Harper couldn’t get past the fact her father had attempted to protect her at Reid’s expense. She’d turned her face toward Reid, tears filling her eyes, and apologized that she’d withheld the smallest part of her heart from him, just in case he’d been exaggerating the events that had happened.
The conversation had gone well into the night, and it had been around two in the morning by the time he made it back to the hotel.
Ironically, somewhere between arriving and seeing Jackson standing on the porch and leaving Harper tucked up in her old childhood bedroom, Reid had had an epiphany. For years, he’d carried a stomach-churning dislike of his father, but watching his father fall apart, hearing him apologize for a complete lack of understanding, and seeing the fear in his eyes when he realized he was at risk of losing his daughter melted it all away. Suddenly, all Reid had wanted was to bring his family back together.
So he accepted his father’s apology.
Everything he’d carried with him for all that time suddenly seemed far less important than Harper having the wedding she deserved and his mom still having a husband she adored. And if that meant swallowing all the words he’d been perfecting over the years, words filled with retribution and anger, words designed to hurt his father, then that’s what he’d do. Because being right was nowhere near as important as his mom’s and sister’s happiness.
It was likely going to take his mom longer to get over what had happened. She’d been furious, talking to her husband through gritted teeth like she used to do to him when he’d been younger. She’d never yelled, never shouted, but if the hiss came out, he knew he was in all kinds of shit. Reid had pleaded for a peaceful reconciliation and ironically had been the one to suggest that his mom sleep on the idea and try to see the events in the context of their relationship together. By the time he’d left, it seemed like a pathway was there, even if they hadn’t yet walked it.
He had one more meeting to go before they left for Miami. Harper was catching up with her former best friend, and he had an off-the-record appointment with a lawyer.
Lydia Grayson was a tour de force, and as Harper’s former lawyer, she was the one person who could help him with his final concern. He showered and headed into the city.
“Reid,” Lydia said, standing to shake his hand as he arrived at Lou Mitchell’s Restaurant by Union Station. It had been his favorite post-hangover joint when he was younger.
“Lydia, thanks so much of meeting with me on a Sunday.”
They took their seats and ordered. Out of habit, Reid requested his favorite. The Greek sausage special omelet was a massive plate, and he’d missed it. Shit. He’d missed this city so much, a freaking omelet was making him nostalgic. They made small talk until their meals arrived. Lydia was interested in learning how the two of them had been reunited from his perspective, as Harper had already shared the news with her. Lydia laughed when he explained how Trent had punched him in the jaw.
“I’ve only met Trent once, but I can completely imagine him doing that, not that I condone violence in any way,” she said with a grin. “I think he’s good for her. Don’t you?”
“I do,” he said, truly believing it. There might even come a point where they could be considered friends.
Their food came and they began to eat.
“So, what is it I can help you with?” Lydia asked him between mouthfuls of her eggs Benedict.
“I wondered what the statute of limitations is on obstruction.”
Lydia eyed him over the top of her glasses. “Am I going to like where this is going?”
“Let’s do this in hypotheticals. Imagine a guy’s sister was assaulted, and the assailant was caught and sent to prison. But the guy never told the police he’d seen the assailant the night before. That he’d refused to give more money for drugs, and sent him home.”
Lydia stopped eating, her fork paused in midair. “This is all hypothetical, yes?”
“Of course. And what if that guy went to the assailant’s father—”
“Reid,” she cautioned.
“I know, I just gotta ask. What if that guy went to the assailant’s father, and the assailant’s father promised to not press charges against his sister if the guy forgot about having seen the assailant that night?”
“You didn’t . . .” Lydia started. “I mean, the guy didn’t accept the deal, did he?”
Reid nodded. “He did.”
Lydia sat and chewed some food. “Does the sister know about this?”
“The guy might have made the sister aware a long, long time later. Like a month ago.”
Lydia shook her head. “We might have been able to put him away for longer, Reid,” Lydia said, abandoning the hypothetical scenario.
He nodded. He’d realized that on the day of sentencing. “I know, but I think the assailant would have come for the sister sooner or later, no matter when he got out,” Reid said, getting them back on track.
“I don’t disagree with you on that one.” Lydia took a drink of coffee. “The statute of limitations for obstruction is five years. And it wouldn’t have affected the assailant’s trial for skipping out on probation . . . should the hypothetical assailant have done that, of course.”
“So regardless of what happens from here on out, the guy who should’ve spoken up to the police is cool.”
“Yes and no. The statute is a ticking clock. If you build . . . Sorry, if the hypothetical guy builds on the obstruction in a future conversation or trial, the five-year clock starts ticking again. So the guy needs to be really careful what he says going forward.”
Relief rushed through him. Two of the things that had blighted his life for the last six years were over. He’d been reunited with his family, and even though they had a long way to go, he was sure they’d make it through. And the fear that he would, at some point in the future, be charged with obstruction had just been resolved. “In that case, I’m pretty sure the guy would ensure that he never talked about it again, ever. To anyone. No matter what they asked of him.”
They finished their breakfast, and Reid paid for the food. It was the least he could do for the assurances Lydia had been able to provide. They walked out of the café, about to go their separate ways.
“Hey, Reid,” Lydia said. “I like to say this to all of my clients. I hope I never see you again. Because if I do, it means you have pretty serious problems. I don’t want to find that hypothetical guy we’ve been talking about in my office anytime soon.”
Reid laughed. “Me, either,” he said, shaking her hand.
For a moment, Reid chose to forget that he had a whole world of hurt to resolve in Fort Pierce with the garage. And he was going to forget about Nathan and Winston Bell. Instead, he was going to take a walk and see if he could grab a scalped ticket to go see his beloved Cubs at Wrigley Field for the first time in six years. There was no way he was going to get to see the entire game, but he might just be able to catch the first couple of innings before he had to go and get Harper and get them back to O’Hare for the flight back to Miami that evening. No sooner was the iconic red marquee over the main entrance in sight than his phone began to ring in his pocket.
He pulled it out and checked the screen. It was his sister.
“Yo,” he said. “Just about to try and grab tickets at the friendly confines. Want me to try and grab you one, too?”
“You’re at Wrigley Field?”
“Standing outside it right now. What’s up? You sound a little off, and we both know Trent will kick my ass if I take you home unhappy.”
“I think you should give Lia a call. Her mom is in the hospital.”
* * *
“Lia, quickly,” her mom whispered, casting furtive glances toward the door to her hospital room, through which her father had just exited. “I need you to get my meds. This makes no sense at all, but I swear to God I didn’t try to kill myself. I can never remember my medication, so I bought this plastic tray, you know the ones with days of the week on it. I fill it once a wee
k and keep it in the bedside table.”
Nausea rose in Lia’s stomach like it had been doing for the last hour. Greasy roiling waves that left her desperately unsettled. With one eye on the door, Lia moved close to the bed. “Mom, you know I can’t do that for you. What if you . . . ?”
“What if I take them all?” Her mom shook her head at the suggestion. “Just bring them to me. I want to count them. You can take them all home with you when you leave. Or you can hand them in at the nurses’ station, I don’t care. But please believe me, I didn’t—”
The door swung open, and her father returned to the room. Uncertain what to believe, conflicting emotions of anger and fear squeezed Lia tightly. She took a step closer to the bed. Regardless of why or how her mom had taken the drugs they’d pumped from her body, she was vulnerable.
Out of the corner of her eye, Lia noticed Grace reach for the emergency call button on the side of her bed, sliding her fingers over until they touched the gray plastic square.
“I can’t talk them into letting you go, even by guaranteeing twenty-four-hour round-the-clock supervision and nursing care.” He stalked around the room, pulling together the work he had coldly thought to bring with him. Lia had been the one to join her mother in the ambulance, while her father had mumbled about getting behind on deadlines.
Lia’s eyes never left her father, her heart racing. “I think it would be better if Mom stayed here anyway,” Lia said, still frightened by her mother’s whispered words. She thought back to the scene. Her father sitting on the chair, her mother neatly lying in the bed. But there were no bottles of medication on the side table, or on the bed or floor. Was her mother really telling her that someone else had used her pills to try and kill her?
“I have to leave,” her father said, pulling on a jacket. “I have a meeting that has been on the calendar for months, and as you are obviously feeling better, I will leave you with your daughter and be back to collect you tomorrow.”
Her mother eyed him suspiciously. “It would have been easier for you, wouldn’t it, if I hadn’t survived?”
“Nonsense,” he said, slipping his laptop and some papers into his briefcase.
For a moment, Lia waited for her father to say something reassuring to the woman he currently suspected of being so unstable that she would try to kill herself. But he didn’t. “Either way, it was going to be difficult to spin it.”
Lia’s jaw went slack. “What the fuck, Daddy? Are you really that cold?”
“Cold? I’ll tell you what’s cold . . . Trying to kill yourself without worrying about how it would affect the rest of the family. That’s cold and selfish. And it’s not as if anything I said wasn’t true.” He looked over toward his wife, his face a mask of indifference. “The last time I attempted to run, I was called out for not appearing family-oriented enough after Lia convinced everyone with her dramatics that I was a monster . . . If you’d succeeded, I would have to explain why I didn’t see it coming so that I didn’t look like a heartless bastard, again. And now that you failed, it’s only a matter of time before somebody does find out, because they always do. I’m going to have to find a way to explain why I still intend to build my campaign, while the wishy-washy softies will be saying I should stay home and look after you.”
Lia looked toward her father. “If anybody calls you a heartless bastard it’s because you categorically are. Not because of anything we have or haven’t done.”
Her father put down his briefcase and walked toward her. Terror had her backing away until the backs of her knees hit her mother’s bed. Franklin tracked her until he stopped about a foot away. “I’m a heartless bastard? I’m an asshole? You realize your mother is lying right there, likely because you weren’t there to help her and share the increased stress with her. You could have joined us in Coconut Grove. Supported her. So the fact that she is here is as much your fault as it is mine, and—”
“No,” her mother shouted. “This has nothing to do with Lia.”
“This has everything to do with Lia. I can’t help that the role I feel compelled to play in life requires a certain amount of public presence for my family. But Lia can help you cope with it and is choosing not to.”
He walked back to his briefcase, picked it up, and walked out of the hospital room door.
Lia’s breath came out on a whoosh. She’d never felt truly terrified of her father, but that was quickly changing. “Mom, I’m sorry. I can’t stay trapped just because you feel like you are. Daddy’s obsessed. Sick even. You need to move out.”
“Lia, please, trust me, go now while your father is out. Hurry. Get my pills. I’m sure that in many cases when somebody has attempted to commit suicide and survive, they try to pass it off as an accident. But I swear to you, when I walked upstairs yesterday to go lie down for my nap, I know I wasn’t suicidal. I was unhappy for sure, but not to the extent where I would leave you and Ben.”
Indecision pulled at her. The last thing she wanted to do was step foot inside her father’s home, but she needed to know what had happened. “Okay, Mom,” she said finally, grabbing her things. “I’ll go now.”
The taxi over to Star Island didn’t take too long and she hurried inside. Her arm ached, which was thankfully becoming an increasingly rare occurrence. It had been three weeks since she’d had the pins inserted, and in the last few days it hadn’t bothered her as much.
She hurried into her mother’s bedroom and grabbed the medication from the bathroom cabinet. There were three different types in all. Placing them in her purse, she made her way around to her mother’s bedside table. As she opened it, she heard the front door open and slam. Fear prickled her skin, and her heart pounded against her ribs. Panicked, she looked down and grabbed the pill container before shoving it into her purse, wishing she’d thought to text any one of her friends to tell them what was happening and where she was going.
Her first thought was to hide. If her father was going to an event, he wouldn’t be home long. But what if the meeting had been canceled and he was home to stay? Or worse, what if he suspected her and her mother of figuring out what had happened? Perhaps he was home to try and hide the evidence. She needed to get the pills out of the house before her father had the opportunity to tamper with them further.
Footsteps sounded on the wooden staircase heading in her direction, getting louder and louder. Quickly, Lia pulled her grandmother’s Van Cleef & Arpels bracelet off her wrist, relying on the broken link to pull open like it always did, and slid it under the bed.
The door opened. “Lia,” her father exclaimed. He looked at her, suspicion etched into his features. “Why aren’t you with your mother? And what are you doing here?”
Given the man in front of her no longer mattered to her, she answered boldly. “You know, Daddy, I could ask you the same thing. Weren’t you supposed to be going to some meeting?” Antagonizing him was a risk, but he would be suspicious of any sudden change in her behavior to the contrary.
He slid a finger through his tie, loosening the knot. “If you are trying to become my adversary, Lia, you are a very poor opponent.”
The bed and her father were between her and the door, something she desperately needed to rectify. Use your brain, Lia! Get the bracelet and get out.
“I have no intention of becoming your anything. Let’s face it, we haven’t been father and daughter for as long as . . . well, ever. I have a life of my own, and I don’t need you in it. But for the record, Mom was sleeping, and somewhere between getting here last night and talking to Mom after you left, I realized I’d lost Granny Emmeline’s bracelet.”
“How convenient,” her father said, stepping into her space as she moved, banging hard against her arm, the action deliberate.
Lia winced and gripped her elbow, pulling her arm close to her body.
His lips had narrowed into a grim smile. “Better watch that you don’t hurt yourself again while looking.”
He’d never purposefully hurt her before, yet despite his previous b
ehavior, it was a shock to find that he would.
No matter how badly she needed to get out, she couldn’t just reach for the bracelet, or her father would know for sure that she was up to something, so she made a show of looking around where her mother slept. She tossed back the covers, looked around the pillows, and even scoured the floor around her feet. Her father pulled his tie off, watching her suspiciously, and for just a fleeting moment, she felt icy-cold fear trickle down the back of her neck, setting her hairs on end.
Carefully, Lia knelt down on the floor and lifted the bed skirt, taking a few moments while she pretended to look for the bracelet that was immediately in view. She reached for it and then placed it onto the bed while she stood up.
“Thank goodness,” she said. “I would have been devastated if I’d lost this for good.”
“Well, next time,” her father said, gripping ahold of her shoulder, “you need to take better care of what is yours.”
She wrenched out of her father’s hold.
Her phone rang in her bag, and she’d never been more relieved to hear it. Quickly, she pulled it out and answered it, all the while keeping her eyes on her father.
“Hello,” she said.
“Hey, Lia. I just heard about your mom. I’m on my way. Is everything okay?” Reid said.
Something told her she needed to get out of the house. “What? You can’t hear me right? One second, I’m just at my parents’ house with my dad.” There, at least somebody knew where she was right now. “Let me head outside and see if I can get a better signal.”
Her father stepped out of the way and let her leave, and she hurried as best as she could, careful to not let the bottles of medication rattle.
Getting them to her mother had just become crucial.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Reid fastened and unfastened the tray table. Then he tried to change the music on his phone for the thirty-eighth time. Kings of Leon hadn’t done it. U2 definitely didn’t do it. Coldplay was a bust. As was Bob Dylan. And his most recent attempt to take his mind off the strange phone call he’d had with Lia, Ed Sheeran, hadn’t worked either. He selected Eddie Vedder, leaned back in his airplane seat, and closed his eyes. Which lasted all of five minutes before he sat up again and leaned across Harper to raise the window blind.
The Darkest Link (Second Circle Tattoos) Page 25