"I have, and I still am," he said. "I can give you my therapist's number if you like. He's very professional."
I toyed with my empty ring finger. I'd taken my wedding ring off a couple of weeks after Wolfgang died. I would have taken it off immediately, but I was scared the cops would see it as some sort of admission of guilt. After all, wasn't the wife the one they usually blamed?
They'd looked into me thoroughly, in the end concluding whoever killed him was stronger than me. Obviously male. Maybe two males.
It was better they believed that than the truth.
Since they found no evidence I'd hired them to kill him, they let the matter go. As far as I knew anyway.
Honestly, I wouldn't be surprised if they were keeping an eye on me, tapping my phone or something. Other than that, they seemed to have stopped their investigation. Wolfgang became another cold case sitting on a hard drive somewhere, long after his ashes went cold.
"That might not be a bad idea," I conceded eventually. "I'm not good at… I don't know. Asking for help."
"Neither am I," he admitted. "No one wants to think they aren't strong, tough, and don’t have all their shit together. Except most of us aren't and don't. Not always." His brow creased. Eyes glazed, thinking back.
"You seem pretty put together to me," I said.
He blinked a couple of times, bringing himself back to the present. "That's what I want you to think," he said, offering a lopsided smile that made something stir in my chest. Probably heartburn.
"Mostly I am," he added. "But we all have off days."
"Some of us have off months." I made a face as I picked up my matcha to take a sip. "Maybe even off years. Actually, I wouldn't rule out off lifetimes."
He chuckled. "I don't believe you have an off lifetime. It's okay to need help. It's also okay to admit you're a survivor. You are one."
"I guess I am," I conceded. "Only I wish…" I put down my cup and sighed.
"What do you wish?" he pressed gently.
"I wish… I don't know. I wish I didn’t get into that situation in the first place."
"Were you given a choice?" he asked. He knew how to aim directly for my heart, and hit it dead centre.
"No," I said on an exhale. "It's a long story."
"Why don't you tell me over dinner?" he suggested. "I should be going, I need to get back to work."
I glanced at the clock on the wall and winced. "I'm sorry… I've wasted enough of your time."
Moving slowly, he put a hand on my arm, lightly, watching carefully for my reaction.
"You are not a waste of time," he said firmly. "Never. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise."
My tongue slid across my lip. His skin was warm through the fabric of my jacket. Comforting.
"You're too nice," I said. I should pull away from him, but I didn't want to. I could have sat like this for a long time.
He chuckled. "I don't think anyone has called me nice before," he said. "I'm not sure how accurate it is. Most people call me an asshole."
I shook my head. "I'd like to have dinner with you," I said slowly. "But if you actually turn out to be an asshole…" I smiled slightly.
"I'll do my best to not be a complete prick," he assured me. "I'll pick you up at seven."
"Seven," I agreed. That would give me plenty of time to look like I hadn't clawed my way up out of the sewer. Or out of a deep, dark hole.
It might even give me time to forget about the text messages.
CHAPTER 3
