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I’m so happy, I could honestly cry.
But I don’t, because I’m determined to finally stop crying over every little thing.
I’m a big girl. I can handle my shit.
Demyen doesn’t take my hand this time. In fact, he seems like he’s feeling a bit uncomfortable under the open collar of his Henley shirt.
We walk in silence for a decent stretch of the main pathway. I want to ask him what’s on his mind, but I also don’t want to break this therapeutic quiet. Birds chirp in the Joshua tree overhead where we find a bench to sit and rest on, out of the desert sun.
“Okay.” Demyen sighs and rubs the back of his neck as he stares out at the foliage. “So… I owe you a big fucking apology.”
The snark in me wants to say,Understatement of the year. But I shove that down and simply look at him. “What do you mean?”
“I found the voicemail.”
I swear, even the birds go silent. My heart definitely does.
Gulping, I slowly nod and lean back on the bench. “So… does this mean you believe me?”
“Yes.” His answer comes without an ounce of hesitation.
A huge weight suddenly leaves my chest. I didn’t even realize I’ve been carrying it around until right now. Strange, how absence can make us discover something we’ve always had. “Do you trust me?”
At this, Demyen does hesitate. I shouldn’t be surprised or hurt. Maybe I stepped too far by reaching for the mile when he only gave me an inch.
But then he sits up and scrunches his nose. “I’m not the best at trusting people. I never have been, not even as a kid. I figured out pretty early on that no one is as good as their word. I trust evidence, though.” He sags back against the bench and finally looks at me. “I always have. Funnily enough, I used to want to be a detective when I grew up.”
That catches me completely by surprise. “What? Really?”
Demyen chuckles and nods. “Made the announcement when I was like, seven? Eight, maybe? I was gonna be a full-blown police detective and solve murders and capture thieves.”
“Oh my god. I bet your parents were just…” I shake my head.
“Pissed as hell? You bet. Except for my mom, who wasn’t around to hear my announcement or witness the way my father literallybeat the idea out of me. No one carrying the Zakrevsky name would ever go into law enforcement. Not if he could do anything about it.”
I try to imagine Demyen with a badge. Hell, even him in a basic blue uniform as a rookie cop is almost impossible to conjure up.
But then I realize something. “Can you imagine? Being on the same squad as my father? AsMartin?”
He makes a face and laughs bitterly. “Yeah, I’m not exactly heartbroken over missing my chance to do a ride-along with Greg Everett or abuse my power with Martin.” His smile fades into something far guiltier. “So, to answer your question, I can’t promise that I’m suddenly able to trust you as much as you deserve. But I can absolutely promise, without question, that I believe you. Trust will come. I’m trying.”
I shouldn’t milk it; I really shouldn’t. But this is one of those discussions that warrants serious clarification so no one is on the wrong page. “What do you believe?”
“I know you didn’t kill Michael Little. Not intentionally, and definitely not with any knowledge of that stupid poison or the coffee or… just…” He rubs a hand over his face. “And I know you didn’t have a choice when you testified. It’s become pretty fucking obvious that Greg beat that testimony out of you to cover his own ass.”
I nod and swallow hard. I’m glad we’re sitting on a bench because I’m pretty sure I’m about to drop to my knees in gratitude.
Instead, I slump against the stone back with a heavy breath that feels like I’m exhaling every molecule of tension, stress, and anxiety that this whole ordeal has wrought within my body.
Someone finally believes me.
Demyenfinally believes me.
I don’t know how long we sit there like this: me completely silent and breathless, Demyen frowning at the desert flowers like they’re judging him.
When he speaks again, I’m jolted back to the here and now to find him kneeling on the sand at my feet. His hands rest on my knees as he looks up at me, eyes bright and glistening. “Clara?”
I blink. “Yeah?”
