by Dakota Gray
Kennedy’s gaze catches mine. There’s no warmth. There’s not a hint of lust. When I killed the good guy, I killed any reason for her to look at me in any other way but contempt. Vindication tastes sour in my mouth. I knew all along she never cared for me. She cared for a figment of her imagination. She slept with a man who doesn’t exist. Looked at him like he could be her world. I thought it was for me.
My lungs are in a vice as that truth keeps pounding into me.
My mother clears her throat and Kennedy looks away.
“Duke,” my mother says, “is there nothing you’d like to eat?”
She ordered crepes, eggs, fruit, salmon, bagels, waffles—everything one could consume for brunch. Nothing, not even the coffee tempts me.
I shake my head. “Not very hungry.”
“That’s unfortunate,” Kennedy mutters. “Did you fill up on the blood of virgins for breakfast?”
The table goes quiet. Even my mother blinks a few times in surprise.
Her response is why I didn’t go into family law. “That must have done it.” Her mouth tightens and I can’t do this. “Excuse me everyone.”
I have every intent to make my escape and incur my mother’s disappointment for the rest of my life. I make it to the kitchen when her voice hits me like lighting.
“Alexander, you stop right there.”
The temper I’ve been swallowing down whips out. “No. I don’t buy for one second this hold hands and cry brunch has anything to do with grief. I’m not grieving, for one. What this is is Kennedy coming to you and sobbing on your shoulder and you’re trying to fix us. Or shove her in my face. I don’t care. I’m done.”
My mother splays her hand on the counter and holds my stare. “The most infuriating thing about your father was that he had trouble showing affection. Verbalizing it.”
“What?” I ask truly confused.
“In all the years we were married, I think he told me he loved me four times. When we became engaged,” she ticks off her finger, “got married, when I had you, and when you graduated from college. Drove me crazy. We had fights about it. He would always reply with ‘who do you think I get up for in the morning?’”
I scrub a hand over my face. “Why are you telling me this?”
“You’re right. This brunch isn’t for me at all. It’s for you. I’m dealing with my grief. I see my friends often. I talk to your aunts and your grandma all the time. I go to social events. When I’m alone I cry because I’m reminded how much I miss your father. And you...all you do is work. That’s not dealing with anything. Even if all you have is anger, you’re not confronting it.”
My mother cries when she’s alone. Jesus. I want to swallow my next question, but I have to know. “Then why is Kennedy here?”
My mother waves her hand like I just asked the dumbest question. “Because you love her.”
“I’m not listening to this shit.”
She raises a brow. “Do you think I’m blind?”
“I think you’re wrong.”
“Then look me in the eyes when you say it. Look me in the eye and tell me I don’t know my son. You think I don’t know when you’re hurting? You can lie to anyone else at the table but me.”
I can’t catch my breath. “Your favorite memory is of me and Dad playing chess. You don’t—”
“Know that you pretended to lose? I figured that out after the first week. You hated losing anything. You still do.”
Maybe she does know me a little. “Then why is it your favorite memory?”
“Because after the second game your father knew you could beat him. He kept playing to spend time with you. You were both so stubborn and loved a challenge but every day you guys would play that pointless game that bored the both of you just to be around each other.” She brushes her fingers over my brow and I’m shaking.
I don’t know how to process what she said. She’s not denying my father was an asshole, that he was harsh and couldn’t show outright affection if you paid him.
I’ve spent all these years trying not to be him, and here the fuck I am. I can’t fix my lips to say it’s like a punch to the gut to see Kennedy, even though my mother can see straight through me. “I don’t—”
“Your father didn’t ever get the hang of showing affection in a healthy way. You know how. You refuse to. There’s a difference.” She nods at me like we now have an understanding. “You’re going to go back outside and let the woman you love glare at you or ignore you for at least two more hours. It’s what she needs if she’s ever going to forgive you.”
“I don’t love her.”
My mother sighs. “We need more orange juice. Bring that out when you stop lying to yourself.”
She leaves me with that. This is why my father incorporated my mother’s wishes into Alexander and Associates. She is smart, merciless and knows where to hit you where it hurts. He never had a chance to say no.
What I’ve wanted from the beginning was for Kennedy to see the real me and want that man. She didn’t and I made her pay. That makes me cruel and cruel men are sociopaths. I’m not one. I have trouble grappling with...feelings. There’s another difference.
I glance at the refrigerator then make my way over to it. Another pitcher of orange juice sits on the top shelf. I grab it and go back outside.
Kennedy’s chest rises as she sucks in air then she narrows her gaze on me like she could wipe me off the planet with a look.
I take it. I take the way she ignores me for an hour after that. I suck it up when she announces she has to go and gives air kisses to Robyn, shit even Keisha. Nate and Tarek get pats on the shoulder. My mother gets her laugh and smiles.
Me, she walks right past.
I tell myself it doesn’t gut me.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
“Dude, are you okay?”
I squint at Gabriel. His bangs are growing back, and he’s reverting to that kid I met...how long has it been? I don’t know. I just know it’s been three weeks since I last touched Kennedy.
“Come in. Sit down.”
The worry doesn’t fade from his gaze as he strolls to the chair across from my desk. I realize then my mistake. I shouldn’t be this far from him. I remedy that by moving to the chair next to his.
“Duke, really, what’s wrong? You don’t—you look like you’ve lost some weight.”
I’m pretty sure I have. My suits don’t fit right, but my health isn’t important at the moment. “I didn’t call for you to come into my office to ask about me.”
“Kennedy told me she’s going to keep her word and let me work at her place as long as I want. I mean...I already kind of guessed you guys broke up.”
I shift in the chair because I hadn’t thought about Kennedy doing that. “I never worried about her going back on her word.”
“Then why do you look like shit?”
“I’ve been working. I’m fine,” I snap at him.
If brows could appear dubious, Gabriel’s does. “Is this because that accountant came by to give her a check?”
I know I heard him wrong. I tilt my head in his direction. “What accountant?”
“Bob...” He shake his head. “Colin. He just looks like a Bob. Yeah. He told her something about the payroll being off or something. He was lying. I could see that as soon as I saw the way he looked at Kennedy. There was no reason he had to drop off her check.”
“And what did he do?”
“I don’t know. She took him into her office and closed the door.”
I breathe through my nose. Colin is a co-worker. I’d get fired if I go to accounting, pull him from behind his desk and beat him. And then I might serve some jail time. Unless I get Harrison to represent me. He’s just as good as I am.
I take another breath and remind myself who Kennedy fucks is none of my business anymore.
I shake my head to get my head back in the game. Talking about Kennedy is not why I called Gabriel to the office. “Don’t say anything else until I’m done.”
> “But—”
“Quiet.” I wait another moment to see if he’ll listen. His jaw flexes but he remains silent. “I have a friend on the force, and the official word won’t come out until the end of the day, but they are going to make an arrest.”
His face drains of color. I put up my hands to forestall the panic. “Not you. My contact let me know there is very strong evidence that Trevor killed Rebecca.”
The color comes flooding back in his cheeks. “What the hell do you mean Trevor?”
“As a matter of routine, they invited him down to answer some questions. He volunteered to give his DNA. They matched it to saliva found on her mouth.” I say the next with care, “And her genitals.”
“What do you mean?”
“Quiet.” I wait until he closes his mouth again. “That’s why they’re making the arrest now, but I was able to provide them with information about Trevor’s past.”
He rears back. “Why would you do that?”
“You’re my client. It’s my job to start building a case to seed reasonable doubt. Two people lived in your apartment. You and your roommate. If she came over to see you, then she likely had contact with him. Many times.”
“They both were my friends. If something—”
“Trevor’s not a good guy. No matter what face he showed you for the year and half you lived together, he wasn’t a good guy. He harassed former girlfriends before.”
“No.” He shakes his head as though I’m trying to feed him bullshit.
“I let the police know that, and they dug into her phone records a little more. He had been sending her threatening text messages.”
“It can't be Trevor. They weren't even dating.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Gabriel, they were. She wanted to tell you. He told her that you'd kick him out. They got into an argument. She went into your room to wait for you to get home and he killed her.”
“Did he say this? Do they have him saying that on tape? I want to hear it.”
This kid is breaking my fucking heart. I know how I'd react if someone told me Nate or Tarek murdered someone. I would demand a time machine to take me to the actual moment to see if for myself.
This part of my job I hate. I keep calm to be the port in his storm. “They found his clothes in a trash can a few blocks away from the apartment. When they bring him in they'll lay out all the evidence. Whether or not he confesses, I don't know.”
Gabriel pushes out of the chair. “You think he did it.”
I've been doing this for too long to think he's innocent, but that's not what Gabriel wants to hear. I can only tell him the truth. He nods his head at my silence because that's answer enough.
Seconds later he’s breathing short, fast, choppy then he bends over to put his hands on his knees. His fingers dig into his jeans as he tries to slow his breathing. I stand up to place a hand on his back. I know what's coming next.
“I'm sorry, Gabriel.”
Even though I’m braced, the sob that comes out of him pierces me deep. He drops to his knees. Any other client I'd leave him to grieve. There is nothing I can do or say to wipe away the truth. The woman he loved was murdered by someone he trusted. But I plop onto the floor and pull him into a hug. He grabs hold of my jacket and sobs harder.
A minute later the door opens with Gwen standing in the doorway. Her face is lined with worry. I shake my head to shoo her away. It's going to be bad enough when he pulls himself together and has to walk by her desk with a red face and swollen eyes. Movement catches the corner of my eye.
Kennedy.
Her freckles stand out her face is so pale, but she's holding my gaze. I shake my head at her. The last thing Gabriel needs is an audience. She mouths to me are you sure? I nod again.
Gwen closes the door and I stay down there with Gabriel.
I honestly don't know how long it takes for him to wring himself out. I only know I feel raw myself by the end of it. I grab hold to my fix things/do something hat.
I straighten myself. He wipes any tears and snot on his long-sleeved shirt. He doesn’t quite meet my eye.
That’s fine. “Two things.”
His brows go up. “Yeah.” His voice is a rasp.
“Give me your phone.”
A short laugh falls out. “I deleted everything you told me to.”
“If someone calls you I don't want you to be tempted to answer.”
His face creases with a frown and he looks so much older than twenty. Yet he gives me his phone. “What else?”
“Follow me.”
We leave my office. Gwen is gone for the day. I know this because I know her.
But Kennedy isn't. I don't see her, but I know she's here somewhere. I may have lied in court and needed her to back me up but she—Kennedy wouldn't leave until she could see for herself Gabriel would be okay.
I don't catch sight of her as I take Gabriel down to the library. It's on the first floor. If I had to pick a room to die in, this one would be it. There are wall-to-wall books, and because this is Lance and Chase they have a whole shelf reserved for history. No one but newbies go into the section to stare at the first edition copies of Black's Law, Matthew Hale's Pleas of the Crown, etc. etc. None of the titles have ever gone missing. Not without someone getting arrested before they walk out the doors.
That's one section. Bland tables fill up the room and in the corner, since this is the only place to find peace and quiet, is a chess board.
I know.
I don’t have the tools to deal with emotions. I’m not like Nate or Tarek or even my mother. A game is all I have to help this kid.
I gesture to the board. “Do you know how to play?”
Gabriel stops and looks at me like I've lost my damn mind. I think I have. “I missed the Bobby Fisher craze by a decade or two.”
“It's this, or I drive you home while giving you my form of comfort, which is to call you an idiot in various ways. It’s this, or I call Preston to keep you company. He’ll talk about court cases. And I'm pretty sure I can scare up Kennedy for you if all other options don't sound appealing. She’ll likely make you talk about your feelings while feeding you. Talking about your feelings being the part that matters.”
He makes a home in the seat. I crack a smile and follow suit. I give him a quick rundown as I set up the board. The thing I look for is his eyes losing that glassy sheen. By the time I tell him how every piece could move on the board, the sheen has disappeared.
It’s the first time in a week where I’m not working or sleeping. There is no way I could make comforting my client while playing chess for two hours billable. I'll take the L.
At the end of it, he glances at me from beneath the beginning of his douchebag bangs. “Thanks.”
“Why are you thanking me? You suck at this game. Maybe at some point you'll show potential, but at the moment I'd tell you to stick to your current hobbies.”
Gabriel laughs. “You are such a hardass.” His gaze tracks over my shoulder toward the door. I don’t have to turn to see who is lingering at the entrance of the library. My scalp has tightened and every sense has perked up.
He lowers his voice, “I can put in a good word.”
After everything, he still has a wide-eyed innocence.
I didn’t break what me and Kennedy had. I scorched the earth between us. There’s nothing now. “She's here to make sure you're okay. Let her.” I think about her mother. “She’s been through something similar. She can help.”
“And who is going to do that for you?”
I glance at the board. “Checkmate.” I manage a smile when he laughs. I give him back his phone but stare long enough for him to understand that under no circumstance is he supposed to answer Trevor’s call. He nods.
And I have nothing more to give him. “Go.”
It's stupid to watch Gabriel walk to her. I should put up the chess game. I should head out the side entrance and go back to my office. Work, as always, waits for me.
Of cour
se I don't.
I turn in the chair, searching for her. She's leaning against the entryway. Kennedy looks comfortable enough I can't say how long she's been watching us play. I know she's thinking I taught him chess when he was at his lowest—the same game my father taught me. He gave me ambition, loyalty, and the law. And chess. I’ve tried not to be, but I can’t help it if I am a product of my upbringing.
And because of that I’m sure she's wondering why would I even care about Gabriel.
When I take a gander at the world I can only see the worst of it. Until Rebecca was murdered, Gabriel didn't know that bitter taste. I wanted to preserve that for him, still. She's here to do the same as she drapes her arm over his shoulder.
I can say I love that about her.
No. I inhale and exhale and line up all the evidence that’s been staring me in the face for three weeks. I haven’t slept more than a few hours of the day. Every time I try my mind dredges up the last time we had sex. Remembering that is bad enough, but my mind likes to go into detail of everything I said to her. The way she didn’t cry but trembled. Food seems to turn into dust in my mouth. I can’t think about her without an ache strumming in my chest. Seeing her is worse. Might as well fucking twist a knife in my chest if I catch her scent.
Her mother was murdered but she still sees the good in people. Even dickbags like me. It’s the thing I respect the most about her. The thought of her being with someone makes me homicidal, but what right do I have to her happiness? I gave it up. I told her to fuck off and still when my mother invited her over, she showed her support to a woman who became her friend. Even though she hated the woman’s son.
Why wouldn’t I love her for all of that?
Who wouldn’t get to know her, taste her, and not ache when she’s gone?
Thirty feet separates us and she’s never been further from my touch.
That’s been making me half-crazy for weeks. Weeks. I’ve been weak and vulnerable without her. It’s pathetic. I’m pathetic.