The doors open silently to our foyer and Nick guides me inside, his arm still secure around me. He walks me through to the living area and stops in the center of the room, still holding me like he's not ready to let go yet. I'm not ready either.
My phone begins to ring in my purse, jolting me. His phone starts buzzing too. The sound scrapes against my raw nerves. We may be home, but this awful day isn't through with us yet.
Nick curses under his breath, releasing me just enough to reach into his suit jacket pocket. He silences his phone without looking at it, all his focus still on me.
"You should turn yours off too. At least for the night."
"Sooner or later, we'll need to answer them, Nick." I swallow against the knot in my throat that won't quite dissolve. "They won't stop until I give them what they want."
"No." His voice is firm and short.
As I watch the tension coiled in his jaw, shame floods hot through my chest and spreads upward into my throat. He didn't ask for any of this. The images flash through my mind unbidden. His business partners passing around that article, the wedding guests whispering behind their champagne flutes, some society columnist running a follow-up piece about the scandal Nick Baine married into.
I have my own career now. My own success. None of that will matter now. Everyone will judge him for choosing me, for tying himself to someone whose past makes headlines like that.
I should have known my past would catch up to me eventually. I'd just hoped—foolishly, naively—that the life I'd built here might be enough to bury it.
My phone buzzes again in my bag and I fumble for it with hands that haven't fully steadied. I glance at the screen and my heart sinks.
"It's my mom."
I look up at Nick and see the fury still burning in his eyes, barely banked. The rigid set of his jaw. The way his whole body radiates violence held carefully still, his hands gentle on me even as everything else about him promises destruction.
I've only seen him like this once before, when he found out about my stepbrother Rodney's blackmail attempts. Back then, I looked into his eyes and saw something that made me certain he would kill Rodney Coyle with his bare hands if given the chance. That same look is there now, controlled but no less lethal.
"You should answer it," he says, and his voice is gentle with me despite everything burning beneath the surface.
I nod and swipe to accept. "Hi, Mom."
She's crying. The sound cracks something open in my chest.
"Oh, Avery... Sweetheart, I've done something terrible. There's an article—"
"I know. I saw it. Nick and I both read it."
"It's awful! The reporter seemed so nice when I spoke with her. I never meant to—" Her voice fractures and the guilt is there in every syllable, eating her alive.
"Mom, it's okay. I'm okay." The lie comes easily because I've spent my whole life protecting her the way she protected me.
"It's not okay! My phone won't stop ringing. Reporters everywhere, asking me to comment, to say more about what happened—" She sounds lost, panicked. "I feel terrible about this."
"I know, Mom. Don't worry about it. Everything will be fine." I'm not sure I believe that, but she needs to hear it. Nick's hand settles on my back, his palm warm between my shoulder blades, his thumb moving in slow circles against my spine. Unconscious comfort. I draw strength from the steady pressure of his touch while I focus on being strong for her.
"The young lady who interviewed me said she was writing about women overcoming incarceration and rebuilding their lives. She said she was writing the article to help other women like me."
The words land like a slap. They lied to her. Used her desire to help others as a weapon against us both. My heart aches for her because I know she's telling the truth, know she was only trying to do something good.
"Listen to me." I make my voice firm, needing her to understand. "This is not your fault. You were trying to help people. They lied to you. You couldn't have known they'd twist your words into something ugly."
“I swear, I didn’t.”
"Mom, I need you to do something for me now. Don't talk to anyone else. Block every number you don't recognize. No reporters, no calls, no interviews." My voice steadies as I take control, as I become the protector instead of the protected. "I'm home with Nick. He's going to take care of this. We both are."
I hear her blow out a deep, concerned sigh. "Are you sure you're okay? You sound like you've been crying—"
"I'm fine, I promise. Just block them all, okay? I'll call you soon. I love you."
"I love you too, honey. I'm so sorry."
