"You gave Asha those words?" His voice is low, but I hear the hiss of anger threading through it all the same.
"I did." I move away from the window. "I don't keep secrets from my wife."
"Well, we both know that's not true." He sets his glass down with a sharp click against the table. "You're selective with your secrets. You keep the ones that don't advance your agenda."
I raise a brow, genuinely not following his claim.What the hell is he getting at?
"You haven't told her about your suspicions." He gestures vaguely toward the door Sydney left through, and there it is—an accusation, a challenge.
"I haven't told my wife that I suspect her father is fucking her best friend, because I didn't have proof." The words come out profane, and he rolls his lips, clearly not happy with the way they sound out loud.Good."Outside of witnessing Sydney walk out of this house early on the morning after the watch party, all I have are coincidences and timely disappearances. So yeah, I haven’t thrown a grenade in my wife's life when I don't have solid proof." I take a breath, forcing myself to rein in my anger that's threatening to boil over. "You'll have to excuse me for thinking my time is better spent focusing on how to help her see her father didn't commit murder."
He stiffens, his entire body going rigid. My words clearly hit a nerve, but not the one I expected. I anticipated defense, sharp words, threats, maybe even a demand that I leave. Instead, what I see in his eyes looks disturbingly like defeat. His shoulders slump almost imperceptibly, and suddenly, he looks older, more human.This isn't the reaction of a man protecting a lie. This is the reaction of a man who's just realized how broken things really are.
"And what do you think?"
"I think my father has honored whatever vow he gave to your late wife," I say, my voice softer. "Possibly to a fault, but I don't think he'd cover up a murder." He pulls in a stuttered breath, and I watch his knuckles practically turn white at his sides. He didn't know his daughter believed he was capable of murdering her mother.
"Whatever it is, it has to end here, today, when she comes to talk to you." I move closer, my voice urgent. "You have to tell her the truth. You can't keep this from her."
The words have barely left my mouth when the door to the library pushes all the way open.
"Tell me what?"
Asha steps fully into the room, her eyes darting between both of us, reading the tension thick in the air. Her brow furrows with confusion and maybe suspicion as we both stand frozen, both of us too scared to move after being caught on the heels of such a heavy discussion.Fuck. How much did she hear?
"Trigger, why are you here?" Her voice is confused. "I told you I need to talk to my father alone."
I take a step toward her. "I know, but?—"
"Do you really think so lowly of me, Asha?" Warrick cuts me off, his voice rising with a rawness I haven't heard from him before. His face pinches with pain, and every carefully maintained line of composure cracks. "You think I'm so evil thatI could stoop so low as to hurt your mother?" His voice breaks on the last word. "To kill my wife?"
"You told him?" She whips toward me, and the look of pure betrayal in her eyes feels like a knife straight to my heart, twisting with each second she stares at me. "Why would you tell him?"
"Asha—" I start, but my throat tightens. I can't stand her believing I'm doing anything other than trying to help her.
"So it's true, then?" Warrick steals my words, his voice hollow. He takes a step toward her. "You actually believe I could do that?"
Asha swallows hard before accepting defeat and throwing her arms wide. "What else am I supposed to think?" The question comes out somewhere between a shout and a sob.
She begins to pace, her movements shaky with emotion. "You sent me away and never let me come home. You kept me away from here and all of her memories. You stopped talking about her, and even when I'd point-blank ask you questions, you'd either shut me down or give me half-ass answers that were clearly not the whole truth."
Her voice rises with each accusation as years of hurt spill out. "Then, this past year, with the sale of the property, you hid it from me. You've hidden everything from me." She stops pacing, spinning to face him head-on. "How come I never knew Mom was friends with Baylor growing up? That the Hales and the Fairfields weren't always enemies? Those are just a few of my glaring questions, but I have a million more, small details I've collected over the years."
Warrick opens his mouth to speak, but she's not done.
"You tried to hold this house over my head to scare me. I know my name is on the title. I know Mom left it to me and you."
"How do you—" Warrick attempts to ask, genuine shock breaking through his pain.
"It doesn't matter how!" She throws her hands up, her voice cracking. "All that matters is you lied."
"I didn't lie," Warrick cuts in. "I just didn't tell you."
She rolls her eyes, a bitter laugh escaping her throat. "You of all people know an omission is a lie dressed in sheep's clothing."
"But that's nothing compared to your biggest omission, the one that makes you a murderer." She says it flatly, like she knows for a fact it's the truth.
Jesus, Asha.
