Hedidn’t. It simply wasn’t possible. There was no way in hell he would take a life.
For you, he absolutely would, my subconscious unhelpfully supplied.
Gathering the articles and index card, I returned them to the envelope and headed for the locker room, shoving the entire thing in my backpack. I didn’t want anyone to see it and ask questions—least of all Crew.
Checking my watch, I mentally calculated how many hours until my shift was over and I could go home.
My roommate—boyfriend?—and I needed to have a serious conversation.
“Chief?”I called when I walked in the door the next morning. When he didn’t answer, I tried again, using his real one instead of his nickname. “Lane!”
His footfalls approached from down the hall to his room, and a moment later, he met me in the living room. His face split into a grin at the sight of me.
“Hey, sunny,” he said as he approached, intent on giving me a kiss, but I held up my hands.
Those blue eyes darted around my face, and his grin slowly fell, quickly morphing into a frown as he gauged my serious expression.
“What’s wrong?”
“Can we sit?”
“Sure…” he said, moving to the couch and taking the spot along one arm, patting the cushion next to him. I took a step in his direction, then realized I couldn’t sit. I needed to pace, to use the movement to set free some of the nervous energy coursing through me. “Sunny, you’re freaking me the fuck out. Tell me what’s going on.”
“Did you kill Ryan Boyd?” I blurted.
Lane’s expression blanked, all the blood drained from his face, and his mouth slackened.
Despite his immediate physical reaction to my question, his voice was steady as he asked, “Who told you that?”
Dropping my backpack onto the coffee table, I dug out the envelope and passed it to him. He dipped his hand inside, coming out with the articles. The index card boldly displayed its message from right on top.
He didn’t bother to look through the articles, simply set them aside and fingered the index card, flipping it over and over in his fingers.
“Where’d you get this?” he asked.
“Someone sent it to me at the firehouse.”
“I got one too,” he admitted. “My first day back to work.”
“What did you do, Lane? And don’t fucking lie to me.”
His broad palm scraped down his face, that damn nervous tic the only outward sign he was distressed by this conversation.
And then he spoke, and my entire world changed in an instant.
“Yeah, Sutton. I killed him.”
I gasped—I couldn’t help it. My hands flew to my mouth, and my legs gave out from under me. I managed to stumble to one of the chairs before falling over.
So many questions flowed through my mind, and I had no idea where to start.
He’d actually done it. Over the last twelve hours, from the time I received the envelope and realized its implications to walking into this house no more than five minutes ago, I’d had a lot of time to think. I’d spent that time convincing myself whoever sent this envelope was only messing with us. There was simplyno way in hellLane Lawless,myLane, had taken a life.
And at twenty, no less?
Absolutely fucking not.
To have him confirm it now quite literally knocked me on my ass.
