I told him about the stolen Aston Martin. About Ike Grindley’s accidental death. I told him about the close calls Vero and I had survived in Atlantic City and our brushes with one particularly dirty cop there.
When I was finished, I felt hollow, as if all my insides had just been poured out.
For a long moment, neither of us spoke.
“Why were you and Vero at the cabin last night?” His tone was hard to read. I couldn’t be sure what he was thinking or feeling. All I knew was that he expected the truth, and Penny’s answer last night had struck at the heart of it.
“Because I needed proof that Steven was innocent, and I didn’t think anyone would believe me without it—including you.”
He flinched. It was the first time I’d seen a reaction in his eyes since we’d climbed inside the van, as if, of all the horrible things I’d just told him, this was the confession that had hurt him most of all.
His next words sounded like gravel in his throat. “Tell me something that scares you.”
I laughed, stunned. What I’d just told him hadn’t been terrifying enough? Hadn’t taken every ounce of reckless courage I could muster? I was terrified of being arrested. Of going to prison. Of losing my kids. And I had just put all of that on the line for him. “I’m scared of you!” I cried.
“Why do I scare you?” His voice was growing stronger, more demanding, like he needed to know the answer to this more than anything else.
“Because I’m more afraid of losing whatever we might have than the consequences of everything I just told you! Because I love the way you make me feel and the way you are with my children and how patient you are with my mom. Because I love that you read my stupid books and you know how I like my coffee. Because you look at me like I’m the most important person in the world and you answer the phone when I call you, even when you’re busy. Because I think I’m in love with you. No…” I shut my eyes and shook my head. “Because IknowI’m in love with you. And the fact that I can’t seem tostopbeing in love with you scares me most of all!”
The intensity of his stare was searing. He swallowed hard. “You have nothing—nothing—to be afraid of with me.”
“You can’t make that promise.”
“Icanmake that promise, because I’m in love with you, too.”
He crossed the floor to me in the span of a heartbeat. His mouth was on mine, my hands were in his hair. The restraints holding us back had all snapped. Suddenly, we couldn’t get close enough.
I pushed his jacket off his shoulders, and he unfastened my coat.
“Nick?” I panted as he lowered us both to the floor. “If you’re not breaking up with me because I just confessed to manslaughter, grand theft auto, interfering with several criminal investigations, and concealing evidence from… well… you,” I admitted as he unzipped my pants, “do you think we could maybe not do this here?”
He lifted his head, his chest heaving, his body hovering like a live wire over mine. He looked a little dazed as he searched my face. Then a light dawned as it occurred to him wherehereactually was. He glanced down at the apple juice–stained, crumb-crusted carpet where Harris Mickler had breathed his last breath.
“Bench seat?” he asked urgently, jerking his chin toward the third row.
I nodded emphatically. “Perfect.”
He had said everything I needed to hear. I’d told him everything I needed to say. There was nothing more we needed to confess to each other as we tumbled into the back seat.
CHAPTER 25
It had taken me nearly two days to recover from the all-nighter I had pulled at the police station (and the hour Nick and I had spent in the back of my van before he’d finally driven me home). He’d fallen asleep curled around me in my bed. When his alarm went off before sunrise the next morning, we had both reached to turn it off and slept through the entire next day.
My mother, upon returning the children to my house on Sunday, had been delighted to find Nick standing barefoot in my kitchen, enjoying a cup of coffee and stirring a pan of eggs on my stove. His shirt was untucked, and a few extra buttons were open. To my surprise, Delia hadn’t batted an eye. She’d called out a joyful, “Hi, Nick!,” given each of us a vigorous hug, then skipped off to play with her Barbies.
Nick leaned down to let my mother give him a kiss on his cheek as he cooked. “Can I fix you some breakfast, Susan?”
My mother practically swooned. “Me? Oh, no, Nicholas! I already ate, but you’re very sweet to offer.” She leaned close to my earand whispered, “I found a fantastic caterer who does very affordable receptions, and my friend Doris knows a wonderful florist who has her own truck—”
“Mom, we’re not—”
She held up a finger. “He looks very good holding a spatula, Finlay. Do not screw this up. I have to go. Your father’s waiting in the car. I told him we’d go to early Mass so he can get home in time to lay some mulch.” She kissed my cheek, too, said goodbye to Vero, and was out the door, a whirlwind of grandma energy. I waved to my father through the window as Nick set two plates of eggs on the table, one for me and one for Vero. He came up behind me and wrapped his arms around my waist.
“I’m going upstairs to grab a shower before I head to the station. Can I convince you to join me?” He nuzzled my neck as his hands wandered to my hips. “Delia already thinks we’re taking baths together.”
“If we do, you might never make it to work.”
He groaned into my shoulder.
