by A. E. Murphy
My lips part as I recall the noise of somebody’s face hitting the floor.
“You killed him?”
“It was easier than I thought it would be and when I woke up this morning, your hand on my head, my hand on our child, I knew I’d do it again in a heartbeat.”
It was easier than he thought it would be?
What does that mean?
“I killed a man,” he mutters, “and now I’m going to be responsible for another.”
“Sorry?”
He leans forward and places a gentle kiss on my stomach. “I’ll not let Thatcher get away with what he’s done.”
“I wish I could remember.”
“I hope you never do.”
“What’s going to happen to the trial?” I ask, chewing on my lip. “Have they postponed it?”
“No.” He smirks as though he’s holding the key to a giant secret. “He pleaded guilty. He was sentenced to three years in prison, minutes before you woke up.”
Three years? “Just three years?”
“He took a plea deal.”
“He’ll be out in a year!” I screech, shoving his hand away as he tries to comfort me. “And he still owns my label… which means I’m screwed!”
Lockhart doesn’t say anything. He lets me vent and just listens.
“That’s not fair,” I say quietly. “It’s just so fucking unfair.”
“That’s our justice system.” He sounds as bitter about it as I feel. “He confessed to the assault so that he wouldn’t have to be tried for hiring somebody to sabotage your testimony.”
“I feel like I just stepped into a CSI episode.” My head hurts. My body hurts. Everything hurts.
Looking at the man who I hold so much love and respect for and I come to the conclusion that the reason everything hurts as badly as it does is because he’s here. He shouldn’t be here. He made his choice.
“Okay, so, don’t get me wrong,” I begin and his tired eyes reach mine. “I appreciate everything you’ve done for me, but…”
“She’s okay!” Liz, Lockhart’s mum, suddenly pulls back the curtain, guided by the same nurse who brought me my lunch. “She’s awake! Why didn’t you tell us? We’ve all been worried sick!”
She cups my cheek with her hand and strokes me with her thumb before placing the same hand on my covered bump. “How’s my grandchild cooking?”
“I have a three-dimensional scan to show you after I’ve shown Cerise, who has only been awake an hour.”
His mother’s mouth drops open and she whacks her son on the arm, making him roll his eyes. “She’s been awake an entire hour? And you didn’t call?”
“Between my family bickering, yelling at me, yelling at Tobias, my sister overloading me with information, doctor checks and then an awful lunch, I don’t think he’s had time.” I smile at Tobias and place my hand on his as it grips the rail beside me. “Plus, I don’t remember anything since I got out of rehab…”
“Oh dear.” She places her fingers against her lips, something she does when she’s nervous.
Another memory flashes through my mind, so I ask, “Did Drake drive me home?”
They both nod.
“Oh, he’s really kind,” I say and then cover my mouth as I yawn.
“Did you tell her?” Liz hisses at her son.
I look at Lockhart, questioning him with my eyes. “Tell me what?”
“She needs to rest,” he hisses back as though I’m not right here, listening to them both.
Though Liz, with an excited smile, tells me anyway. “Rebecca got caught in a huge scandal and is facing a hefty prison sentence herself. She’s been swindling money from her clients’ accounts for years.”
I hate that this brings me so much joy. “I hope they throw the book at her.”
“She was Godawful, so superior and shallow. Why you ever thought to bring her to our house to begin with is beyond me.”
“Mother,” Lockhart warns when I yawn again. “Let’s not talk about Rebecca.”
We both ignore him when I ask, “Is she going down?”
“Oh yeah, definitely. She took millions. Her superior attitude landed her right in the piss pot.” Liz flips out her phone and scrolls through it for a moment before finding an article with a picture of Rebecca looking dishevelled as she’s arrested.
“I’d have paid to see that.” I smirk and look at Lockhart, who doesn’t seem upset in the slightest. “Sorry for your… umm… loss? Or are you going to wait for her to come out of prison?”
“You keep yawning. You’re tired,” he says softly. “You need to rest.”
“But I want my burger,” I whine and then yawn again.
“Close your eyes and go to sleep.” I feel the bed lower as he manipulates the remote and, as much as I’d like to protest, I can’t. I am absolutely exhausted.
We’re driving home, but to what home, I don’t know. After three hours of arguing with my parents, Lockhart finally convinced them to release me to his care. Nobody asked me what I wanted. I just wanted out of that hospital.
Liz asked me to go home with her, but that’s just too awkward. Dane and Kai want me with them, but Lockhart won’t allow that and, if what they’re all saying is true, when I finally remember what happened that night I won’t want to stay there.
So here I am, in Lockhart’s car, four days after the attack, out of hospital and feeling sore but still holding nothing but the memories of the first couple of days that I got home.
I called Doctor Foreman this morning who told me that there’s little I can do but wait and call him when I remember.
I called Joy too, who is still traumatised but had to go home to her family. I’ll make it up to her.
Georgia has visited me twice, bringing fattening treats and new pyjamas. They’re awesome; they’re flannel with black guitars on a white background. They’re so soft and lovely. I can’t wait to get where it is we’re going to so I can put them on again.
“This entire situation is so fucked up,” I sigh, pulling my cap down over my eyes and reclining the seat a little more. “How did I get here?”
Lockhart places his hand on my knee but, as I’ve done the past few days, I lift it off and place it back in his own space.
He hasn’t been talking to me beyond normal conversation. He won’t talk about Rebecca or Thatcher, or any of it. He just blanks me whenever I bring anything up and it’s so annoying but it’s also a huge relief because I’m not ready to hear it yet, or let go of any of it and move on and be alone. That’s why I can’t believe I agreed to going home with him, even if it is only for a few days. Rep is finding me a two-bedroom apartment in the city that I can afford long term, preferably one I can buy. Thank goodness for Rep.
“We’re almost there,” he says softly, though we aren’t in the city centre like I imagined. We’re in a more upper-class suburban area.
“Almost where exactly?”
“Our home.” He nods to the spacious street ahead and we turn onto a road that goes slightly uphill.
Our home?
We pull into a curved driveway, wide enough to fit two cars. It leads to an equally wide garage, which looks to be attached to a modern looking house beyond the tall privacy hedges.
Stopping in the driveway, he twists his hands on the steering wheel and seems to deliberate for a moment before saying, “Before we step inside, before we… try to move on from the past, you need to know a few things…”
“Okay.” I turn to face him in the car and wait patiently for him to speak. When he doesn’t, I give him a gentle nudge. “I’m listening, all open-minded and stuff.”
“I bought this house just over five years ago, with the intention of marrying a seemingly sweet and nice Rebecca Swanson.” The bitterness in his tone is definitely audible, almost as audible as the bitterness in my heart at his confession. “I wasn’t in love with her; it was a convenient set up. She was completely different to the person you see today. She was respected, intelligent, well put-together
and sexy.”
My mind is slowly narrowing from open to closed.
“We didn’t date for longer than a few weeks before I asked her to marry me.” He laughs and it’s surprisingly genuine. His handsome smile and the way he leans back reopens my mind and calms me down.
“So you lied to me?” I say calmly, trying to keep the upset and judgement from my tone.
“Of course I did,” he states simply. “It’s what I do. I lie, I manipulate, I blackmail, I yell… I get what I want by any means necessary.” Clearing his throat and closing his eyes, he continues from before. “She said yes, of course. I set about finding us a suitable place to live with the thought that we’d have a child within the year.”
“What happened?”
When he opens his eyes, they pin me down with a cold ruthlessness that almost makes me shrink away. “She changed. She showed her true self and I couldn’t stand her. We broke up amicably. She moved on, I moved on, and she never knew about the house. I never came back here for more than the occasional check to ensure the house keeper isn’t tearing it apart or stealing the art from the walls.”
“Why are you telling me this?”
“Because I want you to know that I did something bad, something that might change your opinion of me for…” He rubs his knees and looks away. For the first time I see fear in his eyes, fear and vulnerability. “Well, forever.”
“Worse than what you’ve done already?”
“It depends on how you look at it.”
I take his hand in mine. “You can tell me. I promise that whatever it is, I won’t let it jeopardise your future with our daughter.”
He looks at me straight in the eyes and admits, “I put Rebecca in prison.”
Okay, I was not expecting that.
“What? How?”
“I used our past relationship and her desire for me to hack into her numerous accounts from her numerous devices over the past couple of months. Luckily for me she was already stealing small amounts here and there from her clients. It made it so much easier to bolden the amounts and make it a case of serious fraud.” He runs both hands through his hair.
My face remains blank but my mind is a war of emotions.
“That’s the reason I stayed with her.”
“Why?” I ask breathily.
“Because I know it was her that led you to that hotel room. I know that she knew what was going to happen to you. I know that she joked about it afterwards with Thatcher, and I know that ever since I saw what I saw on that video, I have been able to see nothing but red.”
Oh my God.
What do I even do with this information?
He tries to take my hand, but I pull away. I don’t mean to; I just need space to process this.
“Also, Thatcher died in prison this morning,” He just blurts. “Well, he died in hospital, but he was brutally attacked in prison in a way that can never be linked to me. You’re the only person I’ll say this to. I’ll tell you because I want your forgiveness; I want your trust; I want you to believe in me and our future together, here or in whatever house you choose.”
My mouth opens and closes but no sound comes out.
“I’m also the reason Thatcher is dead and I don’t regret it. He’s too dangerous to keep alive. Like my father, he’s old school and he’s the kind of man that will exact his revenge on you and our child. He would not have stopped until you were both taken from me, or I from you. I did what I had to do.”
“Are you trying to convince me or yourself?” I mumble, looking at the house again and wishing I could go back an hour and forget this conversation. “You killed Thatcher… you sabotaged Rebecca…”
“I love you more than reason exists.” He tries to touch my hand again but I pull back. “You’re not interested in me because of my money, my power, my connections, or what I can give you. We’ve been together for a few months and you’ve asked me for nothing. You’ve kept in touch with my family; you’ve bowed to my every whim without taking my shit. You’ve changed my entire life.” I allow it when he places a hand on my stomach. “You’re giving me a child, a child that I have yet to meet whom I love more than life itself, maybe even more than I love you, which is saying something because I’ve never loved a person more than I love you. I’d die for you. I’d lie for you. I’d kill for you.”
Tears don’t fall, though they try. His words are toxic in my veins, a poison slowly spreading, ready to meet my heart and morph it into his. They’re slaying me, killing me from the inside out, the outside in, whatever. I can’t cope. The unimaginable reality of what he is confessing equal parts destroys me and fixes me.
We all dream of that one love in life who would do anything for you, give you anything, be anything you need. He’s done that. He can now say he killed for me, not once but twice. He was everything I needed, or he tried to be, while I was depressed and just awful to him.
He could have picked me up from rehab and lived happily with me ever since. Instead he let me hate him, while pregnant with his child, so he could punish the woman who got away. It would have been so easy to just let it go and try and force me to do the same, but he didn’t.
Does he love me so much that the grief of what happened to me affected him as much as me? In the beginning I felt that way too, like I wanted to kill them all, but I got help and I couldn’t act on it. Had I seen Thatcher or Rebecca and had the power to do it, I might have done it.
Lockhart did do something because I was too busy thinking of myself, breaking down, and not calling anybody from rehab to actually pay attention to how any of this was affecting him or the rest of my family.
“You did exactly what I’d want to do, but don’t have the money or power to do were our situations reversed,” I admit, running my fingers through his satin soft hair.
He hesitates, his body tense as though waiting for me to bolt. “Does this mean you’ll forgive me?”
“I’m not sure it’s my forgiveness you need. I forgive you for… I don’t know yet. I’m really pissed off that you touched Rebecca at all, no matter the cause. And the rest of what you’ve done doesn’t affect me, not really.” I bring the backs of my fingers down his cheek in a soft caress, his stubble grazing my knuckles. I love that feeling. “I don’t like what you’ve done. I’m not going to thank you because it’s wrong. As much as I hate these people and everything they did, I hate even more that you had to take matters into your own hands. I hate that you’ve been tarnished with this burden and responsibility of protecting me. I don’t want to be your damsel in distress. I want to be your partner.”
“You want? Or you wanted?”
“One day at a time, Tobias. This is a lot to take in.”
He nods, bringing my hand to his lips. “No more lies, secrets, deception or games. I want a relationship with you. I want steady and smooth.” Then he adds with a smile, “I want you. All of you. As you are.”
“As I am? Or as I was?” I question. “Because I’m not who I was, not anymore. I’ve changed. You know that, right?”
“I know. Another reason I’m not sorry for putting that sick fuck in his permanent bed,” He grits out.
“Hey,” I coo softly, shaking my head at him. “Stop it. Let it go. Your anger over what happened doesn’t help me heal. You punished him. If what you’re saying is true and he’s dead, then there’s nobody left to be angry at. It’s a waste of your time and energy.” As I speak these words, the reality of what he has done hits me. I breathe, “I can’t believe you did that.”
“We mustn’t ever speak of it again. Ever. It can’t be heard. It’s my darkest confession to you, and my last.”
“Good. You’re responsible for too many deaths this week. That shit changes you. I don’t want you to change. I want you as you are.”
“So you do want me?” He smirks, his eyes narrowing with a look of triumph. “I haven’t missed my chance?”
“That all depends on our conversations to come.” I gently feel my stomach. “That all depends
on how well we are at co-parenting.”
He blinks, stupefied by my words. “You’re honestly saying that you’re not going to consider returning to me as my partner until after our child is born?”
“I’m honestly saying that right now I have a thousand things swimming through my foggy fucked up brain and I don’t appreciate your tone,” I snap, my own tone shorter than I planned. “Now, are you going to give me a tour of your home or shall we live in the car?”
His usual cool demeanour returns because he hasn’t gotten his way.
This man has zero patience.
“Last thing,” he states as we climb from the car into the cool February air. Rounding the car, he stops by the door I just kicked open and holds me under my arm as I stand. My body is still extremely sore, especially in the area where I was shot. It all happened on the same side so it’s hard for me to walk.
I’m supposed to do a little though, not too much but just enough to keep me supple and not stiff. It’s when I’m stiff that it hurts the most.
“I…” He loses his words, a first for him. “I’m sorry.”
“What?” My eyes scrunch up and I laugh a little at how timid he sounds. “Sorry for what?”
“For everything that’s happened to you since you met me.”
Oh… fuck. “Don’t… don’t do this whole sweet thing, okay? As soon as we walk through that door, you’re going to be Tobias Lockhart without the shit and I’m going to be me without the shit, okay? No apologies, none of this mushy shit. We don’t do mushy. You’ve told me you love me. You know I love you… let’s just figure this out just one day at a time, okay?”
“One day at a time,” He agrees.