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At least I don’t have to get those derelicts out of prison. They deserve to be there.
I deserve to be there.
Perhaps that’s what it’s come to. Perhaps—if I manage to get out of this alive—I’ll go to prison, despite my immunity.
Perhaps that’s the only way for redemption—if there is even a way at all.
Prison means a life away from Katelyn.
Of course, so does death.
Then there are the women I’ve wronged. Emily the worst of all. In a way, I owe Emily my life. It was on Wolfe Island that I found her, and it was on Wolfe Island that I was shot in the shoulder.
Shot in the shoulder and finally caught.
Which led to where I am now.
Emily led me to Katelyn.
I can’t go near Emily. She has a restraining order against me, and I don’t blame her. Damn… How did I think I was in love with Emily? She’s a beautiful woman, a wonderful artist, but what I felt for her… It seemed so real at the time, but now that I know true love, I know my feelings for Emily were anything but.
Her brother Buck shot me. He’s the ex-Navy SEAL who also works for the Wolfes.
My life seems totally intertwined with the Wolfes now.
And if Katelyn and I ever do get a real shot at something, it will still be intertwined with the Wolfes.
What will happen when Katelyn finds out who I truly am?
Always and forever. She said she’d love me always and forever.
Will she? How could she? How will she ever be able to love me always and forever when she finds out who I truly am and what I’ve truly done?
I can’t think about her now. If I do, I’ll think about leaving. I’ll think about running back to Manhattan just to be with her.
I can’t do that. Not until I fix what I can.
Which may mean…ending my life.
Be honest with yourself. There’s no maybe about it. Your life will end.
I jump when the intercom buzzes.
“Yes?” I say.
“Lucy.” My mother’s voice.
She’s the only one who gets away with that horrendous nickname. Everyone else calls me Trey. Except for the new people in my life who call me Luke.
“Hilly’s going to bring you some breakfast.”
“Thanks, Mom.”
I’m not hungry.
I’ll probably never be hungry again. But one thing I do know—I need my strength, so I need fuel. Which means I need to eat.
I wait five minutes and then open the door. My breakfast is on a tray sitting on the table next to the door. I pick it up and take it back into my room.
Also known as the bomb shelter.
My mother was happy to see me.
I’m her oldest. Her first baby. She always believed in me, always supported me. Even when she shouldn’t have.
“I always knew you’d come back to us, Lucy,” she said when I returned.
I let her embrace me, and I let her think everything would be okay.
She should know better.
An eight-ounce glass of fresh-squeezed orange juice sits on the tray. I down it in one gulp. This, I have missed.
Florida can have its orange juice. I’m California all the way. Sure, we’re known for navel oranges more than juice oranges, but I swear there’s nothing like fresh-squeezed California orange juice.
When I was a kid, there was this place called The Orange Ball—a little stand that served fresh-squeezed orange juice on the outskirts of the city. The tiny place seriously looked like a giant orange. I loved that place. It went out of business years ago, driven to bankruptcy by the corporate orange juice market.
I eat the bacon, the oatmeal, the two poached eggs. I slather butter and jam on my San Francisco sourdough toast and eat that too.
It all tastes the same. But at least my belly is full.
Now, to figure out what’s going on.
My old man is putting out his feelers. Still, should I even trust him?
Hell, no.
Speak of the devil.
His voice comes through the intercom.
“Trey,” he says. “It’s time.”
It’s time.
That means it’s time for us to begin our plan.
Am I ready? Yes, I am. I’m ready to do what I must do to be worthy of Katelyn.
I’m ready to do what I must do to be able to live with myself.
22
KATELYN
The Glass House looks exactly the same. The lunch menu is slightly scaled-down but virtually no different.
Morgan and Lance each order a cocktail.
“Katelyn?” Morgan nods to me.
“I’ll just have water, please.”
Drinking at a work lunch strikes me as not the best thing, but that’s not why I refuse. I mean, if Morgan and Lance can both have a drink so can I. No one will think anything of it. The real reason I don’t have a drink is because I’m thinking of Luke. Luke, who no longer drinks. Luke who is so much stronger than I can ever be.
“I’ll be back with your drinks in a moment,” the server says, and then he looks at me. “Have we met?”
