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After Addy’s kidnapping, shit just piled up more and more. His response to that was even more infuriating and baffling. Him not bothering to pay the ransom, when he said he was handling it, and then the lack of emotion when she was finally found.
That’s when I really doubled down my efforts. I’ve spent every free moment since searching for answers. These are things I’ll never be able to forgive him for, things that have tarnished my soul.
I click on my e-mail and find a new one from my PI. My heart rate picks up as I open it. There’s a few images and an audio file. I click the audio file first. My anger flares instantly at the sound of Malcom and Christopher talking. I don’t know how my PI managed to get a recorded jail call, and honestly, I don’t give a fuck. I press play again, wanting to make sure I hear every word.
Malcom: Hey, son. How are you holding up?
Christopher: As well as you’d think, I guess. If you were my attorney, you’d have me out of here. Not sitting through a bullshit trial.
Malcom: I would have represented you myself, but we both know how that would look.
Christopher: I know. They’re all gunning for me. You can’t let them get away with it.
Malcom: They won’t. You’re in good hands. Your attorney is being paid well. Keep your head up, and I’ll see you when this is all over.
Christopher: Looking forward to it.
The call ends.
I slam my hands down on my desk. Slimy fucker. “Bullshit trial” my ass. He’s a crook, and he tried to kill my sister…twice. I should have killed him myself that day at the café. He doesn’t deserve to breathe the same air as civilized people.
Pulling myself together, I pour another bourbon and slam it back. I click the first image file, and I’m not even remotely surprised by what I find. It’s Malcom handing Christopher’s attorney a fat envelope. I’m sure it’s filled with cash to keep defending him and buying his silence. He’s literally paying for an attorney for the man who tried to kill his own daughter…twice.
What the fuck?
My head swims from the bourbon, maybe from the anger, too. I run my hands through my hair as I sit back in my office chair. I stare up at the ceiling, my thoughts swirling but always landing back on one fiery redhead. I groan, deciding to put myself out of my misery.
Grabbing my cellphone, I check the time. Charlie should be home by now. I’ll text her to make sure they landed safely. I only debate the decision to contact her for about two seconds before pulling up our texts.
Me: You get home safely?
I hit send and lay my phone down on my desk. There, I can be nice.
I look up at my screen to once again see the image of Malcom and Christopher’s fucking attorney. I save the image and the audio sound bite and hide them in an encrypted file on my computer. My phone dings.
Charlie: Yep, just climbed in bed.
I smile at her response. Without a second thought, I quickly type my reply and hit send before I change my mind.
Me: Wish I was there…
I probably shouldn’t have sent that, but the bourbon is giving me some courage. Truthfully, I do wish I was there with her. I wish I wasn’t so fucked up. If I didn’t have so much to shoulder, I could be a regular person. But those aren’t the cards I was dealt. I made a choice years ago to sacrifice a normal life to give my sisters theirs, and I’d do it again. Ding.
Charlie: Are you drunk?
Well, that’s not the response I was hoping for. Then again, she’s not wrong.
Me: …maybe
As soon as I hit send, the three bubbles pop up, indicating she’s typing. I sit and wait and wait and wait. They go away, but no message comes through. They pop up again, and then another message finally comes through.
Charlie: What is this, Andrew? Why are you texting me?
Me: I honestly don’t know. All I know is I miss you already.
Charlie: That’s not good enough. We can’t do this.
My chest tightens painfully at her response. I fucking know that, but I can’t stop myself, either.
