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“I went to see an old friend.” It’s the truth.
“Who?”
“Wally,” I reply in a steady tone.
“Wallace Hunter.” Her head tilts. “He was a friend? Didn’t he jump you the same day Trace did? The day my uncle died?”
“Yeah.” I rush my hand through my hair. Here we go. I have to tell her everything. “But Wally, Finch, and Jens were my only friends back then. Wally was weak. He’d do whatever the strongest told him to. I never blamed him. Like the rest of us, he was trying to survive.”
“So why did you go see Wally?”
I take a chug of my beer, preparing to get this shit over with. If she wants the truth, it’s time to let her see my ugly. “Wally had lung cancer. I heard he was close to the end, so I went to say goodbye. When I saw him, he started with some confessions, telling me everything he did wrong. All his sins. Figured he was going to hell, so it couldn’t hurt to try to make amends.”
“What did he tell you?”
“He told me about Trace and what he did to Reacher, and then he told me that Trace snitched on Jens—”
“Jenson Collins?”
“Yeah.” I blow out. Fuck. She’s done her research. “Wally told me that Trace tipped off the cops. That’s what put Jens in jail. So later that day, I paid Jens a visit in the clink.”
“You told him about Trace?”
“Like I said, I didn’t pull the trigger.”
“But you set it all in motion.” She inches closer to me—expression flat and impossible to interpret. “You must’ve known Jenson would retaliate.” She stops at an arm’s reach away. “He still had connections in the outside world. You knew you were signing Trace’s death warrant.”
I shrug. “I slept good that night.” Again, the truth. “Trace got what he had coming to him. He was pure evil.” I clutch my beer. “When we were kids, he’d smile while brutally kicking the shit out of some kid half his size. Hell, he punctured my lung all for a win. The asshole would kick the bums trying to sleep in their makeshift homes when we ran drugs. He’d tear them down. Burn their tents. One time we found a dead meth head in an abandoned house. Trace stuck sticks in the guy’s eyes. Poked him like a piece of meat. He was a cruel piece of shit and deserved what he got.”
Her lips part. She looks up at me with an unfocused gaze. “My God. That’s awful.” She blinks. “I’m sorry. I’m sure it was difficult going through all of that. I’m not trying to judge you or the things you did—”
“Judge me.” I take a swig of my beer. “I’m okay with your judgment. That’s all in the past, but it is my past. I can’t change it. I’m not proud of the things I’ve done, but I did them.” I pause to allow my words to sink in. To give her a moment to understand what I’m saying. I’m not perfect. I’ve made mistakes. “Now you know the truth about your uncle and my past. You got my story. So, Chosen…” I lean into her, the beer in my hand helping me to hold back from touching her. “What are you going to do?”
Chapter 22
Standing at an unprotected distance from him, I stare up into his transparent and honest blue eyes. He’s not trying to hide from what he did or make excuses for his choices.
He stands before me, naked and vulnerable.
“There are two reasons for a story.” I remain connected to his eyes. “One is to be told. And the other is to be heard or read. So thank you for telling me yours. I appreciated hearing it,” I say, knowing he may have provided me with his story, but I’ll never be able to write it.
I’ll never expose him and his past.
Never hurt him.
“Well…” He pauses, roaming my face with unreadable eyes. “I’m glad you got what you wanted.” He takes a sip of his beer. “You got all the answers you came looking for.” He lifts his beer in somewhat of a condescending cheer and moves back against the counter, crossing his arms over his chest. “I’m just sorry how it all went down, but I am glad you know the truth about your uncle. ”
“Yeah.” Recognizing his rigid posture and closed-off stance, I press my lips together. Does he want me to leave? Stay?
How could he want me after what I put him through? I drudged up his past. Shit, he probably was trying to leave behind him. For the past few weeks, I put him through hell. I judged him, blamed him, and interfered with the life he built for himself.
I’m sure he can’t want me after all of that. I nod, acknowledging it’s time to leave. As he mentioned, I got what I was after. I turn on my heels and start for the door.
There’s this pain in my chest, hollowness in my belly, and a sting in my eyes. I’ll never see him again. This is it.
“Chosen.” My heart skips a beat when he says my name, and hope falters my steps. I look over my shoulder. His heated eyes lock with mine. “Ya know.” A small smile crawls along his lips, adding more hope. “We could start a new story.”
Is he throwing me a line? A rope? More hope?Could he really forgive me for everything? Is he offering me another chance? One I don’t deserve. “A new story about what?”
