“Of course. Taft and Bob left it with the team.”
“Then we’d better get moving. I plan to spend every minute I can making up for the last twenty-nine.”
The call cameas we sat in a café near the Bethesda Fountain in Central Park, sharing a cinnamon bun and drinking overpriced lattes from paper cups that steamed in the chill air.
When my phone buzzed with Detective Aster’s number, Walker was halfway through a story about one of his teammates getting pranked with shaving cream. I’d been dreading this call, knowing it would mean I’d have to go to court, that it would stir up everything again and put little Jamie in the spotlight. I hesitated, then answered.
“Detective?”
Walker stiffened and placed a hand on mine.
“He pleaded guilty.” His voice was steady, a low rumble of professionalism edged with something softer, relief maybe, or fatigue.
I blinked. “Wait—he did?”
“Yeah. No trial. No drawn-out legal process. The DA struck a deal. A guilty plea on all counts. He’ll serve a full sentence. No parole until after the minimum term is up. It’s solid. No room for appeal.”
“What does that mean for Walker and me?” I asked quietly.
“You’re clear. Both of you. No depositions, no testimony, no appearances. You’re officially disconnected from the case unless something radically changes, which I don’t expect.”
He paused, then added, “You did good, Finn. You and Walker both. You stepped in when it counted. I hope, now, you can both put this behind you.”
When I hung up, Walker watched me carefully. “Finn?”
“Jamie’s dad pleaded guilty,” I said, still trying to process the words. “There won’t be a trial. No testimony. It’s… done.”
Walker leaned back in his chair, quiet for a moment. Then, he reached across the table and took my hand. “That’s good, right? No more dragging it out for Jamie? For his mom?”
I nodded slowly. “Yeah. I think so. It just… feels sudden.”
He squeezed my fingers. “But it’s done.” He scooted around to sit next to me, pulling me close. I buried my face in his neck, inhaling his scent.
“I love you.” I kissed him soundly to underscore the point. “I love you.”
We stayed like that for a while, and the world kept moving. He was still in New York, I was in Rochester, but for a moment, none of that mattered.
Eventually, he pressed a kiss to my temple. “You okay?”
I nodded into his shoulder. “I will be.”
NINETEEN
Walker
We only hadtwo days left together.
I was trying my best to focus on the good and not the upsetting, as Dr. Quackers had suggested I do in our biweekly call last night. As I rounded the corner of 40th Street and 6th Avenue, sweat in my eyes and my hamstrings protesting the long jog, I was finding it difficult to fixate on anything good about only having two days left with Finn. I slowed, breathless, and worked to catch my breath at the 6th Avenue entrance to Bryant Park. My temporary lodgings were just a few blocks away, and I had quickly fallen back in love with this charming slice of green amid the chaotic concrete jungle. Well, it would be green soon. Right now, it was cold and dull, the snow that had fallen a few days ago now dirty brown. But soon, when February melted away and March arrived with the St. Patty’s Day parade, this little chunk of property by the famous library would be alive with flowers, birds, and concerts.
I looked forward to that because I’d need all of those things to keep my mind off how much I was going to be missing my man.
Panting like a mule, I checked my mileage on my smartwatch and saw that I was done for the day. A relief, to be sure. Runningwas fun, I guess. What was even more fun was darting across the street to this tiny brioche shop to buy sweet treats for me and my sleepy boyfriend.
After my purchase, I made my way back to Bryant Park, cutting through the snowy green to check on my reservations at the grill/restaurant only to find that it was closed. Which, yeah, doh! Walker, it was seven in the morning. Even this early, the rest of the city was hopping. Life never slowed in the Big Apple. I studied the restaurant’s green canopy while a few bold pigeons bobbed around me, eyeballing my white bag. I made a mental note to text the restaurant later to check on our dinner reservation for this evening. Finn would be back in Rochester before Valentine’s Day arrived in five days, so we were doing the fancy romantic dinner tonight.
Turning from the eatery, I nearly ran into a thin dude whom I instantly recognized. The twink phone thief from last fall. He looked healthier than he had the last time we’d seen each other. I took a step back since I wasn’t sure if I should be talking to him because there was litigation pending.
“Hey, no, I’m not here to hassle you,” he hurried to say, hands up, palms out. He was wrapped up in a dark coat, his face free of makeup, his hair now dark red, cut short. A plush purple winter coat with gold buttons as big as the brioches in my bag was the only sign of his usual brash fashion choices. “I thought it was you. I was over there.” He waved a manicured hand at the now silent carousel. “I like to come here to look at it before I go to work at the rink.”
