He rocks back on his heels, muttering a curse under his breath.
Yeah, Dal.Yeah.
Running his fingers through his hair, snagging them on the messy curls, he says, “You found my office.”
That’s putting it simply, but if that’s how he wants to begin this conversation, that’s fine by me. “I did.”
Dallas exhales through his nose. “I would’ve shown you if you asked. You didn’t need to go snooping?—”
Snooping? Well, yeah, I guess that’s what I did. But when he’s been so careful to keep me from doing just that, is it a surprise that I finally grew enough of a backbone to see if I could figure out what he was hiding from me?
“You left me no choice.”
A muscle in his cheek tics. “Dr. Brannigan said that there would be no good in you opening doors better left closed. Googling yourself would only lead to problems.”
Right. Like finding a wedding announcement on a secret society’s archive that said I married a man whoisn’tthis one.
Pushing past that for the moment, I suddenly remember the mark I would see on the good doctor’s hand as he gestured while he spoke. “Dr. Brannigan is one of you, isn’t he?” I jerk my chin at Dallas’s palm. “One of the Owed. Don’t deny it. He’s got that brand, too. Fucking hell, Dallas. How much did you pay him to tell me what you wanted him to? To keep me in line?”
To keep me from finding out the truth?
“It’s not like that.” At my scoff of disbelief, Dallas firms his voice. “I mean it, Luce. Yeah, Dr. Brannigan is an Owed. Most of the best therapists and shrinks and docs in Harmony Heights are. But I never interfered with your treatment. How fucked-up do you think I am?”
“I don’t know,” I shoot back. “Fucked-up enough to take a vulnerable woman whose memory is a blank slate and tell her that you’re her husband.”
The way that big, bad Dallas Collins flinches at the venom in my voice… I hit a bulls-eye with that one.
“Lucy—”
Nope. “Don’t even think about lying to me again. I found my wedding announcement. Myrealone.”
Dallas doesn’t react. Not outwardly, at least, though something dark moves behind his eyes as he refuses to respond to that.
Fine. “I know I married Julian Fairchild. Not Dallas Collins. I saw a picture of him when I looked. He isn’t you.”
No. But you know who heis? The same man that has haunted my nightmares. The dark-haired, dark-eyed bastard who berated me, who hurt me, who forced me to do things that I never wanted to do all while I fantasized about another man.
About Dallas Collins.
“I looked you up, too. Found your picture. So you didn’t lie about being called Dallas. You sure as hell did when you told me you were Julian. You lied to me. Again.”
Again.
Andagain.
NINETEEN
CONFESSION
LUCY
He takes a step toward me. I scoot back, hitting the couch in my hurry to get away from him. His jaw tightens, but he stops his approach.
“Luce…Lucy.” He keeps his tone gentled, though there’s a torrent of emotion going on behind his gaze. “You have to understand. In another life, in another time… I would’ve been your husband. You would never have left with Julian to protect me. You would’ve stayed, and I could’ve protected you fromhim.”
Him.
It’s in the way that he says that that answers the suspicion I’ve had from the moment I looked up Julian Fairchild’s photo online. “Dark hair. Dark eyes… maybe I’m reaching, but is he the man that was with me at the Stanton?”
