I spot him leaning against one of the larger tombs, the same one we have used as a meeting point for years. His arms are crossed tight across his chest, his posture defensive.The bruise along his jaw is already darkening, ugly against his skin.
Guilt nudges at me, sharp but brief. I push it aside as I close the distance.
“Hey,” I say, keeping my voice easy.
He straightens. “Hey?” His mouth twists. “That’s it? Hey?”
I stop a few feet away. “Black and blue suits you. Is that what you were going for?”
“Funny,” he says. “I thought you might want to check whether I was still breathing.”
“That is why I asked you to meet me.” I glance at his jaw. “You look functional. But seriously, are you okay?”
“That’s better.” His expression softens a notch. “Yeah. I’ll live. I just didn’t realize you had one of the biggest men you don’t cross in this city acting as your personal bodyguard. Or is he your boyfriend now?”
“He’s not my boyfriend,” I say too fast, heat climbing my neck. “And I’m sorry about what happened. He has a protection complex, I guess. Ever since the kidnapping, he assumes every movement near me is a threat.”
Iggy snorts. “Most people do not find my skinny ass intimidating. Good to know I can still set Ridge Stone off.” He rubs his jaw. “Also good to know he didn’t use the gun he was waving around. That part was memorable.”
“I know.” I step closer despite myself. “I’m really sorry.”
“So what is the deal with him? A little Stockholm?”
“It’s complicated.”
“Complicated,” he repeats, dry. “That’s all you’re going to give me?”
I don’t say anything because Iggy doesn’t need to hear what I don’t even understand myself.
Silence settles between us, the kind that only existsbetween people who have known each other long enough to know when not to poke the wound. My gaze drifts to the marble behind him. The light gray is cool and smooth, with veins of darker gray running through it. Hard. Still beautiful.
Iggy exhales and shifts his weight.
“I need to tell you something,” he says, quieter now. “Especially with everything going on.”
I turn back to him. “What do you mean?”
“Your father being blamed for Robert Stone’s murder, you getting taken as retaliation, and now Stone himself playing vigilante.”
My pulse stutters. “What are you talking about, Iggy? Tell me.”
“That night,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. “At the drop. I wasn’t jumpy for no reason. I heard things were going down. Rumors.”
A cold line traces my spine. “About what?”
“About Robert Stone,” he says. “That someone was coming for him, and I was antsy because I didn’t want to get caught in the crosshairs.”
The words make my breath stutter. “Why didn’t you say something to me when I asked? You acted like I was crazy to sense something. Do we not trust each other, now?”
“I didn’t know it was real,” he says carefully. “Just whispers. I didn’t want to put a target on you or me. But I knew enough to keep my head down.”
“Why would you think you would get dragged into it?”
“Because that’s how it works.” His tone sharpens, then eases when he sees my face. “I was not involved, I swear. But when someone powerful goes down, everyone starts pointing fingers. One wrong corner, one wrong moment,being at the right place at the wrong time, and suddenly you’re useful as a scapegoat.”
I take that in, pieces sliding together whether I want them to or not. I knew from the moment this all started that Ridge was digging for answers. My father’s name dragged into something that never fit him.
“Exactly,” I say slowly. “I know my father didn’t have anything to do with it.”
