WE ARE US

by Leigh, Tara

  “Don’t be. You did what you thought was right at the time.”

  “Things would be so different if I had just—”

  “Let’s not go down that road. We’re here now, together. That’s what matters.”

  I release a shuddering breath. “Okay. You’re right. So, catch me up. I don’t even know if you’re seeing anyone.”

  Gavin blinks at me, his eyes still interlocking layers of blue, from the palest robin’s egg to the richest indigo sky. Lashes so long and thick they cast a shadow over the high crest of his cheekbones. His tawny hair is longer than it was the last time I saw him, and my fingers twitch with the desire to run my hands through it. “Starting with the most important information, I see.”

  A flush crawls up my throat, burning the tips of my ears, and I duck my head, embarrassed. Technically, you’re still married, Poppy. Don’t make a fool of yourself. “Sorry. You’re right, of course. It’s none of my business.”

  “Stop. I was kidding.” Gavin reaches for my chin and brings my gaze back to his. His eyes rove hungrily over my face, twin flames of desire and vulnerability burning inside them. “I won’t lie and say I’ve been a monk these past years. I tried to get over you, Poppy. I tried and failed. Because you’re the only one who’s ever claimed a piece of my heart. And you still have it, even now.”

  His candid admission knocks the breath right out of my chest, each gorgeous word wringing oxygen from my lungs until I’m dizzy with love and longing. “You know I don’t deserve you, right? I’m a disaster.”

  “Luckily for me, it’s not your decision to make.”

  My eyes drop to the silver scar marking the skin between his lower lip and chin, a final token of his father’s misplaced rage. I lift my hand up, dragging my thumb over Gavin’s mouth as an explosion of heat detonates somewhere deep in my belly. “Please tell me your mother came to her senses and forgave you.”

  “She did.” His kisses the palm of my hand and I bite back a groan. Despite our outwardly casual conversation, my body is reacting to Gavin’s proximity and touch in an entirely different kind of communication. “After she started seeing a guy who didn’t get his kicks by beating her up every other week. They got married last year.”

  “That’s really great, Gav. I’m happy for her.”

  “How about your mom, is she doing well?”

  “Yeah. She lives up in Maine now. I called her last week to tell her what was going on and she rushed me off the phone because she didn’t want to be late for drum circle.” I roll my eyes. “Apparently, the last person to show up gets stuck with the bad banjo.”

  “I hate when that happens.”

  We share an easy silence for a few moments, and I can feel the years falling away like we’re being pushed through an opening in the universe that was made just for us. The gravity between my heart and Gavin’s is an undeniable force that has me leaning into him. My lips part, compelled by an instinctive urge to breathe his scent deep into my lungs, to swallow the energy sparking and dancing between us.

  The spell is broken when a couple of tourists enter our clearing, using their selfie stick to pose in front of the waterfall. A chill breaks out over my skin and I jerk back, blinking my vision into focus. For several moments I am untethered, fighting to regain my sense of time and place while two strangers laugh and make ridiculous faces, completely unaware of us as they cycle through several poses before venturing off in search of the next Instagram-worthy spot.

  Once they leave I exhale a ragged sigh. Gavin presses a kiss against my temple and curves his hand around the back of my neck, lightly caressing the tendons on either side of my spine. “I looked for you, you know,” I say, my voice cracking. “When you stopped sending messages.”

  Gavin appears puzzled. “Looked for me… where?”

  “Social media. Instagram, Facebook, SnapChat. Even Twitter.”

  His confusion works its way into a disappointed frown. “You could have tried calling me.”

  “I was married, Gavin. It wouldn’t have been right.”

  “I don’t do social media. But if I did, it wouldn’t be all that interesting. After I left your place that day, I called up a contact of mine who worked in the New York Field Office and picked his brain for an hour. I figured if you were doing your thing, I’d better get my ass in gear and do mine.”

  I clear my throat, relieved to be talking about banal things for a little longer. My pulse is still racing and my breaths are shallow. “Did you always want to work in Financial Crimes?

  “Not really. It was only because—” He closes his eyes for a minute, almost wincing. “Fuck, I’m going to sound like a stalker for telling you this.”

  My curiosity immediately multiplies. “Tell me.”

  “I was trying to figure out what you saw in a guy like Stockton, so I read up on him and his family, their investment company. I never expected to find banking interesting, but I kind of developed a knack for it. Numbers don’t lie.” He turns back my way, his eyes open and trained on me once again. “One thing led to another and when a spot opened up in FC, I applied.”

  I have to stifle the urge to tie a bandana around Gavin’s face. His stare triggers an alarm rigged deep within my body, somehow waking up every single cell and making them shake inside my veins. I feel jittery and tingly, like he’s set off a chemical reaction I have no control over. Tearing my gaze from his, I look over at the waterfall. “How did you find out what Tucker was up to?”

  “I can’t take all the credit. One of my buddies from Quantico works in Art Theft. I stopped by his desk on our way to lunch and noticed a picture tacked to his bulletin board—”

  I suck in a breath. “Wren.”

  “Yes. Apparently, she advises several collectors who are known to purchase black market art. I followed a hunch and learned that every single one of those collectors became a client of Stockton Capital after your husband took over.”

  “So you think…”

  “He got into business with some really shady characters. Lines were crossed. I don’t know how he found out about the pending indictment, but leaks happen. This isn’t the first time someone’s carried out an elaborate scheme to evade arrest.”

  I consider Gavin’s assessment for a few minutes. He doesn’t add anything else, giving me time to draw a conclusion of my own. But my mind quickly strays from thoughts of Tucker. I’ve wasted too much time thinking about him, worrying about him, trying to please and appease him. I don’t want to waste any more.

  And besides, I have more important things to discuss with Gavin. The truth… my truth.

  Gathering all of my courage, I tug at the zipper of my coat and pull out the moonstone pendant tucked beneath my shirt

  Gavin’s eyes drop. “You still have it.”

  “Tucker had it, actually. I found it in his safe yesterday.”

  His brows knit together, an unspoken question in the crease of his forehead.

  I fight against a sudden wave of vertigo and dig my hands into the cold dirt beneath me, bombarded by the sheer force of all the secrets I’ve kept from him through the years. Once I’ve found my center, clinging to a deep reserve of determination buried within my core, I dive back into the sea of confusion and concern swirling inside Gavin’s gaze. “There’s so much I need to tell you. Starting with the night I lost your necklace.”

  Chapter 51

  New York City

  Poppy Stockton, wife of missing Manhattan mogul, Tucker Stockton, has been discharged from her hospital in Florida and is now back in the luxury Manhattan apartment she shares with her husband, Tucker Stockton, who is still missing. In the meantime, Wall Street is buzzing over rumors that his company, Stockton Capital, may have been engaged in fraudulent, some are even saying criminal, activities.

  “Turn that off, please.” My voice is low, haggard.

  Sadie vaults from the couch. “Poppy, you’re finally back! How did it go?”

  I drop my purse and fall back onto the pillows, sighing as I point
at the TV. First things first. “Off.”

  Gavin and I spent hours inside Central Park, walking and talking and, in my case, crying. I told him everything. And it was hard. Really hard.

  That night, of course. And the next morning, coming back from the hospital and having to face both Tucker and Wren when I could barely face my own reflection in the mirror. The choices I’d made, including the middle-of-the-night truce with Wren. Working with Tucker on TeenCharter, forgiving him and eventually falling for him. I needed Gavin to know that our romance felt real to me. I believed I was in love with Tucker, shielding myself from everything wrong about our relationship… which was basically everything.

  If Tucker had been within reach, he wouldn’t have needed to fake his own death because Gavin looked ready to kill him. But for me, the worst was telling him about my babies. Through his eyes, I’d relived every excruciating moment.

  I explained how angry I’d been, how vengeful. How everything I’d ignored and justified and excused came roaring back, drowning me within an endless ocean of rage.

  Now Gavin knows the truth. My truth.

  I asked him if he still believed I was innocent. Still believed that Tucker had faked his own death.

  And he said yes.

  Gavin is more certain of my innocence than I am.

  Sadie grabs for the remote and a moment later, the screen turns mercifully black. “So, how did it go? You were gone so long I was starting to worry.”

  I have to tell her about Gavin. And I will, as soon as I fill her in on my meeting with Reese. I’m through keeping secrets. “It went well… I think.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Well, she basically broke down my options into six scenarios.”

  After I explain each of them, Sadie says, “You’re going with number one, right? Tucker either fell or jumped overboard. He’s gone, but it wasn’t your fault.”

  I shake my head. “Nope. Number five. Tucker escaped, probably with an accomplice who definitely wasn’t me.”

  “Why? You wanted to divorce him anyway. If Tucker is gone,” it’s clear Sadie means dead, “everything stops. The reporters will go away, the search will end. You can put this all behind you.”

  I run my fingertips inside the neck of my shirt, feeling for the warmth of the moonstone. Sadie is wrong. No matter what I choose, there is no light at the end of the tunnel. “Look, I understand you’re trying to help—”

  “Don’t patronize me,” she snaps. “I think you like the attention all this is getting you.”

  I suck in a deep breath, nearly choking on it. “Sadie, how can you say that?”

  “Gee, I don’t know. Maybe because you’re hiring the most attention hungry lawyer in Manhattan. God, don’t you want this all to end?”

  “It’s barely been a week! I don’t think it’s going away anytime soon.” My flash of anger is replaced with guilt when I see the glimmer of tears in my sister’s eyes. “Sadie, maybe you need a break. My mess doesn’t have to be your mess. It’s not fair to you.”

  “You want me to go?”

  I choose my words carefully. “I want you to be happy, sis. That’s all. You got me through the worst moments of my life. And this is awful too, but I’m strong enough now to deal with it on my own.”

  There is a flicker in her eyes, an emotion I can’t read. “Just think about it,” I add, reaching out to squeeze her knee before standing up and walking out onto our terrace for some fresh air.

  Telling her about Gavin will have to wait. Again. I can’t spring a decade’s worth of lies on her right now.

  When Sadie moved in with us it was supposed to be temporary. Just a few months until she found a job and an apartment and the babies were born. She never could have imagined what she was getting herself into. For months, my grief had known no bounds, poisoning every breath I struggled to take. Every pore of my body was clogged with guilt and shame and fury.

  It was Sadie who found a therapist willing to make house calls when I couldn’t get out of bed. And when I finally did but refused to leave the apartment, she’d dragged me out onto the terrace, insisting that there was still a whole world out there.

  I will never forget that first afternoon, those initial moments outside. The buildings rising above me had appeared grim and imposing, like enormous tombstones with hundreds of seeing eyes. Every single one of them turning on me. Judging me.

  I’d run for the edge, wanting nothing more than to put an end to the pain of living. Sadie tackled me to the ground, held me as I sobbed and screamed and raged.

  I owe her my life.

  I peer over the edge now. There is a lot of wind when you are nearly thirty stories above Manhattan, air gusting through corridors made of skyscrapers. Up this high, I can’t smell the hotdogs and pretzels hawked by pushcart street vendors, or the exhaust fumes from buses and trucks and taxis. The air is different up here. Cold and sharp.

  So different from the woodsy, earthy scent of The Ramble, where Gavin and I spent most of the afternoon. Now he knows everything there is to know about my relationship with Tucker. The good and the bad and the truly vile.

  It’s a lot to take in.

  And while I did ask Gavin what he thought happened in Florida… I didn’t ask what is happening now, with us. I know what I want to happen though. What I hope will happen, if I’m exonerated. If we have a chance at a future.

  I want to fall asleep every night with Gavin’s arms wrapped around me, the heat of his breath fanning my cheek, the rhythmic thud of his heartbeat pulsing through my chest. I want to wake up to the sweetness of his kisses and bathe in the warmth of his love. I want to build a life with the man I’ve never stopped loving—even when I believed I loved someone else. And maybe, one day, I hope our life includes children.

  When I finally turn to go back inside, I pause at the sight of my reflection in the mirrored glass. I look frail, rather than merely thin. Wisps of blond hair have come loose from the ponytail I’d secured at the back of my head, fluttering around my face like the silken strands peeking out from an ear of corn. My eyes are tired, with purple smudges beneath them.

  Do I look like a murderer?

  When Gavin came to my hospital room, he called me a victim.

  I still hate that word now, every bit as much as I’d hated it ten years ago. Back then, I avoided it by pretending what Tucker had done was a meaningless slip up. An inconsequential mistake.

  What happened in the Florida Keys was no mistake. And the consequences are mine to bear.

  But I don’t want Tucker’s death on my conscience.

  What I want is the chance at a future with Gavin.

  Which is why I need Reese’s scenario number five to be more than just a theory. I need it to be fact. He couldn’t have done it alone though. Wren had to have helped him.

  The more I think about it, the more it makes sense. We all flew down to Miami together: Tucker and I, plus Wren and Sadie. Wren loves the nightlife in South Beach and decided to tag along with us at the last minute. Sadie because she’d become a part of our family and it would have been rude to leave her out. She was going to get her scuba certification while Tucker and I explored the Keys on our own, then we were going to meet up with Wren and Sadie in the Bahamas before heading back to New York.

  Did Tucker plan our trip knowing Wren was going to whisk him off on a private plane bound for Cuba? Gritting my teeth, I hold my head in my hands.

  Remember. Remember, damn it.

  Had Wren finally convinced him that she was the better choice? Did Tucker try to convince me to come with him? To live a life on the run together?

  Was that when I picked up the knife? Had Wren tackled me to the ground as I stabbed Tucker, my head smashing into the floor, the glass fragments—from the champagne glasses, I assume—shredding my back and legs.

  And then what happened? Did Tucker and Wren leave me there, hoping I would bleed out and die while they ran off together, eager to begin their new adventure?

  The
images in my mind are so real. The look of exhilaration on Tucker’s face when he sees Wren speeding toward us. The steely glint of the knife in my hand. The sky a lavender dome above, the moon just a creamy crescent floating on the clouds as the sun melts into the horizon.

  Goose bumps race up my arms as I gulp at air.

  But I can’t get past Wren’s face yesterday, when she tore apart Tucker’s office. She looked like she didn’t know anything.

  Had she pulled that stunt just to throw off my suspicions?

  I yank open the door, the rush of filtered, purified, dehumidified, temperature-controlled air like a slap across my face. It has to be Wren. I have the life she wanted, and if I don’t pull myself together and start fighting back, she will bury me in it.

  And then I’ll never have the chance to see what the future holds with Gavin.

  Chapter 52

  New York City

  The smell of leather invades my consciousness a half second before I realize it belongs to the hand—the very heavy hand—covering my mouth.

  Stifling my scream.

  Everything inside me is operating at double-speed. Heart pounding, blood racing, nerves jangling—and yet my body is stiff as a board. Scared stiff.

  “Shh.” A hard whisper smacks my ear, breath hot and damp on my cheek. Adrenaline surges, sending every one of my senses into overdrive. The ambient lights of my darkened bedroom reveal a man with broad shoulders, smooth tanned skin, and a shaved head. His hooded eyes are firmly fixed on mine, and he doesn’t look rough, or out of control. Which somehow makes the situation even more frightening.

  The hand not covering my mouth presses into the pillow beneath my head causing me to roll toward him, the knee he’d set on the mattress digging into my hip.

  There is way too much contact between us.

  Living in Manhattan, it is impossible not to hear horrible stories of women being attacked in their own apartments. But usually, it happens in a ground floor bedroom without bars on the window, or a non-doorman building where anyone can press enough buttons and be buzzed right in. I am thirty stories up, in an apartment with an expensive, elaborate security system incorporating cameras, sensors, and high-tech locks. My own sister is just down the hall.