked, like he’d seen a ghost. An ominous feeling sinks my gut as I ride up the elevator. Her building is quiet, too quiet. I feel like life is about to punch me breathless and I don’t know how to stop it. I pull her spare key from my pocket.
The hallway to
her door is dark and still, the floor creaking underfoot. I place my ear up to the door and hear nothing.
I knock. No response.
“Hannah, you in there? Hannah!” Fuck it. I’m letting myself in.
My hands are shaking as I turn the key. What if she’s hurt? What if she’s not here? Shit, what if someone hurt her?
“Hannah?”
Her breakfast dishes are still in the sink, her coat missing from the rack. I glance in her bedroom, knowing it’s going to be empty but needing to check it anyway. The bed is made, though messily, the comforter lumpy and spread wide, the pillows thrown at the head of the bed in a haphazard way, like she was in a rush this morning.
Where is she?
I sit on her sofa and stare at my phone. If I were a decent boyfriend, a normal person, I’d have Gwen’s number programmed into my contacts. I’d be able to call someone, anyone, and find out if they knew where she was. Maybe I’m paranoid, maybe she just went out for drinks after work, but something is nagging at me. My dad’s visit, my actions on the field, I have a sense of dread, like before Lily died.
A noise at her door shakes me, and I bolt off the couch. I have it unlocked and open before I can think about what I’m doing. My blood runs cold at the sight before me.
The last thing I expect to see when I get home is Derek. I would have composed myself, settled my hair, wiped the smeared mascara from my eyes. I would have put on a brave and ignorant front the next time I spoke to him. But his ashen and panicked face coupled with his concerned eyes, forces me to tell a lie. One that I will regret for the rest of my life.
“Hannah.” He breathes my name as though it’s a part of him. I fall into his arms, and I cry. He holds me. Rubs my back and squeezes me tight. “What happened to you?”
I should tell him that his father approached me, tell him about his mother, his life, that all his worst fears have come to light, but I also want to protect him from the agony that will cause. When I began this journey, I thought I would be freeing a man from the wrongful accusations of his past, I had no idea I’d find so much more. No idea that by breaking down Derek’s walls I’d find a family that betrayed him, a life that was never entirely his. And now I have to face the consequences of that ignorance. I’m not ready to tell Derek the truth and in part, I’m not sure he’s ready to hear it.
A combination of fear, sadness, and regret has me shaking as he pulls me inside. I’m about to lie to the one man I’ve ever loved. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to forgive myself. But sometimes the truth is just too painful.
“I was mugged.” The lie feels like dirt on my tongue, but the truth is too raw to reveal.
My cheek is against his chest, my body burrowing into him. I feel his heartbeat, smell his distinct scent, and it feels like home. A home I just wrecked.
“Fuck! Did they hurt you? Did they touch you?” I understand the underlying meaning of his words, barely hidden in the lethal tone of his voice.
“No. Just frightened me.”
“I’m calling the cops.”
“No. Don’t. I just want to take a bath and forget it ever happened.”
“Hannah,” he warns.
“Please, Cage. No cops. Please.”
Sighing, he rocks me in his arms, strolling his fingers up and down my back.
I hadn’t taken a purse with me today. My money and phone are safely stored inside the pocket of my coat. It’s an easy lie to say I was mugged, one that rolls off my tongue with no outside evidence to the contrary. But my heart and my mind are shredded, and I have to wonder how far I’m willing to go to keep Derek safe. I made a promise to Tom Cage, and while I feel no obligation or loyalty toward the man, I have a need to shield Derek from the hurtful effects of two parents whose souls are going to rot in hell.
“Drive, Ms. Black.” Tom Cage is directly behind my seat. Sheer black fright sweeps through me. How dangerous is this man? How far will he go to keep his secrets hidden?
After shifting the gear to drive, my hands trembling, I pull away from the curb.
“You can’t tell Derek about his mother.”
I meet his cold, blue gaze in the rearview mirror. I want to respond, say something profound and knowledgeable about the effects of keeping your children in the dark, but the deadly gleam in his eyes paralyzes me, and my breath releases in short, terrifying gasps.
“Why not?”
“Derek already hates me. Don’t take his mother away from him, as well.”
His admission surprises me. It’s a contrast to the evil portrait I’ve painted of him. I turn my attention to the road, clueless where I’m going, the snow steadily falling, and the street slick. Being from LA, that alone scares the shit out of me.
“Do you know what will happen if this breaks, Ms. Black?”
The traffic light turns red, and I stop the car. The roads are empty, most people are home, avoiding this early season storm. Turning in my seat, I face him.
He leans forward, and the hint of expensive aftershave wafts around me. He levels me with an impenetrable stare. “The media will swarm. They’ll bring up his past. They’ll try him for Lily’s murder. I was able to save him from that hell once. I won’t be able to do it again.”
“He didn’t kill Lily Harold. There’s no proof.”
“There’s enough proof to lock him away for life. Please, I can’t watch that happen to my son.”
A horn blares behind us, and I jump, realizing for the first time we aren’t alone in this weather. I go back to driving to nowhere.
“You love him,” I say the words as a fact, not a question.
“Unconditionally.”
“If he had killed Lily, you’d still love him.”
“Without a doubt. He’s my son.”
I see the kind streak in him. The side the public loves. The man people put their faith in.
“Why were you following me?”
A park appears to our right, and I pull into the parking lot. The fear has dissipated, but I can’t concentrate on the road and have this conversation.
“I wasn’t following you. I keep an eye on Madeline and when you showed up, my people contacted me. Madeline’s mind’s not healthy, and even though leaving was her choice, she can’t stay away, she’s never been able to. So I make it a priority to keep tabs on her.”
I rub my forehead, the magnitude of this conversation overwhelming. Is Madeline mentally ill? Anyone who’d leave their son the way she did must be off balance in some way. I wonder if she’s medicated, if she’s been diagnosed with something specific. If she’s sick, if she had no choice but to leave, then I can see where forgiveness would be an option and keeping her away from Derek, isn’t on the table. “Is that all you want? For me to not tell Derek about his mother?”
He doesn’t answer right away, and I turn to face him.
“I want you to stop seeing him, to stop digging into his past. It’s only going to cause him more pain.”
“I can’t do that.”
He cracks his knuckles, and I’m surprised at the nervous gesture.
“I’ll pay you. Anything you want.”
“This isn’t about money.”
”I’m sorry to hear that.”
“You don’t get to have an emotion here. Derek deserves to know about his mother.”
“No. He deserves peace. What are you trying to do with your story? Maybe I can help.”
“You want to help me?” I almost laugh. Derek wanted to help me, too, but I see now that it would have been impossible. Even he doesn’t know his story. It all rests with his parents.
“I want to make this as painless for Derek as possible. Keep his mother a secret, and I’ll help you find what you’re looking for.”
“I want to know who killed Lily Harold.”
We stare at each other in a battle of wills. He’s not going to give me an answer.
“Keep Madeline’s existence a secret, and I’ll fill in the holes for you. I’ll give you details of Derek’s life no one
else knows, and in doing so, you can come to your own conclusions.”
Madeline’s death weighs on Derek’s conscious. To hear she’s been alive this whole time will devastate him. If we can find the truth, lighten his soul, then maybe keeping this from him would be worth it. But at what cost? Will I be able to look him in the face, knowing I’m keeping this monumental secret? What kind of a person does that? I look at Tom Cage. That type of a person, a selfish bastard.
“No. I won’t do it. I won’t lie to him.”
“I know who killed her, Hannah.”
The sudden informality of my name is startling along with the honesty and conviction in his eyes.
“Then tell me. Tell Derek.”
He shakes his head. “Keep his mother out of this, and I’ll lead you in the right direction. It’s the only way this is going to work.”
I’ve gathered a lot of information regarding Lily’s death, but nothing that’s going to close her case. I’m at a dead end. If Tom Cage is telling the truth, then maybe it’s worth the risk of keeping Derek’s mom a secret. For a little while anyway.
“The Harolds told me about the letters. Is that all the evidence they have?”
“No. Traces of his presence were all over her room.”
“Derek told me they spent a lot of time together. Of course his presence was there.”
“It’s possible, his prints were on the murder weapon.”
Fear is an emotion I’m not comfortable with. It makes for irrational thought and behavior. But what he just said scares me. Not for my safety, but for Derek’s.
“I’d heard they weren’t his prints.”
“You heard wrong. The results were inconclusive, only being half a print, it was too hard to tell. ”
“Someone framed him, Senator.”
“Possibly.”
“Who would want to hurt him?” I ask.
He never answers, keeping his focus outside, never facing me. “Do we have a deal, Ms. Black?” I feel dirty. He has more power than he lets on, could have easily freed Derek, could have dug deeper to find the truth, yet he’s refused. He’s vague about his belief in Derek’s guilt or innocence, but if he’s willing to give me information, then I need to take this chance.