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“Funny thing, he never caught sight of me, and the best part? He was with my parole officer… I got a half-hour conversation recorded on my phone and another video link on my belt,” he says, a matter of fact.
Just a hint of pride in his voice as he humphs to himself, slicing some fresh bread and pushing my coffee towards me, which I greedily take.
“It’s a bit of a long shot, but I have a friend who might be able to get it all before the judge, along with my attorney,” he adds.
I sip the coffee, smell the bacon and watch his huge back through his robe as he dunks four thick slices of rye into the toaster.
“So you have proof… You’ll get off,” I echo, seeing his plans in my thoughts clearly now.
“Oh, I plan to get off,” he quips, grinning as he flips more bacon, reaching for a carton of fresh eggs, his dark eyes scanning me from head to toe as he cracks them effortlessly.
“Just have to drop something off today and then I thought I’d take you for a drive.
Chapter Twenty-One
Dillon
“You’re fucking kidding me?” Chad asks, making like I’m the one fooling him when I explain the facts as I have them.
On a phone… Two phones if I include the video evidence.
Experience has proved to me that audio is so easily doctored, and never good enough evidence. But with visual and audio proof of my ex-business partner confessing to setting me up, fraud, and lying under oath to the IRS?
Plus the Parole officer himself chortling along with him as they gamble my money between themselves in an illegal casino?
Fuck.
Even a blind man could see that there’s more than enough evidence for the case against me to be dropped.
Chad listens and says he can pull a few strings at the District Attorney’s department, maybe.
“But not all of the strings,” he stresses to me. “I’m just a fiddler, not the freakin’ conductor…
“If this goes too deep? You’re on your own pal, but I think the judge on your case is on the level… Shit. This thing could blow a fucking huge hole in the whole department. The whole fucking city…”
I smile at the thought, hoping it will, but I really only want my life back.
My business and my livelihood.
For Becky more than anything else.
For our future family.
“As long as I can just get a second chance. A proper second hearing, get the IRS to re-look at the facts,” I affirm, nodding as Chad grunts his own agreement.
“It won’t be an overnight thing, but if what you say you have is true…?”
He whistles through his teeth again to himself, promising to put everything I have in the right hands if I can just get it to him as soon as possible and without anyone else knowing.
My other pretty little problem instantly springs to mind as I hang up, happier for both suddenly.
My girl in the shower, only yards from me, wanting for food with a funny step in her walk.
I feel myself stiffening again at just the thought of her though.
Knowing she’s actually here, in our house now. It makes everything else seem stupid somehow.
But this is something I need to do, for us both as well as my own honor.
Sharing her with the outside world is painful enough. Having her out with other eyes on her.
Explaining myself and her to people, even trusted friends like Chad? That can wait for a different time and date.
Maybe a date when certain bells chime in a big tall building, and there’s the glint of gold rings between my woman and me.
I smile at the thought, then feel the familiar weight in my chest.
Not the thought of our life together, but kicking myself again for not telling her the one thing she needs to know.
Not just that she’s set for life, and I want her to carry our children, no.
The one thing I’ve never heard myself say to anyone.
How I actually fucking feel.
I wanted to join her in the shower this time, but vow to make sure I do just that the next time she showers.
I want to see her do everything from now on, not just smile and watch her eyes roll back as she creams on my fat dick.
I want to be a part of her life in every aspect.
Fixing us both breakfast is a good start, and she inquires about my little problem once she comes into the kitchen, but I only want Becky to think of the good things.
Simpler things, like a hot breakfast and a drive out to the country if she’s up for it.
She readily agrees, accepting I have the matter in hand. Even more so with her by my side.
Then tell her.
Fucking tell her…
I open my mouth, but I just can’t. Not yet.
A bit like the kissing thing. I know once I tell her how much I love her, how I really feel.
