And now I’m sharing my bed with a man who nearly beat someone to death.
I don’t start the car or go into the diner. I can’t face anyone right now, can’t pretend everything is normal when it feels like the ground is shifting beneath my feet. Instead, I get back out of the truck and head into the streets of town, walking aimlessly until the cold air clears my head, and I’m ready to drive back home.
By the time I make it back to Jericho’s house, I’ve composed myself enough to confront him. I need to hear his side. I need to know if the man I’m falling for is the same one from that mugshot.
He’s in the kitchen when I walk in, coffee mug in hand, hair still rumpled from sleep. He smiles happily when he sees me, but it fades quickly when he reads my expression.
“What’s wrong?” he asks.
I take a deep breath, trying to steady myself. “Did you serve time in prison?”
The question hangs in the air between us. Something shifts in his expression—a shuttering, like windows closing one by one. He doesn’t look surprised. Just resigned.
“Yes.” The single word falls like a stone.
My chest tightens. “For beating someone nearly to death?”
He sets the mug down carefully, precisely. “Who told you?”
“Does it matter?”
“Was it Cheryl?” His voice is unsteady.
“No,” I say, trying to cut off future questioning. “Surprisingly,my sister from law enforcement failed to report it to me.”
“It was Dick, wasn’t it?” Now it turns flat.
I wrap my arms around myself, suddenly cold despite being indoors. “Answer the question, Jericho.”
He runs a hand through his hair, his movements deliberate, controlled. “Yes. I served four years for aggravated assault.”
Despite having seen the article, his confirmation hits me like a physical blow. I take a step back.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“When should I have mentioned it?” There’s no defensiveness in his tone, just a hollow sort of acceptance. “First time I met you, naked, in my backyard? ‘Hi, I’m Jericho, I’ve done time’?”
“You had plenty of opportunities after that,” I say, my voice rising. “You let me get close to you—let me trust you—without telling me something this important.”
“I was going to tell you.”
“When?”
He looks away. “When I was sure you wouldn’t look at me the way you’re looking at me now.”
And how am I looking at him? Like he’s suddenly a stranger. Like I’m afraid. And I am. Not of him, exactly, but of what this means. Of what he represents.
“I hate this situation you’ve put me into, Jericho,” I say, shaking my head in frustration and disappointment. My voice is brittle, barely holding together under the weight of what I feel. “Maybe as much as I hate violence.” My father’s face flickers through my mind again, and I have to fight to keep my voice steady, to keep the memories from overwhelming me. I thought I could let someone in without the past creeping in too, but now everything feels tainted, bruised.
He stands up, moving toward me with an urgencyI’ve never seen in him before. “Let me explain,” he says. There’s a rawness in his voice that might have reached me if I wasn’t feeling so cornered, so betrayed.
“No.” I stop him with a raised, shaking hand. My whole body feels like it’s quivering with anger, or maybe it’s fear—fear of the person I’ve allowed into my life, fear of my own judgment that failed so miserably once again. “You had plenty of time to explain,” I say, the accusation hanging between us like a bitter, unspoken truth. He had time, and still he kept this part of himself hidden, letting me walk into this unprepared and find out the truth from no one other than Dick.
I turn, forcing myself not to look back, not to be swayed by the softness I’ve seen in him, the gentleness that might have been real but now feels like just another risk I shouldn’t have taken. I walk away, wanting to leave this place and him behind, hoping the distance will make this hurt less.
“Nora.” He follows, calling my name, his footsteps unhurried but determined, like he knows where I’m going and that I won’t be coming back.
“No, Jericho. Just no.” I don’t slow down, my exit a frantic escape, pushing through the door and into the cold that’ll cleanse me of this. Of him.
