“You knew I was in trouble.” It’s half question, half statement.
My lips press against her hair. “Casanova sent me a message. I didn’t think I’d get to you in time.” After the thud of a dozen heartbeats, I add, “Actually, I didn’t.” I draw in a shaky breath. He almost won. Almost took her away from me for good. “Thank God you had a knife and used it.”
“You were here all along.You were.”
I don’t know what she means. It doesn’t matter. At the moment, nothing matters except that she’s not lost.
There’s something that’s been on my mind all day and night. The one undeniable truth.
It’s not the right moment, but I can’t keep myself from making one more confession into the wind.
“I love you.”
35
AVERY
In my mind, Shane becomes the wall I stand behind when I can’t face things.
The police arrive and take control of the property and the crime scene. My words sound distant, like they’re running away through the trees. Their faces scrunch in confusion as they look around and stomp through the snow. When Shane helps explain things, it’s much more clear, even to me.
They transport us to the station in the back of a sheriff’s cruiser. I sit so my body touches Shane, and he puts his arm around me, pressing me against his side. It’s shelter, like finding an awning to stand under in a sudden downpour.
Shane’s voice is low and calm, the same way it’s been all along, as he advises me of my rights and explains police interrogation tactics. He speaks as if they are an enemy army that has laid siege to our home and our persons. I listen carefully to everything he tells me, as though my life depends on it. I owe him that, since without his advice, I wouldn’t be alive.
At the station, the police inform us of our rights and tell us we’ll be questioned separately.
My gaze flicks to Shane’s face.
“It’s okay. I’m right here. I won’t leave you,” he promises as they lead me toward a door.
Taking a deep breath, I enter the cold room and settle into a hard chair. Across the rectangular table, there’s a gray-haired detective with a stern expression who starts in with a million questions.
I tell the story and re-tell it.
A female deputy joins us. She acts kind but seems less genuine. To me, they look very bulky in their puffy brown coats and utility belts.
When my body starts to ache from sitting, I stand. “Is that enough?” I lick my lips. “I’ve told you everything. I want to go.”
They take pictures and collect my clothes as evidence. I’m given prisoner scrubs, but they assure me it’s not a reflection of their plans. They’re not going to arrest me.
My words spill out slowly. “Never thought that. I only defended myself.”
It’s the truth, but their expressions appear skeptical. They don’t speak again.
When they release me from the room, I overhear the sheriff say that, from the state of the body, it looks like a hell of a lot more than self defense.
His words cause no emotional reaction from me. None. I feel too numb.
My head turns, and I stare at the sheriff.
It feels as though I should say or do something, like be more emotional or smile gratefully for their help. But what if I make the wrong choice? It might be misinterpreted. Since I don’t know how to proceed, I do nothing.
Watching me, the sheriff mumbles, “Jesus.”
“Come this way, Avery,” the female deputy says. “I’ll drive you back.”
Drop me off alone?“Where’s Shane?”
