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“What do you want me to say, Dee?”
“Whatever you’re feeling. Just don’t shut me out.”
“I should have listened to you and Stiles about O’Malley. I should never have gone there.”
“Knowing now what Malcolm did doesn’t make you responsible for his actions.”
“Right.” He stares away as a turbulent silence descends, taut with echoes of a painful past.
“It doesn’t, Mick.” I cup his hardened face and look into his eyes. “How could you possibly bear any of the blame?”
“Because I know Malcolm.” He pulls my hands away. “Goddammit, Dee. I knew he hadn’t bought O’Malley’s silence without strong-arming him in some way. But the truth is I didn’t care because it served my purpose.”
“You think if you’d known, you could have stopped Malcolm?”
“I wouldn’t have wanted to stop him.”
“I don’t believe that.”
“They say love is blind. Guess it is.”
He wants to pick a fight but I won’t give him one. “I’m not blind, Mick. I just know you. At the time, you didn’t want O’Malley pursuing a story any more than your father did. And yet, you never threatened him or sent anyone to kick him around. Instead you hired bodyguards to keep me safe. Because hurting people is who Malcolm is, and protecting them is who you are.”
“Don’t go pinning a medal on me, Dee. I’m not going to lose sleep over O’Malley. He tried to use the situation to get money out of me today. He was dogged in his pursuit of a story and he wouldn’t have cared who he hurt, including you. O’Malley is a prick.”
“He is, but how you’re feeling isn’t about O’Malley’s character, it’s about what you think this situation says about yours. When he said you are no better than Malcolm, that cut deep. It opened up old wounds.”
“Just let it go, Dee.”
“I can’t do that.” I put a gentle palm to the center of his chest. “Hearing what your father did has made you doubt yourself. But I’m here to tell you, Mick—the love of my life—that you are a good man, through and through.”
“Dee.” His voice is gruff with emotion.
“It’s okay for you to feel bad, angry, conflicted, and any number of things you might feel. But it’s not okay to blame yourself. I won’t let you.”
“No,” he breathes out a humorless laugh. “You never do.”
“Remember what you told Dwayde about his father’s bad deeds not being his responsibility? You said that because you know it’s true. So, remind yourself about that now. Don’t take on Malcolm’s sins.”
He slides his hand beneath my curls, his look filled with gratitude and a love so deep, I can feel it seep into my chest and glow warmly around my heart. “Thank you, beauty.”
“You don’t have to thank me.”
“Yeah, I do.”
His smartphone buzzes, interrupting the moment. Mick presses a soft kiss to my forehead and returns to the living room where it’s vibrating on the coffee table. He answers, listens, then looks over at me with a spark of renewed vigor.
“We have the video.”
On Thursday, the press convenesat the downtown convention center. It’s a clear spring day. Natural light pours through the solarium windows of the Garden Room that faces Michigan Avenue and Grant Park. I’d chosen a mid-calf wraparound dress in blush taupe with nude high heels.
Early comers have filled the rows of seats, while the rest of the room—rustling with activity—is standing only. There’s a table set up at the front with a microphone.
Mick and I wait off to the side, concealed by a curtain. He slips his palm in mine and squeezes. There was a time when he wouldn’t have wanted me here. He would have wanted to shield me. Now, he holds me firmly by his side.
I gaze over at him. He’s dashingly handsome in an olive gray suit. The growth of his wavy hair curves against the back collar, his strong jawline is relaxed and lightly bearded.
He catches my stare and winks. “We’ve got this, beauty.”
