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Not that I have the brain capacity to care.
In my gloved hands is an arrest record, printed out from some website but looking official nonetheless. The name at the top of the page hits my nerves, making my fingers quake and the paper quiver along with them.
Immediately, denials surge to the forefront of my brain. Then I flip to the second page, and staring up at me, face younger and more surly than I’ve ever seen, is Cole.
Apparently, I’m holding the arrest records for Cole Allemand.
Chapter Forty-Five
COLE
When I walk into my house, Summer is sitting on the couch we never use, her duffle bag on the floor beside her. My confusion turns to unease when she keeps her head bowed over a handful of papers rather than jumping up to give me the enthusiastic greeting I’ve become accustomed to.
Something is wrong.
“Summer?”
Even at the sound of my voice, she doesn’t look at me.
“I went to my place today,” she says, her voice lifeless.
I move to crouch in front of her, my hands hovering, hesitant to land. “Was someone there? Are you hurt?”
She shakes her head, but when I settle my palms on her shoulders she tenses as if in pain.
“This was left for me.” Summer pushes the papers she’s holding into my chest, and I have to let her go to catch them.
It doesn’t take me long to realize what the documents are.
Dread leaches all the warmth from my body.
“You believed them?” The question comes out on some strange hope. As if another reality exists where I didn’t spend years in prison, so there’s nothing to confess to her, and we can continue happy like we were this morning.
“Excuse me.” Now I get her eyes, full of self-righteous fire. “Of course I did more research. You don’t think the first thing I did was find the nearest computer and look you up, hoping that this was some kind of elaborate joke?” My librarian stands, pacing away from me. “I found everything, Cole! The arrest record, the newspaper articles, the pictures of you in court! Are you trying to deny this?”
“No.” I can’t keep the growl from the word, wanting to strangle the person who has not only been making Summer’s home feel unsafe but is now airing my dirty laundry in the worst possible way. “But I bet this is exactly what your stalker wants. You getting mad. Us fighting.”
From the bewildered expression on her face, I can tell I said the wrong thing.
“This is not about them!” she shouts. “This is about you!”
“It’s my past. It doesn’t matter.”Fucking hell.I wanted time to prepare what I’d say. Ways to keep her calm. To get her to move on from this as if it were nothing more than a speed bump.
Or, better yet, I just wanted her to never find out.
“My god.” Her hands tangle in her hair. “I feel like I don’t even know you. We’re basically living together. I can’t believe you never said anything.”
“When could I have told you?” The question makes its way through clenched teeth. “When could I have told you about this shit and not have you walk out?”
“You’ve had months! Choose a day! Any one of them would have been better than finding out like this! Fromthem.” A shiver that conveys her disgust visibly travels over her body.
Without thought, I reach for her.
But she flinches away.
And everything in the world shatters around me.
“Were you going to tell me? Ever?” Summer whispers.
