My expression turns hard as I tell her, “My husband doesn’t do coke.” I want to add anymore. He’s done it before. He told me. He’s done a lot of shit that I’m ashamed of, but that was before me.
Detective Nicoli smirks at me and flips the page over in her notepad then says, “We’ll have the warrant for a sample from him soon.”
Absently my hand drifts to my stomach, to where our baby is growing, as if protecting this little one will protect Evan. But I’m quick to pull it back as one of the heavier bags slips forward on my arm.
She doesn’t need to know, but I want to tell her. I want to tell the world my Evan could never do what they’re saying he did. But I don’t tell her a damn thing.
“Good for you,” I tell her and start to walk past her again. I shove the key into the lock and turn it, but before I can open it, the cop leans against the door and waits for me to look at her.
“Get out of my way,” I seethe, my anger coming through. Anger at Evan, anger at her.
“Someone’s going down for Tony Lewis’ death.”
“Someone should, but my husband is not a murderer,” I finally snap. I grip the handle tight, feeling the intricate designs in the hard metal press against my skin. It’s freezing and the lack of circulation in my arms hurts. But I can’t let go. I don’t trust myself.
“I’m going inside and I have nothing left to say,” I tell her and every word comes out with conviction.
“I’ll leave my card,” she says and slips it into one of the bags dangling from my arm.
I watch her walk away, not saying another word and biting back the comment on the tip of my tongue for her not to bother.
“Fucking bitch,” I spit out the second I open the door and then let the bags fall to the floor.
My body feels like ice and my arms and shoulders are killing me. My legs are weak as I lean against the door to shut it and stare absently ahead, my gaze drifting from the empty foyer to the stairs.
I want to cry.
I want to give up.
But mostly I wish I’d been a better wife. I wish I’d kept Evan from whatever the hell he did.
I know him. He’s not a murderer.
Chapter 3
Evan
* * *
Damaged, scarred and ruined,
My life all but destroyed.
Nothing but a gaping hole,
With revenge to fill the void.
I should have seen it coming,
But I was blinded by the lies.
And now I’ve succumbed to my sins,
With death to be my prize.
* * *
Every second that ticks on that fucking clock makes me want to break it.
I haven’t felt like this since the first time I was brought into jail. It wasn’t here; it was somewhere in Chicago. But this need to get the fuck out and handle all the hell I created is the exact same feeling I felt that first night.
Tick, the clock’s minute hand moves again and I look to my right, staring down the woman at the front desk who’s doing the paperwork for my release.
My neck cracks as I stretch out my shoulders. I haven’t slept and I’m exhausted, but only pure adrenaline is pumping through my veins.
I need to get the hell out of here.
I knew something was off from the very beginning. James tried to fuck me over. It had to be him.
The only reason I can think of would be because of Samantha though, and that shit doesn’t make sense. It’s been years since we had that affair. Years for her husband to get over it. Shit, all he’s been talking about for weeks is how he wants their divorce to be finalized.
I lean back on the metal bench and force myself not to look at the secretary and not to look at the clock either. My eyes focus on the corners of the cheap linoleum tiles and I drown out the sounds of the police station.
No noise, just the memory of that night coming back to me.
My shoulder flinches as I remember the feel of James’ hand on my shoulder, showing me where the rec room in the hotel is and asking me if I need anything else. My eyes close and I can see him handing me the key card and looking to his left and right before telling me to make sure I show Tony a good time.
My lungs still and my vision turns red as my teeth grind against one another and my fists clench.
I can’t fucking handle this. If that fucker set me up to die, he’s a dead man.
And if it wasn’t him, who was it?
“Mr. Thompson.” A small voice to my right says my name and breaks my concentration. It takes every effort to raise my head up and relax my body as if nothing’s wrong.
Each step smacks off the floor with the ticking of the clock. My heart beats in rhythm.
No one can know that I know. Not a soul.
“Your belongings,” she says flatly. A weak smile forms on her thin lips as she hands me a Ziploc bag and tells me what each item is, going down the list in her hands.
It’s all procedure, I tell myself.
I shove my hands into my pockets and rock on my heels as I wait. Each second makes me more and more anxious to get out of here.
“And your keys,” she says and then finally meets my eyes again.
“Thank you,” I tell her and grab my shit. As I slip my black leather wallet into my back pocket, I wonder what James will say. Better yet, I wonder how I can get him to confess.
“Make sure you sign here,” she says. I smile as I do what I’m supposed to.
Break his knuckles.
“And here,” she adds, pointing to a line on the release forms.
Bash his knees in with a tire iron.
“You’re all set, Mr. Thompson.”
Put a gun to his head.
I force the left corner of my lips up as if I’m happy to be getting out of here. But my muscles are wound tight and my stomach’s churning.
All because of one question: What if it wasn’t him?
No one can know about any of this shit. My heart skips a beat and I hesitate to walk out of the station. Kat.
I force myself to move forward. I can’t go to the cops, even to protect her. All they’ll do is go after me. I don’t have a shred of evidence. I have nothing but my word. And inside these four walls, my word doesn’t mean shit.
The sky’s gray as I glare through the glass doors, hating this place and what I’ve done. I have to tell her; I shake my head at the thought. I’ll have to tell her I’m coming home first and with that thought I take out my phone. Pressing the power button to turn it on, I lean against the door waiting to see what I’m up against.
I bet she’s heard I’m locked up, but maybe there’s a small chance that she hasn’t.
As the phone comes to life, a series of pings follows the messages popping up.
One from Pops, first asking where I am and if Kat forgave me. The next asking me to call him when I get out of jail. My heart sinks in my chest and the feeling of disappointment runs through me. He’s too old to be dealing with my shit.
My body sags against the door, the cold from the autumn night seeping through the hard glass.
I scroll through the messages from people I don’t give a shit about asking all sorts of questions. They don’t matter.
But the one person who does matter, the only one I want to hear from and the only person I want to run to … not a single text.
I check the missed calls to make sure, although hopelessness runs through my veins. I swallow thickly and push the glass door open with a hard slam of my fists.
I hate that she didn’t call me. That she didn’t care enough to let me know that she heard. If Pops has heard, she’s heard.
The bitter cold air whips by my face as I move toward the corner.
I check through my messages again, searching for her name like I could’ve missed it. One catches my eye. Samantha, James’ wife. I pause over her name and read her text. We need to talk.
My strides become quicker at the thought of meeting up with her. She might know someth
ing. She might be my way to get what I need from James.
I have to go to Kat first and knowing that, I text Sam back, asking when and where.
I glance up at the corner, seeing the don’t walk sign and take a look over my shoulder to hail a cab. I’m going home, whether Kat likes it or not.
I’ve kept so many secrets from her.
My head hangs low as I step out into the busy streets of New York City and a cab pulls up. The door slams shut with a loud click, dulling the city noises as I tell the driver our address. It’s only after a few minutes of quiet, the rumble of the car almost lulling me to sleep, that I rub my tired eyes and think about what Kat would say. What she’d do if she knew the shit I got myself into.
She’s already so close to hating me.
She’s close to being over me and what we had.
I can’t risk losing her, but right now either choice–to come clean, or to hide it from her–either choice feels like I’ve already lost her.
Chapter 4
Kat
* * *
It’s not in my nature to tempt you,
It’s just that I’m so alone.
It’s a darkness that’s all-consuming,
Leaving me chilled to the bone.
Your smile makes me feel something,
To fill the hole my love left behind.
It’s not my desire to lead you on,
But seduction isn’t a crime.
“I just want to thank you for meeting me,” Jacob says as my keys clink on the coffee shop table and I take a seat across from him.
It’s been three days since Evan came back to the townhouse. And three days since he punched Jacob and accused me of cheating on him. Three days of me hiding away in our bedroom and pretending like this isn’t my life.
But at some point I had to come out.
“I’m so sorry,” I say with my eyes closed tight as I settle down into the seat. It’s a wicker chair with a dark red cushion and the smell of coffee from the café adds to the comfort. The whole place has a homey feel to it.
My cheeks are practically frozen from the bitter wind whipping through West Village, but even still they burn.
“Don’t,” Jacob stops me, holding his hand up and waving off my embarrassment.
I can’t believe how out of hand things have gotten. As a professional, I’m mortified. Who am I kidding? I haven’t been professional with Jacob from the beginning.
“Please, Jacob.” I shake my head slightly and then look up at him, staring into his eyes as I refuse to let him downplay everything. “What happened the other day was ridiculous. Evan had no right to put his hands on you, and firstly I want to thank you for not pressing charges.”
“I don’t blame him, Kat,” Jacob says with an ease that catches me off guard. My heartbeat quickens and it’s the only thing I can hear for a brief moment while I take in his words.
“It’s fine, really. I mean it, I don’t blame him.”
I slowly take off my coat as I tell him, “I do. I know it looked a little off.” A feeling of confusion clouds my memory of what I’d planned to say.
I was going to thank him for not pressing charges.
Beg him to not hold it against the publishing agency.
And concede that I would not be his contact if he did go with us. Obviously, I can’t represent him after what happened. I’m prepared for that.
“He shouldn’t have done it, and I feel awful.”
“It wasn’t you who did it,” Jacob says.
The comfort in his voice makes me uneasy.
The next words out of his mouth add to that nervousness. “I’m kinda glad he did.”
“Why?” I ask quietly.
“You two split, right?” Jacob asks.
“Yeah,” I answer him and it makes my throat go dry. My chest feels hollow, nothing there but the raw emotion I’m trying to ignore.
“He’s not acting like it, judging by the way he talks to you. He’s aggressive. He’s doing what my ex did to me. And I don’t like it.”
“I don’t know what he’s thinking right now, but this isn’t him.”
“Either way, I knew I was pissing him off and I’m sorry. Again, I don’t blame him.”
I don’t know what to say back. There’s a tension between us that’s different from what I anticipated.
“I don’t like the way I saw him treat you,” Jacob says with a softened voice and then raises his hands up as if expecting retaliation from me. “I know I only saw a small piece. A sliver, even.” He licks his lower lip and then adds, “I just didn’t like it. So if he’s going to take it out on me instead, I’ll take it.”
“I wish you wouldn’t have done that,” I tell him honestly.
“I’m sorry. I really am. I knew it the second I walked down the stairs that I should’ve stayed out of it. It’s just something about what I see between you guys. It gets to me.”
“Between us?” I ask him.
“How you obviously care for him even though it’s killing you,” he says with a sadness in his eyes that could be a reflection of mine.
“Either way,” he says, “I’m sorry and you don’t have a reason to be.”
“I didn’t anticipate you being the one apologizing today.”
Jacob shrugs and it’s then that I see a faint bruise on his jaw. With the rough stubble, it almost blends in, but when I catch sight of it, I cringe.
“Shit,” I say out loud and want to cover my face with my hands. Jacob smiles at me and a masculine chuckle makes his t-shirt tighten on his broad shoulders.
“Seriously, Kat,” he says and moves his hand to the table, turning it slightly so it’s palm up. “Don’t worry about it. I can see where he’s coming from.”
Jacob’s gaze flickers to a white mug on the table. I glance down at it; it’s chai, and a warmth flows through me at the thought.
“So it’s all okay?” I ask him.
He shrugs again and takes a sip from the mug. “If you’re okay?” he finally answers and okay is not exactly the word I’d use to describe myself right now.
“For you, miss,” a woman to my right announces, startling me and catching me by surprise. The barista I barely noticed when I first walked in sets down an identical mug to Jacob’s in front of me. The spices of cinnamon and nutmeg hit me immediately and I welcome the scents.
“Thank you,” I tell her although my eyes are on Jacob.
“I thought you’d like it,” he says with a grin. “I know the shop is new, but I’ve had their chai almost every day and you have to try it,” he says like we’re good friends. Like we know each other well. After a moment he adds, “Great place to write.”
“I could see that.” I swallow, feeling a stir of something else in my chest. It pulls at my heart. Guilt. I feel like I’m cheating.
Evan and I are separated; I have to remind myself again. And with all the shit Evan’s done, it’s over. It has to be.
My hands wrap around the mug and they warm instantly as I take a look around the place. The brick walls and picture frames make it cozy and inviting. With the dark wooden tables and wicker chairs, I could see how a writer could make themselves comfy in a corner chair. I take a sip and then another, feeling the warmth flow through my cold chest. And then a third. Even though I feel less consumed with regret about the fight between Jacob and Evan, a different feeling is washing through me.
Like I’m to blame. And like Jacob’s intentions for inviting me here have nothing to do with the fight or his work. I’m getting a good sense of what Jacob’s intentions are.
“So what do you think?” Jacob asks me and I have to blink away my thoughts and try to figure out what he’s referring to.
I think Jacob liked the fight. And I don’t know why that doesn’t infuriate me. That’s what I think. The betrayal sinks slowly into my veins.
“The chai,” he says and nods to my hands.
“It’s good,” I say with a halfhearted smile and then set it down. “Jacob, it wasn’t okay
what happened. And I really am sorry.”
He forces a smile onto his lips and it’s quiet for a short moment. “Kat, I don’t really like your ex.”
Ex.
My heart hammers and my blood feels as if it’s draining from my body, leaving me cold. “I can see why,” I tell him, although I can’t look him in the eyes.
“Hey, I don’t want to upset you.” His voice changes to a tone that’s sympathetic and I hate this moment. I hate feeling weak and not knowing what to do or say.
“Please don’t worry about me, Jacob,” I tell him as strongly as I can.
“First of all,” he says with that gorgeous smile, “it’s Jake.” I can’t help the small laugh that erupts from me at how serious he was when he said that. “And secondly, I’m not worrying, just being there for someone. That’s all.”
All my hesitations about him leave me as I look into his kind green eyes. He’s the rugged kind of handsome I would have been drawn to back when I was single. I’m honest enough to admit I’m drawn to him now.
He’s a good guy, and I can feel that in my bones.
“That’s very nice of you, but I think,” I start to say and try to figure out how to word what I’m thinking without sounding pathetic. I’m still in love with my husband. Even if he’s in jail … and we’re separated. Instead, all I can manage is a mix between a groan and a sigh.
“Hey, let’s just end it there?” he suggests. “I don’t have many friends here and I put my nose where it didn’t belong. I’m the one who’s sorry.”
“You’re not in the wrong here,” I tell him.
“I’m not in the right either, am I?” he asks.
“What do you mean?” I ask him, like I’m oblivious. I know exactly what he means.
“I-” he starts to say something but then he stops himself and lets out a short laugh before rubbing his eyes. “Sorry, I’ve been up all night working on this manuscript.”
I take the moment to move back to work. To steer this relationship back to just business.
Scarred: Sins and Secrets Series of Duets Page 2