“And if they can’t?”
“Then I go to prison and my father dies in a state facility and you get to live your life without having to choose between your safety, your family’s safety, and your career.”
“What about the syndicate? They’ll just find someone else?”
“Probably.”
“And Morrison? He’ll just let his investigation fall apart?”
“Morrison will figure something else out. He’s FBI. That’s what they do.”
The fog’s so thick now I can barely see the lights on the bay.
“You should have told me.”
“I should have told you a lot of things.”
“Like what?” I can barely get the words out, my throat is so tight.
He turns toward me, his eyes heavy, his face drawn like he hasn’t slept at all. “Like the fact that I love you more than I’m afraid of going to prison. Like the fact that protecting you matters more than protecting myself.” He’s closer now, close enough that I can see his face in the dim light. “Like the fact that if I had to choose between keeping you safe and keeping my father alive, I’d choose you.”
“Don’t.”
“Don’t what?”
“Don’t say things like that. Not now. Not after everything you just told me.”
“When then? When is it okay to tell you that I’d rather lose everything than watch you get ruined by the same people who crushed my livelihood?”
“It’s not okay. None of this is okay.” I twist away from him, toward the edge of the garage where the fog is slowly swallowing up the city. “You lied to me. About everything.”
“Not everything.”
“About everything that mattered.”
“I never lied about caring about you.”
“You just lied about why.”
“No. I lied about how it started. I never lied about what it became.”
I want to believe him. That’s the fucked up part. Even after everything he just told me, part of me wants to believe that some of it was real.
“It doesn’t matter what it became. What matters is that it started as a lie.”
“Tate.” He reaches for me but I back away.
“What matters is that you’ve been pretending to care about me while helping people destroy my life.”
“I haven’t been pretending.”
“Then what do you call it?”
“I call it the worst mistake I’ve ever made. And I call it the only way I could think of to keep you safe.”
“Safe.” I laugh again, the sound sharp enough to cut. “You call this safe?”
“Safer than what would have happened if I’d walked away and let them recruit you without any protection.”
