Page 9 of You for Her (The Edge of Retaliation 2)
“Hi,” I say, raising a hand in a lame wave.
He pushes up from the floor and stands, panting, huge chest rising and falling. It takes every ounce of willpower I have in my body to not look, to keep my eyes focused on his and nothing more.
“Callie,” he murmurs, “didn’t realize the time, sorry.”
He’s talking to me all professional, and correct, which tells me whatever news he’s about to deliver to me isn’t good. It’s better that way anyway. I want him to tell me he can’t be with me, I want him to leave, then I don’t have to worry about the pain that comes along with seeing him, with standing here in front of him feeling like my heart is going to explode.
It would be for the best.
“That’s okay,” I say. “I don’t have long so …”
That’s a lie, I could be here all night if I wanted.
I just don’t.
“Sit.”
He points to the sofa in his room and I walk over, tossing a few of his shirts off and sitting, watching as he uses a towel to dry himself off and then he sits across from me. For a moment, we just stare at each other. I have no doubt he’s trying to figure out how to say whatever it is he has to say, and I’m thinking that I’m staring at a man who has known all along who I am.
I’m staring at a monster.
A cold monster.
My heart hardens, just a little, and I’m grateful for it.
It’s so much easier that way.
“I know I haven’t called you, or text. I apologize for that. What you told me, it threw me, in more ways than you can possibly realize. I don’t know what to make of the information you shared with me.”
I can’t believe he’s sitting in front of me actually acting like what I told him shocked him.
He knows.
He knows better than anyone.
What I said was not a shock.
“I told you the truth,” I say, my voice monotone and flat. “I told you my truth. I don’t care if you believe it or not, I simply needed to be honest with you.”
He studies me. “Yeah.”
He doesn’t believe me.
There is still that flicker of doubt in his eyes, like he thinks I’m the crazy one, like he believes I’m the one still trying to make my story real. He doesn’t believe me. I know he doesn’t believe me. I’ve known that from the moment I found out what him and his little twisted family have been doing. They think I’m still sticking with the story I maintained right from the start, and I’d bet they’re hoping to change my mind and have me confess to what they think really happened.
It’ll never happen.
Because their story isn’t the truth.
“I didn’t come here to plead my case,” I say, standing. “If you’re not interested in speaking with me further, that’s fine. I don’t have to give you an explanation.”
He stands, too. He studies me, those eyes penetrating deep. For a moment, I’m sure I see a flicker of doubt in his eyes. Did my story get to him? Did he stop and think, even for a second, that maybe I am right? That maybe Celia did have reason to end her life? That maybe he and his family have had it wrong all this time?
“I’m confused, as you can imagine,” he murmurs. “We all saw the news. We all know what happened to that girl. You went to prison, Callie. You were convicted for her crime. You can understand why I find it hard to believe your version of events.”
He’s speaking to me in a manner that a lawyer would speak to their client. All emotion blocked off. He’s saying only what he has to say and nothing more. It makes me feel … pathetic. Like I’m facing it all over again, like I’m having to explain myself, even when nobody believes me.
“I don’t care what you believe, I don’t care what the rest of the world believes. I was there that night. I drove that car. I relive that moment every single day before I close my eyes. I remember the way it felt, the sounds, hell, even the smells. I know I was in the wrong, because I wasn’t watching the road, but she was not crossing. She was not already in front of my car when I looked up. She stepped out.”
I take my purse and turn, walking toward the door.
“What do you suppose her family thinks of your story?”
His voice is rough, rugged, and it shocks me.
I turn and face him, my eyes welling with tears. “I think they believe what they want to believe, because they’re too damned afraid to dig further. If they did, maybe they’d find the real story instead of the story they find easier to believe.”
