“Angelique was your daughter, not your wife.”
39
Kobe
Dominique stilled as thewind scooped up my words and stole them away. He turned, a resigned smile amplifying the ever-present sorrow that lived behind his eyes. It sat on the surface tonight. He didn’t seem surprised to see me.
He knew.
“Hello, Kobe.”
“You lied to me.” It wasn’t what I planned to say, but it was what came out. The initial shock at discovering my boyfriend, the man I loved, was a killer, had briefly morphed to anger, but it was a wave of betrayal and hurt that nearly brought me to my knees.
He wore the battered brown leather coat I adored that turned him ruggedly handsome. Tucking his hands in his pockets, he peered up and down the street. “I suppose you might view it that way, but you’re wrong. I never lied. What I didn’t do was correct your assumptions. You created your own narrative for my life, and I simply went along with it.”
“Cosette—”
“Is my granddaughter.”
I’d come to that conclusion, but the truth of how and why had made it impossible to absorb. Even now, I didn’t want it to be true. “But… No. She’s not. She calls you—”
“Papa, as I taught her.”
“Is she… Oh, Jesus, Dom. I… I don’t understand.” I didn’twantto understand.
“Yes, you do, Kobe. You’re a smart man, and you see it all perfectly clearly now.”
I didn’t, but I saw enough.
Dominique held my gaze, not in a challenging way but like a man on the edge of the world, succumbed to fate, whatever that fate might be. Heart bare. Soul lost. Veins bled dry from years of suffering.
He looked exhausted.
“You killed them.” Why was I asking something I already knew? I didn’t want to hear it, but I had to.
Dominique grimaced as though ashamed, as though the very idea made him sick, but he didn’t deny it. “Yes.”
“Why?”
He seemed to consider but shook his head with resignation. I suspected the complexity of the answer did not lend well to an easy explanation. Not in a snowstorm. Not in the street. Not like this between two men who had so recently found love with each other. I couldn’t—wouldn’t—believe that his feelings toward me were part of a ruse.
The wind picked up, flapping my hair into my eyes and pelting icy snow against my numb cheeks. The cold didn’t penetrate. A fire blazed hot in my core, burning me from the inside out.
Dominique barely flinched. Like he didn’t feel it. Like he couldn’t. He stood perfectly still and silent as though waiting for my judgment.
“Tell me,” I demanded, the words harsher than I intended.
He nodded, studied the street again, then said, “Not here.”
“Would you rather do it at the station?”
“If that’s where you want me, Kobe, I will go willingly.”
I wanted to scream,How dare you put me in this position.How dare you let me love you without telling me everything.Except, hadn’t I freely decided to stand on the side of justice long before I understood the truth? Hadn’t I expressed my hatred for those men? Hadn’t I spoken my true feelings aloud many times in his presence? Was that why? Did he expect a kindred spirit? Forgiveness? Understanding?
“Give me your keys.”
Dominique removed his hands from his pockets, keys in one, phone in the other. He held them both out.
