The taste of bile gathers in the back of my mouth, the idea so horrible it makes me sick. Jesus fucking Christ… Even if he takes the deal, what will be left of him in ten years? Lex can’t go to prison. He wouldn’t survive it. It will kill who he is at his core, annihilate him, scar him for life…
He can’t take the deal. He has to fight this. Ten years… an entire decade stolen from him… He can’t take the deal. Doesn’t he see there’s a third option there, one where he gets acquitted and everything’s back to being perfect?
Before I can express that, he crushes my heart by saying, “I’m taking the deal, Andrea.”
The world crumbles around me, like it did nine days ago. Helpless, I stand there, unable to form coherent thoughts, my heart shattering into a thousand tiny shards. Once he takes the deal, he’ll go to prison for ten years. There’s no turning back after that.
This isn’t happening. I won’t let it.
“No, you’re not,” I stubbornly counter, too shocked to think of anything else to say.
“Andrea, my decision is final. I’m not risking life in prison.”
“But you could also get no prison at all. Lex, you can’t lose hope.”
“I can do ten years. I’ll still have half of my life to live when I get out. But if we lose the trial, they might as well give me the death sentence.”
“Don’t say that. I’m sure you can win. Your attorneys can win. You’re acting like there are only two options, dismissing the third one entirely.”
“I would rather pick the sure outcome than gamble on one I have no control over.”
“But there must be another possibility. There’s no way they’ll find you guilty. They don’t have enough evidence.”
“Iamguilty—of what they accuse me of and of things they don’t even know about. If they getonepiece of incriminating evidence, I’m done. I can’t take that risk.”
Tears gather at my chin, which is how I realize I’m crying.Fuck, my makeup…I don’t know what to say to make him change his mind. He seems so sure of it, I doubt I even can. So I say the next best thing I can think of, hoping it’ll shake him out of it. “What of us, Lex? Aren’tyou willing to fight for us? Are you expecting me to wait for you for ten years?”
“No.”
The gravity of his tone and the terrible meaning behind the single syllable make my knees so weak that I grab the back of a chair to keep my balance. He didn’t even hesitate. My attempt at emotional manipulation not only failed, it also proved he already thought it through, already calculated and accepted the end of us.
“What do you mean?” I ask, hoping this is a misunderstanding.
“Because my fate is sealed for the next ten years, it doesn’t mean yours has to be. I don’t have a choice, but you do. When I’m away, I want you to live your life, to move on with someone who truly deserves you.”
His detached words knock the air out of my lungs as efficiently as if he’d punched me in the chest. So, after everything, this is it?
This is the way we end?
Anger isn’t the emotion I expected to take over, but I can’t control it. “You won’t fight for us?” I accuse, glaring at him.
“I understand you feel betrayed, but trust me, Andrea, this is the best solution. You’ll see it with time.” He’s being pragmatic, controlled. He’s all brain and no heart right now, like his walls went all the way up again.
“I don’t think I ever will, Lex. You’re giving up on us. You’re not even trying to fight. I thought you loved me? I thought you’d do anything for me?” I’m fucking shameless, ready to do or say anything it takes to change his mind.
Ten years is too much. Lex can’t spend that long imprisoned—especially when the alternative might be no time at all.
He takes two steps toward me, his expression firm and authoritative. “I’m not dragging you through hell with me.”
“I’ll be in hell, regardless! But if I have a choice, I’d rather be in it with you.”
“And it’s killing me!” he roars, his control breaking at last. “I’d do anything to protect you, and there you are, ready to dive headfirst into this. I won’t let it happen.”
“Try stopping me, you asshole.”
He blows air through his nose, so angry at me that I see the man he was when we first met—before we fell in love. “You’re infuriating,” he mutters.
“Pot, meet kettle.”
