“And Lance is with her now.”
“Lance traded himself so my father and I could walk out of that brownstone alive. Because that’s what he does. He throws himself into the fire so nobody else has to burn.”
His eyes go glossy and a tear spills over. He wipes it away and sniffs.
“Tell me what’s on this, Art.” I pull the hard drive from my jacket. “Tell me it is what I think it is. Tell me you held your best friend’s blackmail in your hands and chose to keep him down there so you wouldn’t have to man up and face your shit.”
He downs the rest of his drink and stares at the ground. “Everything. Every fight. Every match. Every hit job. And not just his.”
Relief pours through me.I can do this. I just have to convince him to let me leave.
“I’m taking this with me.”
He stares at me for a long time. The silence stretches until I can hear the building settling and my own blood pounding and the ice shifting in his emptied glass.
“You really love him,” he says.
“Yes.”
“And he loves you.”
“Yes.”
His face crumples. Not the way it happens in movies. It’s quieter than that. Like he’s realizing the life he thought he was building has been a house of cards, and the wind just blew.
“You know what the worst part is?” he says. “I think part ofme always knew he was in love with you. From the first night I brought you into this place. The way he looked at you. He’d never looked at anyone like that…not even me.”
My chest aches, because underneath everything, underneath the lies and the cowardice and the cage, Art loved Lance. Maybe not the right way. Maybe not enough to save him. But he loved him in the only way he’s ever known love. Selfishly.
“Art, I need you to let me walk out of here.”
“And if I don’t?”
“Then you’re exactly what your father raised you to be.”
He steps back, his shoulders hitting the doorframe, and his face goes white.
I see it land. It cracks through every wall he’s built, every excuse he’s made, every time he told himself he was different from Franklin Penngrove.
“I loved you,” he says. “I know it doesn’t look like it. I know I did everything wrong. But I loved you, Ginny. And I loved him.”
“I know.” My throat is so tight I can barely speak. “That’s what makes this all so goddamn sad.”
He steps aside. “Go.”
The doorway is open. He’s not blocking it anymore. He’s just standing there, looking broken, with an empty glass and the ghost of a life that was never really his.
I walk past him. Our shoulders almost touch.
“Ginny.”
I stop but don’t turn around.
“I’m sorry.”
“Me, too.” I nod once. And then I’m down the stairs andthrough the side door and into the cold night air, and the hard drive is pressed against my ribs like a second heartbeat, and I’m running.
Chapter 45
