“Taylor will pass on this information about my father to the authorities.” She finds my eyes. “Are you sure there’s no way to keep him out of this for now?”
“You can tell Taylor about the acetone, but with no sources, he’s unlikely to believe you.”
“He knows about the break-in.”
“Exactly. But only you knowwhobroke in.” I lean forward and capture her uneasy eyes. “Think about Ellie and Sonny. You’ve paid the price for your father repeatedly. You deserve more than him, Hart. You have a good soul and he’s using it to his advantage.”
My hand moves across the table on its own accord, wanting to lace with hers. But I stop myself halfway before I get too carried away. Having sex and being in a relationship are two different things that I need to learn to separate with her.
“This is about you and Sonny, and for the future you want to build together.”
That strikes a chord someplace deep. I retract the hand, and my last sentence rings loud in the quietness between us. There always used to be a future between me and Piper, but I was childless back then. I was allowed to dream and be optimistic, and having no responsibilities meant that I could fall head over heels and dedicate everything to the person who made me feel most alive.
“Yeah,” she whispers. “You’re right. Sonny comes first.”
The knock at the door startles us both, even though we’ve been expecting James’s visit.
Piper takes off from her chair. I make sure to follow behind her, like a guard.
“I didn’t burn down my house,” she declares before he even has chance to make it through the door. “That evidence you’re searching for? I have it.”
James looks unfazed, and there’s also a hint of disappointment in his eyes.
“My father has been living in Boston and has acquired a few enemies over the years.” She takes a long breath. It can’t be easy for her to hand in her own parent.
A parent is a parent. I can empathize with that.
“You may speak with him, if you like,” she continues.
“Are we talking about the father you have had no contact with over the past nine years?”
“Yes.”
I place my hand on Piper’s hip and she inhales a sharp breath. I was on the fence about the idea, but she needs to know that I have her back.
As friends.
Mind, the hand is only an inch away from touching her waist—the one I used to love snaking my hands around.
James scrutinizes her, unconvinced. “You mean to tell me that an enemy of your father’s burned down the house?”
“His enemies in Boston think I’ve been living with him. The man broke into the property the day before the fire—you told me that there were signs of a break-in, remember?” Desperation creeps into her voice, but she manages to dissolve it with a sigh. “There was a bottle of acetone, unscrewed, balanced on a pile of documents in my kitchen.”
“As I take it, some of those documents were detailing late mortgage payments.”
When will it be time for me to knock the bastard out?
James continues, “A bottle of acetone alone cannot start the fire. Ask your friend here.” He extends his horrible gaze over to me. “There needs to be a trigger, and we’re still working on that trigger, Ms. Hart.” He looks down at me pointedly from his nose. “Please tell me the truth. Did you, or did you not, start the fire?”
Piper inhales another breath and sticks her hand on her hip, so I’m forced to remove mine. “Yes.”
I tense up.
She did not just say that.
“I wanted a payout, but it was not my intention to start a fire. Besides,” she continues, “nothing would’ve happened if it wasn’t for that spilled acetone.”
James is no longer interested in the rest of it. He consults his pad, jots something down in shorthand, and is on his way. “Thank you for the truth, Ms. Hart.”
