He had a savior complex as big as the sky, but he didn’t want anyone to know it. Didn’t want anyone to see it. Josie had been in therapy long enough to know that it wasn’t healthy but that was something for Turner to work out. Whatever good he put into the world was done quietly, in shadows, without the knowledge of anyone except the people he helped. Turner didn’t like attention. Not good attention, anyway.
“You’re used to it,” Josie said. “Being disliked, hated, even. Because of your dad.”
“Don’t try to psychoanalyze me, Quinn.”
“Shut up. I’m figuring this out.”
“Jesus, you’re annoying.”
“Bringing attention to yourself can only end badly,” she went on.
Something wary and skittish darkened the blue in his eyes.
“For a while, with Cassidy, with Dani, you let your guard down. Let them see you. Let them validate you.” She thought about the photos on Cassidy’s corkboard from when she was little. The carefree look on Turner’s face. The love there when he gazed at his daughter. She thought about Annette saying he’d changed after the escort killer case.
What happened to Shitbird? He turned into a shitbird. The escort case messed up his moral compass, screwed with his head. We got the conviction but after that, he just changed.
But had he changed because his moral compass had shifted? Or for some other reason? Would someone as fiercely loyal as Turner change that much?
It wasn’t out of the question, of course. People changed for the worse every day, sometimes to unimaginable degrees. In her job, she had a front row seat to it. They both did.
Except she didn’t believe that Turner had.
He’d probably always been an irritating, irreverent pot-stirrer. Getting a rise out of people was his favorite sport. His half-assed, late reports and inability to stay focused or even to stay in one place for very long? That could just be ADHD. All the twitching and tapping of fingers, the obsession with his tiny basketball hoop at work, the incessant phone scrolling—that stuff could definitely be attributed to ADHD. The other stuff? The sexist and inappropriate names and comments? Josie was beginning to think it was a façade. What better way to keep people out? Which begged the question, what would make him want to keep people out so badly?
She thought about what he’d said, or started saying, about what it would mean if Dani had had an affair. About him not trying all this time only to be the one who’d been lied to, betrayed.
The one.
Not lied to and betrayedas well.
Everyone what? The answer was plain as day from her conversation with Annette and every text message between him and Dani. Everyone blamed him for the marriage falling apart. Everyone blamed him because of the affair with Zara.
“You really didn’t have an affair,” Josie said. “Did you?”
“I told you that. You didn’t believe me.”
“Just like everyone else.”
He gave her a bitter smile.
“I’m sorry,” Josie said. “I believe you now. Dani never has, though, has she?”
“No.”
“Neither has Annette.”
He sighed. “That was Dani’s doing. Annette’s loyalty is ultimately to her niece and I’m fine with that.”
“Are you, though?”
“What do you want me to say? Was I disappointed that no one in my life gave me the benefit of the doubt? The answer is yes. Was I disappointed that even though there was no evidence of my having an inappropriate relationship with Zara, everyone still thought the worst? Yeah. I was. It’s not like I kept anything a secret. I wasn’t sneaking around with Zara. I told Dani what I was doing and why and she still decided that I wasn’t trustworthy. My wife. My own wife. As far as Annette goes, it sucks but I’m glad she’s got Dani’s back like that. I don’t hold it against her.”
“What about the rest of your colleagues?” Josie asked. “Did they think you were having an affair with Zara?”
His chin dropped to his chest. “What do you think?”
“Turner,” Josie said. “Did you even try to defend yourself?”
