Atonement: An Interracial Romance (Possession Duet Book 2)

by T. K. Leigh

  “For crying out loud! You actually believe that? That I would lie to you? Make up some story just to cover up an affair?”

  “You did lie to me, Lo. Almost got away with it, too, if it weren’t for Mrs. Leonard seeing you leave the abortion clinic.”

  I tilt my head back, summoning the strength to get through this. “You’re ridiculous, Sawyer. No better than the asshole who actually raped me.”

  I notice my father flinch, then squeeze his eyes shut as he scrubs a hand over his face. It’s only been a few years, but he looks as if he’s aged fifteen, his normally dark hair now showing signs of gray. Sure, he’s in his fifties and it’s expected he’d have gray hair by now. But the lines around his eyes and heavy bags beneath them make it appear he hasn’t slept a wink since I left. I want to feel bad for him, go to him and make sure he’s okay. But he chose his side. And it wasn’t mine.

  I point between them. “You’re both manipulative pricks who will do or say anything to get what you want. To get people to do what you want. I may have fallen for it when I first agreed to the ridiculous idea of marrying you instead of someone who loved me. I won’t do it again. So let’s get this over with. I’m not exactly in the mood for a trip down memory lane right now.”

  I keep my gaze trained on them, my chest heaving, doing my best to show them I’m not that same girl. Sawyer returns my glare, probably expecting it to have the same effect it once did and I’ll back down. Not anymore. That girl died years ago.

  “If you must know,” Sawyer begins after a beat, “I just came from a meeting with the District Attorney. He told me the ADA has made an offer.” He cocks a brow, awaiting a response, to which I nod. “Well, I’m here with an even better one.”

  “How? My attorney said it’s the best one they could make, all things considered.”

  “And that’s true. But as you may be aware, the DA has his sights set on the governorship next year.”

  “So I’ve been told.” I rub my arms, a chill tricking down my spine.

  He crosses a leg, resting his calf on his opposite thigh, spreading his arms wide as he leans against my couch, an air of superiority about him. “There’s quite a large black population in Georgia, isn’t there?”

  I don’t respond, not liking where this is going.

  “District Attorney Ambrose is more than aware that his chances of winning the election are slim if he doesn’t have the black vote.”

  “And you’ll help with that.” My words come out as a cross between a question and a statement.

  “I will. In exchange for him dropping all charges against you, which will help him garner the black vote even more. It’ll be like it never happened. We’ll go back to the way things were. You’ll come home to Virginia and fulfill your promise to me.”

  “My promise to you?” I repeat, unsure I’d heard him correctly.

  This must be some sort of dream. Or nightmare. I must have fallen asleep on the couch. There’s no way my father and Sawyer would appear on my doorstep after nearly six years of no communication, apart from the monthly letters my father sent that I never opened. There’s no way Sawyer would want things to go back to the way they were. That’s absurd.

  “Precisely. You’ll act the part of my wife, like you promised.”

  “Why? Why is this so important to you? Last I checked, you seemed to love milking the idea of having an estranged wife who lost her way. You still constantly bring me up in your sermons to get people to supposedly pray for you every goddamn week.”

  “Lo,” my father interjects in his deep baritone that once read me Bible stories as I fell asleep. “Don’t take the Lord’s name in vain.”

  Of course he wouldn’t speak up to defend me. It would be to scold me, even though I’m nearly thirty years old.

  “I’m sorry.” I glower at him for a beat, then return my eyes to Sawyer. “To get people to pray for you every fucking week.” I shift my gaze to my father, smirking. “Is that better for your pious ears?”

  I expect him to appear annoyed or offended. Instead, a soft chuckle vibrates through him, which he tries to mask with a cough. It strikes me as odd. Couple that with his look of remorse when they first arrived, and it has me second-guessing things. But that still doesn’t mean I can forgive him for his failure to stand up for me all those years ago. The scars he caused are just as prominent as the ones Nick left.

  “It doesn’t look good when I tell people I’m estranged from my wife.” Sawyer’s voice forces my attention back to him. “Sure, divorce doesn’t carry the stigma it once did, but there are still some people who…take issue with the fact that I haven’t fixed our marriage. If we’re being honest, I’m lucky my church kept me on after what you did.”

  “Oh, you mean refuse to carry the baby of my rapist?” I retort with a trite smile.

  He avoids my eyes, knowing it’s the truth.

  “That’s right. You left that part out when you informed the board, didn’t you?”

  If I hadn’t gotten curious in the months following my move to Atlanta, I probably wouldn’t have learned that. But feeling homesick one day, I’d tuned into his Sunday sermon he streamed online, just like I did every Sunday while I was away at college. And that’s how I learned he never admitted the full story to his church or the board. He let them believe the baby I aborted didn’t belong to my rapist, but to Sawyer, a fact that was scientifically impossible. That didn’t matter to him. He twisted the truth to fit his needs, as always.

  “That’s irrelevant now. What’s done is done.”

  “You’re such a goddamn hypocrite,” I mutter under my breath, then straighten, hearing my father’s warning in my head. “Sorry.” I glance at him before shifting my eyes back to Sawyer. “Such a fucking hypocrite.”

  Unfazed, he stands, towering over me. “You can think that all you want, but the truth remains.” When he advances toward me, I back up on instinct, needing to keep my personal space. “I have the power to help you. I do this for you, you agree to return to Virginia and be my wife again.”

  “And what do you get out of it?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Exactly what I said. You don’t help anybody unless there’s something in it for you. So what’s in it for you? Money? A staff position if the DA wins? What?”

  He pauses, lips pinched into a tight line. “The past few years, I’ve been teaching at Living Gospel, where I studied myself.”

  I nod. “I’ve heard.”

  “Then you may have also heard that the president is stepping down. My name’s been tossed around in consideration.”

  I stare, unblinking, feeling like I’ve traveled back in time to the day my father called me into his office. Sawyer had a similar story back then, too.

  “Unfortunately, the board has brought up my supposed marital…issues as a problem.”

  “Let me guess. The two of you got together and figured all you had to do was convince me to come back and play the dutiful wife so you could get the job, right? Without a single regard for what I want?”

  “I’m not asking a lot of you, Lo. Just to fulfill the vows you made to me.”

  I bark out a laugh. “My vows? What about your vows to me?” I step toward him, eyes wild. “To love me in sickness and in health? To honor me? You threw those out the window at the first opportunity to garner sympathy from your church. And you’re doing the same thing now. That’s the only reason you’re here. Because you saw the protests on TV. Saw the thousands of women assembling to support me. You must hate that you had nothing to do with it. That there are women now marching across the country for me! Because they believe me. Because they are me. They’ve been where I am and feel strongly enough in a cause to make their voice heard. Something you wouldn’t have the first clue about. You may put on a good show when the cameras are on, offer a sympathetic ear to another mom whose son was another unfortunate victim of driving while black, or walking while black, or pretty much breathing while black. That doesn’t change the fact that the on
ly cause Sawyer Ross actually believes in is Sawyer Ross.”

  He stares at me, mouth agape, taken aback by my outburst. As is my father. These are words I never would have spoken if I hadn’t somehow found the courage to walk away from my sheltered existence. If I hadn’t decided enough was enough and taken back control of my life. If I hadn’t walked into that first self-defense class and met Diego and Hazel. They’re my family now. Not these two imposters.

  “Regardless of any supposed support you may think you have,” Sawyer continues, his words laced with superiority, “according to the DA, you’re on the hook for up to twenty years in prison. It’s a blow to your defense that they didn’t find your claims of sexual assault reliable, refusing to file charges against the man you shot. So your chances of actually prevailing if you take this to trial?” He arches a single brow. “They’re not good.” He gestures toward my TV as a national news network covers a protest in Seattle. “All these protests, all these marches… They’re not going to help you. It’s just noise. Trust me. In a few weeks, your name will no longer be in the headlines and they’ll find something else to protest. Like the DA said. The evidence against you for aggravated assault is compelling. While the evidence against Mr. Jaskulski for sexual assault is weak, at best. But I can help you. If you help me.”

  With determined strides, he makes his way toward the kitchen table and opens his briefcase. After withdrawing a few papers, he returns, handing them to me.

  “What’s this?” I ask, my eyes scanning the documents.

  “An…agreement of sorts. It’s not legally enforceable, per se, but I thought it best to detail what I expect from you. I’ve come up with a list of things I’ll need from you in order for the board at the college to believe our reconciliation is authentic. Some rules, I suppose.”

  “How do you expect this to work? You left out quite a few details when you informed the board at your church of our separation. My case has made national news. I’m sure someone will have doubts.”

  “It’s all in the agreement, but I’ll need you to make a confession to the church corroborating Mr. Jaskulski’s version of events.”

  I toss the papers back onto the table. “You said yourself this isn’t enforceable.”

  “True. It’s not. But I still expect you to adhere to these…requests. Tit for tat, Londyn.”

  “And if I don’t follow these so-called ‘requests’?” I ask, using air quotes.

  “Simple. I’ll cease all cooperation with District Attorney Ambrose’s campaign. Do you know what he’ll then be free to do at that point?”

  “What’s that?” I ask in a shaky voice, although I already know the answer.

  “He’ll be free to refile charges against you, especially if new evidence comes to light. Like my corroborative testimony regarding your affair with the man you almost killed.”

  “So you’re offering me to exchange one prison sentence for another. At least with the plea deal the ADA offered, I’d only have to serve six months. Your deal doesn’t sound too attractive next to that.”

  “I’d be hard-pressed to call living with me a prison sentence. You’ll be free to do whatever you please, including your little interior decorating and furniture hobby.”

  “It’s design,” I correct.

  “Excuse me?”

  “I’m an interior designer. Not decorator. There’s a big difference.”

  “If you say so.” He waves me off, as if my life’s passion is inconsequential compared to his. “Regardless, I believe my offer is much more attractive than the one your attorney relayed to you. Or did she not tell you all about the possible ramifications of a felony conviction on your record?”

  My expression falters. “She did,” I admit in a small voice.

  “Then you know it’s not only your freedom at stake, but also your livelihood. I’m not sure many people will want to hire an interior designer with a felony conviction on her record, especially one for a violent crime like aggravated assault. And with a gun, no less. If it were me, I wouldn’t hire you. But if you accept my offer, it will all…” He snaps his fingers, “disappear.”

  As much as I hate to admit it, Sawyer has a point. Since my arrest and the subsequent media attention, I haven’t received a single sale from my up-cycling business or an inquiry for my interior design services. I’d like to blame it on the post-Christmas lull, but that’s probably only partly to blame.

  I chew on my bottom lip, considering the pros and cons of each option.

  Option one: Fight this all the way to trial. Pro: Being found innocent and going on with my life. Cons: A drawn-out trial that could result in conviction and being sentenced to a lengthy prison term. Not to mention all the financial ramifications.

  Option two: Take the plea bargain. Pro: Only serve six months in prison. Cons: Serving six months in prison, as well as having a criminal conviction for a violent felony follow me around the rest of my life, which could make it difficult to gain new clients or get a job if I end up having to close my design business.

  Option three: Accept Sawyer’s offer. Pros: Have the charges against me dropped. Be able to keep pursuing my passion. Cons: Confess to an affair I didn’t have in front of Sawyer’s entire church. Leave behind the life I’ve built for myself.

  Leave behind Wes.

  “Can I have a day to think about it?” I ask, bringing my gaze back to Sawyer.

  I shouldn’t even be contemplating his offer. But it provides me a way to avoid serving any actual time. To keep my business up and running. To continue pursuing my passion.

  “There’s a lot to consider.”

  “I can do that.” He closes his briefcase, leaving the papers on the table for me to peruse. Then he shrugs his jacket back on. “I’ll pick you up tomorrow at eleven.”

  “Pick me up? For what?”

  “Church. Your father’s delivering a guest sermon at Elevate Life Church. The service starts at noon.”

  “I don’t think that’s such a great idea.”

  Church was once a part of my weekly, if not daily, life. But that was before. Since walking away from Sawyer and my father, I haven’t stepped foot in one. Haven’t felt like worshiping a God who allowed two men to turn their backs on me.

  “Please, Lo,” my dad implores, standing and timidly approaching me. “It was the church your mother went to when she was younger. It would mean a lot to her if you were in attendance.”

  My confusion only increases with this piece of information. “She grew up in Atlanta?”

  He nods. “She did.”

  I stare into the distance. How did I not know that? Then again, I was so young when she passed away. After that, I saw how much it pained my father to talk about her, to be reminded of everything he lost. Instead, I let her live on in my own truncated memories, never pushing to learn more about the woman who’s become more like a ghost over the years.

  “Okay.” I draw in a shaky breath, my palms growing clammy over the idea of going to church. “I’ll be there.”

  My dad offers me a sad smile as he reaches out and grasps my hand, the contact taking me by surprise. “Thank you. It means a lot. More than I think you realize.”

  He holds my gaze for a beat, then Sawyer clears his throat, breaking the moment. My dad tears his hand from mine, an unspoken apology in his gaze as he heads toward the foyer.

  “And be sure to dress presentable,” Sawyer admonishes as he opens the door.

  I’m about to argue that I’ll dress how I want. But when I see Wes just outside, hand raised as he’s about to knock, any protest is ripped from my throat, panic filling me.

  “Can I help you?” Sawyer asks, stance wide, arms crossed, as if this is his domain.

  Wes looks from him to me, then back again, confusion wrinkling the lines of his brow. “Who are you?” he demands, his refined Southern drawl exhibiting an edginess I typically don’t hear.

  “I’m her—”

  “Wes,” I interject, jumping to diffuse the situation. Placing my h
and on his elbow, I gesture toward my father standing right behind Sawyer. “This is my father, Marlon Bennett.” I draw in a deep breath before shifting toward Sawyer and gritting a smile. “And this is Sawyer Ross. Sawyer, Dad, this is Weston Bradford.” I pause. “My boyfriend.”

  No one says anything for several protracted moments, my heart hammering in my chest so loudly, I’m pretty sure everyone can hear. I glance between Sawyer and Wes as they glare at each other.

  “Well, that puts us all in a bit of a conundrum then.” Sawyer looks from Wes to me.

  “Why’s that?” Wes loops his arm around my waist, holding me protectively. I once loved when he held me like this, staking his claim. Now it makes me feel guilty for all the secrets I’ve kept.

  Including the biggest one I fear he’s about to uncover.

  Sawyer’s expression falls, causing an icy chill to rush down my spine. Nothing good ever follows this look. It’s cold. Conniving. Calculating.

  “Because I’m her husband.”

  “You mean ex-husband,” Wes emphasizes, albeit warily. “She told me all about you.”

  “Apparently not all about me. Because it seems she left out one rather important detail.”

  “And what’s that?” Wes peers into my eyes, silently pleading for an explanation.

  I wish I had one.

  Sawyer smiles smugly. “She never filed for divorce.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Weston

  Heat washes over my face as I waver on my legs, feeling like the rug was just ripped out from under me. I tell myself to think rationally. That there must be a reason for this. But what?

  Why wouldn’t Londyn mention she was still married? Why didn’t she file for divorce and end it?

  “I understand what a shock this must be,” Sawyer continues with a look of superiority I’d love to punch off his face.

  “She referred to you as her ex. And based on the way you tossed her out, I don’t blame her.”

  “I didn’t toss her out. I gave her a choice.”