by W. Winters
“Is he going to get off?” I ask her and wait with bated breath. The other line is filled with the sound of her breathing deeply and I find myself hunching forward, my lungs squeezing with the need to breathe.
“Jules, they have some evidence.”
Her words make my blood run cold. Evidence?
“He didn’t do it,” I say and the words leave me without my consent. I know they’re from me, I know I said it, but I’m somewhere else. Not here, safe in a luxurious hotel penthouse while Mason sits in jail for a crime I committed.
“I know he didn’t,” she says and I’m not sure if she speaks with certainty for my benefit or if she really believes he didn’t. She continues, “But for them to be holding him this long, it means they have something on him, Jules. Evan says they have something. There’s something going on.”
I swallow thickly, not responding as Kat repeats my name over and over again. The flashes of what happened haunt me. The blood, the heat, the kick of the gun in my hands.
“What can I do?” My voice is eerily calm as I stare straight ahead, although I see nothing but his father’s lifeless eyes.
“There’s nothing we can do, Jules,” Kat says and I shake my head even though she can’t see.
I could tell them everything.
“I’m coming over to the hotel,” Kat says just as I say, “I’m going to the station.”
“Why the hell would you do that?” she says as if it’s absurd. “Don’t you dare move.
“Trust me, Jules. Mason’s going to get out of this. It’s just a matter of time before we find out why he’s still in holding.” I run a hand through my hair, feeling desperate to do something.
“I can’t just stay here,” I tell her with the desperation apparent in my voice. “I have to do something.”
“Not yet,” she says. “Don’t worry, he’s going to be okay. I promise you. You need to stay where you are. Evan is going to keep his ear to the ground. I’ll tell you everything as we know it. Right now, they could charge him with obstruction but they aren’t… we’re waiting to see what they have. Just wait.”
My teeth pinch the inside of my cheek as I debate on waiting. It’s what Mason told me to do too. I’m so tired of waiting. Waiting to feel again, waiting for the truth, waiting for vengeance, waiting for the guilt to leave.
“I can’t—” I start to say but my voice cracks, and I close my eyes. I swallow before firming my resolve to tell Kat, but she cuts me off.
“Just wait one more day. They can’t hold him more than that.”
The guilt seeps into my veins as I nod my head once as I end the call. One day. One more day.
I learned to live without Jace. And I was better off for it. I was happily living a lie. A false life that was devoid of real meaning.
I don’t know that I can live without Mason, and I don’t want to find out.
If I confess, we’re apart.
If he takes the fall, we’re apart.
I have to wait. I have no patience for fate. I don’t know what’s to come, but I won’t let him do this.
As I walk to the large window watching the snow fall from the sky, I listen to the ticking of the clock, waiting to strike.
Mason
“I don’t have anything else to say,” I tell the detective who’s questioning me, the one who refuses to leave. The commissioner is across the room, waiting, eyeing me and probably wondering what his best move to make is. Now that my father’s gone, the balance of power has shifted, so it’s just a question as to where it’s gone and how I play into this game.
Cracking my knuckles one by one, I watch as the skin tightens and turns white before settling into a bright red as I flex my hand.
I don’t want anything to do with this shit. I never did, and I never will.
My eyes lift as Commissioner Haynes strides across the room, pulling out his chair slowly and letting the steel drag across the floor.
He leans back, crossing his arms and looking at me as if he’s sizing me up. I’m sure this is an act, a game, something that he’s done before. I merely look back to my hands. The ones I wrapped around my father’s throat right before he died.
It’s an odd sense of calm that washes over me at the thought. It shouldn’t comfort me. It’s not right to be grateful for another’s death. I carried the weight and burden of Anderson’s death for months. It was only after meeting Jules and knowing I could make her happy that made it all disappear. Maybe if I told her that, it would make it better, but I can’t bring myself to do it. I don’t want her to know how selfish I was.
I wish I could take it back. I wish I’d murdered my father instead. The rage was meant for him, it always was. I was too much of a coward to do it.
“We have the residue from your shirt, Thatcher.” The commissioner finally speaks. I don’t look up, I merely pick under my nails, ignoring him and the heat that makes every inch of my skin tingle. He leans across the table, moving closer to me with his hands clasped as he says matter-of-factly, “We know you didn’t shoot him, but you’re covering for someone. You wiped that gun clean.”
Stupid. I grit my teeth, realizing just how stupid I was for doing that shit. I was so desperate to save her, I wasn’t thinking. My heart pounds over and over again. But I don’t show them a damn thing. I won’t give them anything they can use against her.
It doesn’t escape me that she could tell them everything. She could speak the truth and knowing my Jules, my sweetheart, I can see her doing it.
I could see her admitting it all, every last detail of the past year that’s brought us to this moment. I’d still love her. I’d love her for it.
“I requested my lawyer,” I remind them as I lift my head to look him in the eyes.
He clenches his jaw and the cop on my right shifts his stance, gaining my attention. He’s pissed. He’s young and naïve and thought he was going to break me. He thought that little bit of evidence would do something to scare me into talking.
But my father and grandfather taught me well. When the lies are too big to weave together, you stay silent. You wait for the right story to come along and slowly the pieces will snake in between the crevices. Those around you will create something that will hide them. Silence will kill the evidence. It only needs time.
“Your money can’t save you this time,” the young detective says. I don’t even know his name, nor do I give a fuck. His dark eyes shine with conviction as he squares his shoulders and nods his head. He’s clean-shaven, which only makes him appear younger, but of all the men I’ve met in this building, he’s the only one I have respect for. He believes in justice.
“It never could,” I speak without thinking, saying the first thing that came to mind.
“What’s that mean?” Haynes questions from across the table. He’s desperate for me to give him something.
I don’t spare him a glance as the young cop responds, “You’re going away. There’s no negotiating, no lesser sentence for talking.” His eyes narrow as he nods his head once and walks closer to the table, bracing himself on it with both of his fists. “We’re going to find who really did it. And you’re both going down.”
My unaffected façade falters at the thought of them learning that Jules did it. My hands flex and ball into fists, and I have to look away. Not Jules. I already ruined her life enough. I destroyed a pure and beautiful soul.
Piece by piece I tore her down before I even knew what I was doing. I can’t let her go down for this.
“Not talking is only making it worse for you.”
I open my mouth to do what I do best, to be true to my heritage and lie. I have to think of something good, a reason for changing my shirt before cleaning the gun. I lick my lips, trying to come up with the right scenario, something believable. Something the evidence will prove is true. It doesn’t have to be factual, only enough that will convince them I’m guilty.
This is what I deserve, even if it's a fucked-up way of going about it. I murdered a man. I tried and convicted him wit
hout thinking twice. It’s only fair the same is done to me.
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, Mickey,” the commissioner says from across from me. “You already know that’s not going to happen.”
His last words catch my attention and I turn to him, ignoring how the detective’s back straightens and he stalks toward Haynes. “Sir,” the cop says and straightens, waiting for the commissioner to explain, maybe? I’m not sure. There’s a duel between them with a thick tension that’s suffocating.
The commissioner cocks a brow as if not understanding what Mickey is after.
“He’s a witness, he tampered with the crime scene—”
“No judge is going to allow charges with that little evidence.”
“Bullshit—”
“It’s done,” he says and the sharp words strike the young man, leaving him standing frozen, staring down the commissioner with his eyes flicking between the two of us. I don’t know about legalities. I don’t know how much is enough evidence. More importantly, I refuse to believe anything said by a man my father considered a friend.
“Find more evidence or let him go. It’s that simple. We’re not taking anything to trial unless we can ensure a conviction, get that through your head.”
“You’re as corrupt as they are,” the detective says with contempt before turning his back to the commissioner and storming out of the room.
Before he can slam the door, I see a familiar face in the doorway, eyebrows raised as he’s escorted in by a young female cop with a ponytail. She’s looking between the cop who’s just left and at Commissioner Haynes.
“I trust my client is free to go?” Mr. Millard asks as he shifts the leather handle of his black briefcase from one hand to the other and watches the female cop close the door to the room. “I’m sure you’re aware—” Mr. Millard begins, but doesn’t finish.
“I’ve already spoken to the judge,” Commissioner Haynes says, once again leaning back in his chair and eyeing me, as if considering who I am and whether or not my existence even matters to him. “He’s free to go,” he says with finality as my family lawyer nods once and quickly reopens the door to the interrogation room. “We want the murderer and only him. Evidence proves Mason is not our suspect.”
I don’t need another invitation to leave. Standing abruptly, I take one last look at the commissioner, who’s still staring straight ahead, but no longer at me. Only an empty chair, although the same look is in his eyes.
My pulse quickens as I walk through the station, feeling everyone’s eyes on me and listening to the sound of our shoes smacking against the floor as we walk out.
“Just like that?” I say beneath my breath as Mr. Millard opens the large front glass door for me. His brow raises as I walk through, still looking at him and waiting for the other shoe to drop. For whatever deal was made and figuring out who I owe now.
He nods his head once, appearing uncomfortable but not adding any more.
This isn’t the first time I’ve gotten away with things. A slap on the wrist for vandalism, shit like that. But this?
I stare at my lawyer, wondering what he knows and what he thinks of me as we leave, no charges pressed. The air is bitter cold and the snow on the street is blackened, but on the sidewalks it’s still a brilliant white and makes the late evening seem lighter than it should.
“Just like that,” Millard says, repeating my words and looking back over his shoulder before walking across the street. I follow him and wait. Always waiting for what’s next.
He opens his car’s passenger door and says, “Home, Mr. Thatcher?”
I shake my head no. A gust of wind blows by and the air seeps through my clothes, chilling me to the bone. Mr. Millard waits, as if expecting me to change my mind. But I’m not interested. I shake my head again, shoving my hands in my pockets.
My lawyer clears his throat and looks toward the station before shutting the door with a click and walking toward me. His oxford shoes crunch the snow beneath him as he leans in closer to me and says, “Don’t tell anyone anything.” He lets out a breath and it turns to fog in the air as he looks behind him one last time.
“It’s going to take a couple of months for this to die down, of course. But the evidence found on the scene that could tie you to murder has been dismissed already. It’s a matter of finding motive and suspects now. The judge is never going to charge a Thatcher, and he doesn’t want any digging around the circumstances of your father’s death.” For the first time, Mr. Millard looks at me as if he thinks I may have done it, but there’s no contempt, no disgust, only curiosity behind his eyes.
“For you, it’s over. A few months, and it’s all buried. Just stay quiet and don’t talk to anyone. Don’t give them a reason to come back to you. As far as they know, they followed you there, there was an altercation but a fourth unknown individual shot them both. Evidence proves you didn’t fire a gun. They can’t change that; they can only hunt down a fourth… and you have no idea of that person’s identity. If anyone asks, you’re only grateful he didn’t shoot you too.”
I nod my head, feeling the weight of everything and how it all seems heavier for some reason. Knowing how unjust it is. That a select few have already decided the fate of the case.
I’m a hypocrite, because it’s what I did when I saw that look in Anderson’s eyes. The smile on his face as I left his office. I did the same. His fate was sealed. Even a glance at the photograph on his desk didn’t stop me.
I saw her. I knew he was married. I knew she was his. I told myself I didn’t care and that it didn’t matter. He had to die.
It’s that overwhelming feeling of power that made the first domino tip as I turned my back on him, knowing his fate was decided.
“Thank you, Mr. Millard,” I say and turn away from the station, away from him and toward the crowded streets of the city.
I didn’t know how the other dominoes would fall. And the judge and the lawyers, they have no idea either. So many pieces tumbled over. So many lives affected.
There’s only one who matters to me.
Only one I need to keep safe.
Her piece is bound to fall if I touch her. I almost ruined her once. I won’t do it again.
I was never any good for her. I should have stayed away if I loved her, and I think I did even all that time ago. I think I loved her before I ever heard that sweet laugh. Before I saw her gorgeous lips and that sadness in her beautiful doe eyes that she hid from everyone but me. I think I loved her even then.
And I should have stayed far away.
Jules
They say if you love someone, you should let them go.
That’s all I keep thinking over and over as I stare out the windows of the penthouse, staring blankly at the city skyline. Mason’s been out for over twenty-four hours now. I knew the second he walked out, and I waited. And waited. I owe him and all I can think is that if I send him a message, I’m going to beg him for even more. That’s not fair and that’s not right.
I swallow thickly, and my dry throat sends a spike of pain running through me. Or maybe it’s my heart. I’m not sure which. I shake my head, turning abruptly and walk over to the kitchen to fix myself some coffee. If he wanted to speak to me, he would have come or he would have called. The fact is, he doesn’t want me. Why did it take me this long to realize that wanting him and loving him wasn’t enough?
He hasn’t called, hasn’t sent a text. I take a steadying breath, balancing myself on a padded barstool at the island counter and then gripping the hot mug of coffee with both hands. The ceramic mug has veins of gold running through the thick cream pottery. I focus on it and drift my finger over the raised texture remembering how he used to trail his fingers down my lips before kissing me.
Everything is a reminder of him and it hurts. I let my head fall back to exhale before taking a slow sip of the coffee. It’s worse than death because I could have him. It could be different… He’s right there.
I keep thinking he’s merely let me g
o because he loves me. They say if you love someone, you should let them go. Maybe that’s what I should do. I should let him go.
But isn’t it done with? Isn’t it over? The ending is so much different from what I envisioned. I will take this one where there is hope, over anything else. I want a chance.
The truth is, if Mason loved me, he’d be here. If he wanted me, he’d take me. That’s the kind of man he is.
“If you want to go to his house…” Maddie says gently from the seat next to me, moving her hand to my thigh. She hasn’t left my side since last night when the girls came over. When Kat told me Mason had been released from custody and I had waited for him to show, and he never did. After the first hour, I started to worry. After several hours, it was hard not to assume the worst. I’m glad my friends were here with me instead. I still don’t know when I’ll be able to return to my condo. The police say it’s a crime scene, and that means it’s off-limits in the meantime. I should message him… I should message Mason and let him know that. Shouldn’t I? He should know that I’m still here in this penthouse when he’s the one who’s footing the bill.
“Maddie, please.” Kat’s patience is waning thin with a restless Maddie who won’t stop asking questions. I’m grateful for the distraction, though.
Kat’s sitting at the dining room table and Sue went to work. She didn’t want to, but I insisted.
“There’s nothing wrong with going after what you want,” Maddie says, finishing her suggestion.
I glance from her to Kat, who’s gently nodding her head. “That’s true,” she whispers. Both of them stare at me as if I’m broken. Like this is the one thing over the last year that has managed to finally destroy me.
I’ve lost a husband, then fell in love with his murderer. I’ve been held against my will, killed a man out of anger and another out of fear for my life.
Yet here I sit, worried about the man who brought all of this chaos in my life.
Worried he doesn’t want me. Worried I can never have him again. Worried I’ll never love anyone or be loved by anyone like him.