"No, I--"
"It'll help settle your stomach." He shoved the package into my hand.
The flavor ran out before we left the city, so I spit the piece into a tissue and pulled out another. Chewed it. Spit it out. Took another. The whole way to the jail, I chewed gum, and it had nothing to do with settling my stomach. It was about giving my nerves something to latch on to.
By the time we reached the prison doors, I'd gone through the whole package. When I reached for another and found it empty, Gabriel didn't say a word, but his look made me feel as if I'd stumbled over my own feet. Clumsy and lost, desperate for stability and comfort.
I stopped walking.
"You're this close, Olivia." I caught the faint sigh in his voice, and it cut through me.
"I'm going in. I just . . ." I looked up at him. "I'll do this alone."
"What?"
I straightened, crumpling the empty gum package and pitching it into the trash can.
"I'm going to see him alone," I said. "If you want to come inside, okay. If you'd rather wait in the car, that's fine, too."
When I looked up, his face was impassive. Another five seconds went by before he said, "Why?"
"I think I need to."
He seemed to chew a stick of gum himself, his jaw working. Then, his shades still on, he met my gaze. "Have I done something wrong, Olivia?"
I don't want to break down in front of you. I feel like you're already disappointed in my weakness. You expect better of me. I can't give you better. Not with this. So I'd like you to stay outside.
"I just think I should handle this on my own."
His chin jerked up, lips tightening.
"I'm sorry," I said. "If I'd realized this in Chicago, I'd have caught a cab. I didn't mean to have you chauffeur me out here--"
"I didn't chauffeur you. I wouldn't have let you come on your own. Not until this other matter is settled." He adjusted his cuffs. "I'll escort you in, then, and ensure all the proper arrangements have been made. Is that suitable?"
I could hear the chill in his voice. Damn it, Gabriel. This is not the time to get your back up.
"I'm sor--"
"No need. I understand."
He pulled open the door and ushered me through.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
When I went to see Pamela for the first time, I'd been surprised to meet her at a table, with nothing between us. Gabriel had said the authorities would never let me get that close to Todd. He was right. I was sitting on a rickety stool, staring at a battered speaker and scratched Plexiglas, listening to the woman beside me complain to her inmate husband about the neighbors parking in front of their house.
I'd been a fool to ask Gabriel to stay outside. Yes, it would be harder with him here, watching and assessing, but that would give me a reason to be stronger.
I stood and turned toward the door. Should I ask him to come in? I--
"Olivia."
I jerked back. The voice was so familiar, my adopted name so wrong in it.
"If you're leaving, I understand."
His voice was soft, yet still audible over the faint buzz of the speaker.
My knees wobbled, and I think if I could have run without falling flat on my face, I would have, but I couldn't move.
"If you can stay, just back up and sit down. You don't have to turn around. Be careful, though. You don't want to miss the stool."
A soft chuckle. Oh God, I knew that chuckle, just as I knew the quiet voice and the louder raucous one, too. I could hear that voice strumming with laughter as he pushed me on the swing. As he swooped me up, swirling me around. As he put me on his shoulders. As he tossed me onto the couch and whirled me around in a pool. Always playing, always feeding my need to go higher, go faster, to feel the adrenaline rush.
Then his quiet voice, as he bent to fix a scraped knee or whisper in my ear after a bad dream. I had vague images of Pamela as a warm and loving mother. But Todd? The moment I heard him speak, those memories flooded back, sharp and clear, and the tears started. They didn't begin as prickles or even drops. I felt them streaming down my face, soaking my collar, my cheeks wet, my skin red-hot.
"Can you turn around, Olivia?"
He didn't call me Eden. He didn't stumble on my adopted name, as Pamela did. He was being careful, so very careful.
I took a slow step back and bumped the stool.
"There. Now sit down."
The woman sitting next to me stopped complaining about the neighbors and stared at me, her face scrunched up like I was covered in plague boils.
"Ignore her," Todd said, his voice sharper, and he must have glared at the woman, because she turned away quickly. "Ignore everyone else."
I felt myself nodding and settled onto the stool.
I should turn around.
I can't.
This is stupid. I'm making a fool of myself.
"It's okay."
I nodded again.
"You went to Yale, right?"
The question threw me, and I hesitated before saying, "Yes."
"Okay, so tell me what you studied."
I paused again. Of all the things he could ask . . .
"Olivia, I'm not going to talk about the past or what I remember about you or ask what you remember about me. I know how tough this is, so I just want you to talk to me. Tell me something about yourself, about your life."
"I--I have questions."
His voice softened. "I know. You can ask me anything you want, but you don't need to."
"I should. I'm supposed to . . ."
I'm supposed to be interrogating you. I came for answers that Pamela won't give, but I don't want to do that. Not now. Not yet.
"You can come back," he said. "Anytime you want, you can come back, and I will answer everything I can."
I started to turn, fists clenched at my sides. And I froze again, heart pounding, breath coming short, a panic attack threatening.
"It's okay," he murmured, his voice so low it was barely audible through the speaker. "This is fine. I'm just glad you came."
I nodded, tears welling again. Then I turned and looked at him. The first thing I thought was, He looks exactly like I remember. He didn't, of course. It'd been twenty-two years. The shoulder-length blond hair had been cut, though it was still not short. His face had shallow creases and lines. He seemed smaller than I'd expected, though I chalked that up to a child's perspective. He was maybe five-ten, lean and wiry. His eyes, though? They were exactly what I remembered: green eyes, the mirror image of mine.
Even as I catalogued the differences, those weren't really what I was looking for. I was assessing, worrying even. He looks healthy. Fit. No older than I would have expected--maybe even younger. Calm, too. Grounded. All that came with a rush of relief, that prison hadn't turned him into a wreck of a man or a hardened convict. Then came the guilt, because I hadn't worried about any of that with Pamela.
I took a deep breath. "I majored in Victorian lit. My, um, master's thesis was on Arthur Conan Doyle."
"Sherlock Holmes," he said with a smile. "What's your favorite story?"
I could name The Hound of the Baskervilles and swing this conversation exactly where it was supposed to go. What do you know about the hounds? I felt the words on my lips, rolled them around, but just couldn't get them out. I didn't want that. Not yet.
"'Silver Blaze,'" I said. "It's one of his later ones."
"About the racehorse."
I nodded, and as I did, a memory sparked, something about a pony ride, me begging for one at a fair, Pamela saying no, I wasn't old enough yet, Todd saying he'd hold on to me, and the two of us running off with Pamela sighing in the background.
He could mention that. You always loved horses. Pamela would have. That was how we talked: I'd say something and she'd tie it back to her memories of me. It was a natural inclination, but uncomfortable, that constant reminder, her need to strengthen our connection.
"There was also a dog in 'Silver Blaze,'" Todd said. "The curio
us incident of the dog in nighttime, right? It's been years since I read any of the Holmes stories. I'll have to check them out again. The ones I remember best are . . ."
--
And so it continued. We talked, not about our shared past but finding fresh connections. Todd didn't frantically search them out, like on an awkward first date--You like cream in your coffee? So do I!--but allowed them to rise in natural conversation. We didn't get beyond books, and not even far beyond Sherlock Holmes, before our time ended.
When I got up to leave, he sat very still, then asked, "So, do I pass?" He smiled, and that smile, that crooked smile that lit up his eyes, was so exactly what I remembered that the dam burst and the tears streamed down.
The smile vanished and he leaned forward, hands on the Plexiglas. "It's okay, Olivia," he said. "Everything's okay."
I swiped hard at the tears. "Sorry. This isn't . . ." I managed a wry smile. "Not really my style."
"I know."
He could have dredged up a memory there. You were never a crier or You always hated to cry. Todd only said, "I know." And then, "I'm sorry."
I nodded, but he held my gaze. "I'm so, so sorry. I know that's not enough, and I know this has been hell on you, Olivia."
"It's Liv."
He paused, as if he hadn't heard right, probably because I croaked the words.
"It's usually Liv," I said. "It doesn't have to be. I answer to pretty much anything except Olive, but . . . most people call me Liv."
I could see him struggling not to smile, to keep his expression neutral, not to make a big deal out of this. And it wasn't a big deal . . . except I'd never told Pamela to call me Liv.
"Okay, then. Liv."
The guard came over and stood behind him. The man didn't say anything, actually seemed to be respectfully keeping his distance, but Todd nodded, acknowledging the message.
"Time to go," I said. "I . . . I'll need to come back. If that's okay."
"I'm not sure I can find the time, and it is a terrible imposition, but if you insist . . ."
I choked on a laugh. "Okay. I'll come back. I do have questions."
"I'm sure you do. It was good to see you."
I nodded, stood, and left as he was led away.
CHAPTER TWELVE
The visiting room door opened before I could grab the handle. I looked up at Gabriel.
"Coming to fetch me?" I asked. Then I noticed the window in the door.
He waved me through and shut the door.
"How long were you watching?" I asked.
I waited for him to say he hadn't been, that he'd known my time was up and had come to meet me.
He said nothing.
I let him lead me away, silent as we exited the building.
Had he seen me sitting there with my back to Todd? Seen me crying? Humiliation and anger swirled hot in my gut.
"I asked you--" I began.
"Not to accompany you inside, so I didn't. I waited at the door."
"You watched from the door."
A slight narrowing of his eyes before he slapped on his shades. "I knew this would be difficult, and I thought it best if I was nearby, in case you needed counsel."
"What kind of counsel could I possibly--" I swallowed the rest.
If you embarrassed yourself, that's your fault. Don't take it out on him.
I started for the car. It took a moment to realize Gabriel still stood outside the prison door.
"What have I done, Olivia?"
"Nothing. You're right. I just didn't want--"
I bit off the words, shook my head again, and started to turn away.
"Didn't want what?"
"You to see what I did in there, how I reacted."
His head tilted, lips pursing slightly. "Because you were upset?"
"Can we drop it? Please? I'd like to get out of here."
Once we reached the parking lot, he said, "You asked me to accompany you. You wanted me there, and then you did not, and I'd like to know what I've done, Olivia, because I cannot figure it out."
"You've done nothing. You've been above-and-beyond helpful, especially in the last few days, and if I haven't let you know how much I appreciate--"
"I want to know what I did to make you change your mind about having me there when you met Todd."
I opened the car door but paused before climbing inside and looked across the roof. "You did absolutely nothing wrong. It was one hundred percent me."
His brows knitted, as if I were a witness deliberately ducking a direct question.
I sighed and then admitted, "I was embarrassed. After the throwing up . . . I was worried it would get even worse when I saw him. And I wasn't wrong. I couldn't face him at first, Gabriel. I literally could not face him."
A pause, so long that my gut twisted. I overshared. Again. Goddamn it, Gabriel, do not ask for answers when you don't want them.
Finally, he said, "I would not judge you for--"
"But you do."
I tried to drop it, just climb into the car and break the conversation, but my hands gripped the roof and the words poured out before I could stop them.
"You do judge me. It's subtle, and it might not be intentional, but I can see it and I can feel it. You have no patience with weakness. You have no patience with emotional outbursts. I might not be what you first expected: a spoiled brat playing at living a real life. But it took me a hell of a long time to prove I wasn't that girl, and I still feel like I'm walking a balance beam, ready at any moment to tumble out of your good graces. To make a stupid decision. To overreact to a problem. To be the useless debutante you expect."
He stood there, blank shades fixed on me, the face below them equally blank.
I exhaled. "And speaking of overreacting . . . I--I didn't mean to do that. I should probably . . ." I caught sight of a taxi dropping off a passenger. "I'll catch a ride back to the city and call Ricky."
I headed for the taxi, picking up speed as it started to pull away. I waved and it stopped, and I was almost at the door before Gabriel intercepted me. He motioned the cab on. The guy sped off without even glancing at me.
"Ricky has club business tonight," Gabriel said.
"I know, but he said if I needed him--"
"You don't." He waved me toward the car. "Don won't appreciate it, not when I'm here and can handle this."
"It's not about watching over me, Gabriel. It's about . . ."
I trailed off as I glanced up at him, seeing that same blank expression. It's about support. Having someone to talk to. A shoulder to cry on if I need it. Because I might look okay right now, but I'm not. I'm really not. And you don't see that. You're just relieved that I'm not collapsing in tears on the sidewalk.
"I would like to call Ricky," I said, slowly and firmly.
"I can't stop you, but I don't see the point, unless you're trying to antagonize Don. I have no idea what the Saints are doing--the less I know, the better--but Ricky is very concerned about the situation with James. If he didn't feel he needed to handle this with the club, he'd be with you. You don't need to call him, so you shouldn't."
I stared at him. He frowned back.
You don't get it. You can't get it.
I started toward the rental car without another word.
--
I wished I had more gum. My jaw ached from chewing that entire package, and I think my stomach would have revolted at the merest hint of spearmint, but I desperately wanted something, anything, to do. Also, I wanted a drink. Maybe three. As we stopped at a light, Gabriel caught me glancing longingly at a bar.
"Would you like . . . ?"
I turned away quickly. "No, I'm fine."
He continued driving, and I tried to relax. My fingers itched to pick up my phone and text Ricky, but Gabriel was right. We were going to the cabin tomorrow. I could wait.
When the car stopped, Gabriel's door clicked open and I looked about, but the only open shop I could see was a corner store. When Gabriel indicated I should get out, I shook m
y head.
"I'll wait," I said. "Oh, but if you could grab gum to replace Lydia's . . ."
He frowned. Then he noticed the corner store. He pointed farther down the road. I could make out flashes of neon and a crowd on the sidewalk. When I put down my window, I caught the thump of music.
"I don't need a drink."
"Yes, but you'd like one. Come on."
--
I'm partial to small pubs, though I'll make an exception for a good blues bar. Quiet--that's the key. This place had nineties pop music cranked so loud I could feel my fillings quivering.
Gabriel paused at the entrance and peered back down the street, as if expecting other options to miraculously appear.
"This seems . . . loud," he said, and although I had to read his lips to understand him, I swore I could hear the bewilderment in his voice, as if "loud" and "bar" were not words he expected to go together. Other words that didn't go together? Gabriel and alcohol. Gabriel and socializing. Two more I suspected didn't fit? Gabriel and bars.
"This isn't what I had in mind," he said.
"It's fine."
As we walked in, I realized this was what I needed--not the alcohol but the bar itself. The anonymity and the darkness and the loud music that saved me from having to talk.
I ordered Scotch, neat. Gabriel got a coffee. And that was the capper on my evening. Gabriel sees alcohol as a crutch. He knows that's why I don't like to drink in front of him. So if I have one, so does he, even if he doesn't finish it. Tonight he brought me to a bar, his idea, after I refused twice, and now he was going to drink a goddamn coffee while--
Fuck it. Just fuck it. Let him have his coffee. Let him judge me. I downed my drink and then ordered another, and didn't even glance Gabriel's way. Between drinks, I texted Ricky to let him know everything was fine. He replied that he wanted to talk. I told him I'd call before bed.
I was halfway through my second drink when Gabriel apparently got bored. One minute he was staring at nothing in particular and the next he was on his feet, three paces away before he remembered he wasn't alone. He turned and motioned that he was stepping away. I thought he was heading to the restroom. Instead, he went outside, maybe for fresh air, maybe as a hint for me to drink faster. Didn't know. Didn't care.
Gabriel had been gone about five minutes when a guy waltzed over and swung into his seat.
"Taken," I said, motioning at the empty coffee cup.
He picked up Gabriel's mug and set it on the next table. "Not now."
I looked around, assuring myself that there was, indeed, no shortage of young, attractive women who looked a whole lot more welcoming than I did.