I tossed down the now-warm bag of veggies. “So explain it to me.”
He pressed his lips together, looking as if he wouldn’t answer me. I watched, fuming, as he withdrew mayo and retrieved a package of bread.
“Really?” I burst out. “You’re just going to ignore the question?”
His shoulders went rigid, then abruptly sagged. He turned to face me.
“I work for your brothers,” he finally said, “and I went to prison. Didn’t you ever wonder what got me there?”
“Well, yeah, but Holden said the terms of the Redemption Road program were to not disclose your felony. Dalton could have found out, but Holden said we should respect your privacy.” I shrugged. “I was curious, but I didn’t want to pry.”
“Well, you should know who you’re kissing,” he said, as he assembled my sandwich with quick, efficient movements, eyes on his hands, rather than me. “So, ask, Bailey.”
My stomach tightened. His tone wasn’t encouraging. What could Flynn have done that was so terrible?
I licked my dry lips. “What did you do, Flynn? Rob a bank or something?” I chuckled weakly.
“I wish that’s all it was,” he said, eyes dark as he lifted them to meet mine. “I killed someone, Bailey.”
I sucked in a sharp breath. No. That couldn’t be right. The words didn’t make sense. Flynn wasn’t— He couldn’t have donethat.
“I don’t think I heard you right,” I said.
“I killed someone.”
“Like in a car accident?” I asked, clinging to hope.
“No, not like that. I’m a murderer, Bailey,” he said, voice harsh. “I went to prison for killing a man.”
“That can’t be right,” I whispered.
“It is,” he said. “You need to stop and reconsider what you’re asking for. I’m not the great guy you think you know.”
I stared at him, speechless. Horrified.
“But no, you wouldn’t,” I said in a small voice. “There must have been some mistake. You were set up, or, or?—”
“I was guilty,” Flynn said flatly, giving me no excuses or explanations.
He handed me the sandwich. I stared at it, but I wasn’t seeing it. I didn’t even feel the throbbing of my black eye anymore.
White noise filled my ears as my heart beat too fast.
“Now you know,” Flynn said quietly. “The guest room is yours if you want it. If you’d rather leave, I’ll understand. Now that you’ve iced your eye, you should be okay.”
He walked away, leaving me with a sick feeling in my stomach. The Flynn I knew would never hurt anyone, and yet, he had. He’d killed a man. He’d been convicted.
He admitted his guilt.
What the hell did I do with that?
I set the sandwich down and walked to the door, then opened it as quietly as I could and slipped out.
I needed to clear my head and think. If I stayed here, I’d only lie awake all night and paint gruesome scenarios in my head, wondering what happened.
I didn’t want to picture Flynn that way. Didn’t want to imagine him at his worst. As violent. As murderous.
I wanted to hold on to the Flynn I thought I knew.
