I shove my hands into my pockets. Hopefully this will be quick. I really don’t feel good—mentally, or physically, thanks to this migraine.
“Alright,” she says the moment we round the cabin. “Talk to me.”
Ayden
About thirty minutes in, halfway through roasting the chicken and mashing the potatoes, my phone goes off.
I quickly wash my hands and rush to the coffee table where it’s resting. The familiar number makes me smile as I pick it up.
“Hey, Dr. Y—sorry, Markus.”
He sighs through a chuckle. “Good evening, Ayden. Hope you had a good holiday.”
“I did.” Good doesn’t even begin to cover the last few weeks. I honestly don’t know how it could have been better. “How was yours?”
“Good. Got to spend it with my family. They came over from Delhi. They’re leaving in a few days.”
“I’m glad to hear that.” I tuck the phone between my cheek and shoulder as I head back into the kitchen.
“While I called to check on you, I also… have an update of sorts.”
I force myself to keep moving. Don’t stop. Don’t fidget. “Hopefully good news.”
He clears his throat.
Well shit, that doesn’t sound promising. “Because of the holidays, not much has been happening from a legal standpoint. But remember that friend I mentioned? Someone I was going to ask for help?”
“Yeah.”
I reach for the oven, and that’s when I notice how badly myhand is shaking. I swallow hard and turn it off instead. Right now, I’m more worried about dropping the pan or burning myself.
“He’s a private investigator.” My heart jumps in surprise. “Michael went on vacation with his family for the holidays, and I assumed the PI was doing the same. But I was wrong. He was looking into past reports filed by your ex—checking for any patterns.”
I nod, even though he can’t see me, and lean heavily against the counter.
“It brought him to the crash… Ayden, did you ever see pictures of the incident?”
“No… Michael said it would only traumatize me to see what I caused.”
I’ve never heard Markus groan like this before. It’s low, almost a growl, laced with anger.
“That’s because thereisnone. No photos. No police reports. No… nothing.”
My heart isn’t slowing. It’s racing faster and faster, climbing with every beat.
“Maybe that makes sense. Michael’s dad is the chief of SFPD, and he said he was going to ‘take care of it’.”
“Maybe… but, Ayden, there’s no reports of cars being turned into the impound. I can’t imagine getting rid of all that evidence. Is it possible? Sure, but something tells me it wasn’t done to protect you.”
I’ve thought about that.
The idea has crossed my mind so many times—that maybe it wasn’t me behind the wheel. That maybe it was Michael. Or, worse… What if there wasnocar accident at all?
“Keoni!” Britt’s scream tears through the air from outside. “Stop!”
What the fuck?
“Markus, I… I have to go. What do I do? What’s my next move?”
