He stares through me.
“I’m pretty sure I can’t be charged with anything, but hell.” I clear my throat roughly. “On the off chance I’m wrong, here I am. You can take me into custody right now.”
I hold my hands out in front of me, just waiting for the handcuffs.
He only glances at them for a second before leaning back in his chair with a gruff sigh.
“Damn, son. You know I’ve got no reason to hold you. Not for a fatal accident you didn’t cause. Frankly, you leaving Miss Rollins all torn up wasn’t the only factor. We determined her car’s tires were almost bald, and she was speeding that night. Nasty wreck almost guaranteed to happen in weather like that. Sure, her emotional state didn’t help, but you’re here for a guilty conscience. Not a confession.”
Fucking hell, he’s right.
I sigh.
“Didn’t you ever read the report?” He blinks at me.
I shake my head. “No. Gramps’ bodyguard did, I guess, but they never followed up. Don’t see what it changes, either way.”
“Yeah, not much. That’s the damning thing.” He snorts softly. “While I wish you would’ve come clean years ago for her folks, there’s nothing left to do but add a note to the file and send you on your way. Appreciate you coming in.”
Too easy.
If I thought spilling my guts here would fill the decade-long chasm in my soul, I was wrong.
Yes, I feel empty, but a little lighter as I nod.
“This is a formality,” I say softly. “The people who really need to hear it, they should be next.”
He looks up sharply from scribbling something on his notepad.
“Ethan… you can’t mean bothering the Rollins?” He stares at me for ten heavy seconds before he huffs, his mustache flapping. “Aw, hell. You always were bullheaded and it’s not like I can hold you back. Just tread lightly, okay? They’ve still got the same old place over on Chamberlain.”
“Always, Chief. Thanks.”
I don’t hesitate another second.
I just shake his hand firmly and scuttle.
Hell has more layers than a wedding cake, and if I ever want to enjoy Hattie shoving our cake in my face, I have one more stop to make.
I’m fucking wingingit now.
Hattie barely says a word on the drive over.
My quiet thumbs-up and few words of reassurance are all she needs, plus my hand locked in hers, silent and grateful she’s here.
If it were just me, it might’ve taken years to grow balls big enough to do this today.
But for her, for us, I have every reason to purge the black deadweight in my soul.
And that’s what I’m doing as my knees turn to lead and I march up to the door of the small old New England style house.
Taylor’s father, Joe, answers, a big man who doesn’t recognize me at first.
But Tay’s mother is there too, and she looks so thrilled when she sees me, urging me to come in.
No theatrics.
This isn’t the time.
