He returns to serving the dish, his expression nonchalant. “What do you mean?”
He can’t fool me. “I read the reports from the witnesses. I know how well you defended Cameron. So you can’t keep living with your guilt, either. You did everything you could, but you will never believe that until you’ve forgiven yourself.”
He looks away, his jaw tightening. “It’s not that simple. You weren’t there when Kendall was taken. You didn’t fail to protect her like I did Cameron. I should have done more.”
“What more could you have done?”
“I should have kept fighting. I should have stayed on the scene. I should have never placed revenge above her safety.” His voice lowers from a shout to a whisper. “I failed her.”
“You didn’t fail her. You were there for her when she needed you the most. You protected her to the best of your ability, and she will be grateful for that for the rest of her life. You need to take your own advice, Grayson. You need to release this guilt,too, and move on.” He shakes his head, and I feign ignorance. “If you can do that, or at least try, I promise to do the same.”
He takes a deep breath, his eyes filled with emotion as he gauges the authenticity of my barter.
When he realizes I am being honest, he whispers, “I don’t know if I can.” He glances at my stomach for several seconds before meeting my gaze again. The guilt in his eyes isn’t solely for Cameron. Some of it is there for me as well. He’s taking all the blame for my fall, and it has him offering out lifelines like I’m worthy of them. “But I can try…for you.”
Overcome with emotions after his last two words, I race around the kitchen counter and throw myself into his arms. We huddle together for several long minutes, holding each other, and for just a moment, a sense of peace I haven’t felt in forever overwhelms me.
17
GRAYSON
Standing in the middle of Macy’s bedroom, surrounded by boxes of baby equipment, I feel entirely out of my fucking depth. You’d think promising to try to move on from my grief would be the most daunting task I’d undertake today. It isn’t. Not even close.
My chest still feels heavy with a guilt I’ll always carry, but as I unpack the gifts meant to be a peace offering for what could have been a disastrous fall, I wonder if guilt was the reason I bought them.
The way my heart ripped from my chest when she almost fell and how the excessive drumming of my heart differed from the way her face lit up while she stared at the image of her unborn child expose that I like Macy. I like her a lot, and it isn’t entirely sexually based or work-related.
My feelings are also not new. They’re just more potent now since she’s only weeks away from escaping the bubble of the bureau. Her life’s purpose is about to be outside of the world we’ve lived in together for twelve years, and I’m panicked I will no longer be a main part of it.
Helping Macy even when I’m the one at fault feels right. I want to support her like I was during her scan, to be there for her in any way I can. But I find it hard to forget the pledges I made to Cameron the night she was kidnapped.
That’s my biggest challenge. I hate breaking promises, but this situation is unique. I’ll never stop searching for Cameron, but I can’t exactly preach for Macy to move past her guilt if I’m not willing to do the same.
My eyes flick to the right when a giggle trickles through my ears. Macy is resting on her bed, the swelling of her ankles a constant reminder of the life growing inside her and why it is vital to get this equipment together sooner rather than later.
“Is it as daunting from over there as it is from here?”
Air puffs from my mouth before I share how out of my depth I am. “Give me a screen of code over an Allen key any day.”
I hit her with a stern look when she attempts to slip off the bed. She’s under strict orders of bed rest, and I plan for her to follow the doctor’s orders to the letter.
“I was just going to offer to read the instruction manual for you,” she whispers, slipping back into her original position.
“Can you read Chinese?” Her nose screws up as she pulls a what-the-hell expression. “Then we’re both out of luck.”
After dumping the useless instruction manual onto the bed next to Macy’s thigh, I set to work on assembling the crib and changing table. As I work, my mind drifts to Samuel and the plea bargain he received from a recently appointed ADA.
Our hunch about his deal was right, but the name was hidden in the files. It has to be someone big, someone with enough influence to manipulate the system.
Macy and I worked together on the possible candidates for hours after dinner. We reviewed the details and attempted to piece together the puzzle. Macy’s mind is sharp. It is always working, even when she’s supposed to be resting.
I admire her determination, though I also worry that she is pushing herself too hard. Alex said Kailany didn’t engage until the week of delivery. Although Macy is strong and will make it through any obstacle thrown at her, I don’t think she wants her son spending his first few weeks of life in a neonatal intensive care unit.
Air whizzes from my nose when Macy’s giggle reaches my ears for the second time in the past ten minutes.
“I’m sorry.” Her apology is a strategy to miss the daggers of my riled glare. “But I’m reasonably sure you’re attaching the crib’s base to the changing table’s legs.” I don’t object when she scoots across the mattress this time. Her ass is still indenting the mattress, and that’s close enough to bed rest when a colleague is swimming in waters way out of his depths. “See? These are the legs for the changing table…”
Macy and I work in unison over the next several hours. Building the crib and changing table is similar to the steps we take when piecing together a hard case. It’s just a puzzle we complete in three hours instead of over several years, and she does all the legwork from her bed.
