Mind Lies (11 page)

“Because the brake lines on Ms. Sloane’s SUV were cut,” Boston soberly replies.

I gasp, and Cooper’s hold on my arm keeps me upright. He guides me toward the outside steps so that I can sit down. Breathing deeply, head in hands, I ask, “Why are you just telling me this now? It’s been a month!”

He clears his throat. “I wasn’t at the scene when the wreck took place. The officer who was made note that there were no skid marks on the road. Normally that would mean the driver was impaired or fell asleep at the wheel, but you came up clean. I tried to see you in the hospital, but you were still in a coma; and, as I said, I came to see you the other day, but you weren’t home. So this is me following up.”

Cooper huffs and sits down beside me. “She can’t help you.”

Boston takes a bolder stance, clearly agitated. “And you are?”

Cooper looks him dead in the eye. “Cooper Gray. My wife and I are Jerri’s close friends.”

“I can see that,” Boston replies, his tone insinuating we’re more than friends. I hold my hand up, cutting Cooper off before he unleashes. “I was just at the Gray’s for dinner, and Cooper walked me home. To be honest, I’m grateful he did because your presence at my back door is a little intimidating.” I wave to his brick wall of a body. “And I can’t help you because I don’t remember,” I grudgingly add.

“You don’t remember the accident? Maybe you can tell me where you came from at one in the morning?”

I shake my head. “I take it you didn’t speak with the doctor who released me?”

He shakes his head. “I was informed when you woke up, but I was out of town. By the time I got to the hospital, I found out you’d been discharged.”

I scoff. “I wouldn’t have been able to help you any sooner. I don’t remember because I have amnesia, Detective, which means I remember nothing. I don’t remember what my car looked like, much less how the accident happened. The only reason I know my birthday is because I read it in my medical file. So as I said, I can’t help you. I wish I could, but I can’t.”

He softens instantly, the blood draining from his stark but handsome face. “I’m sorry, Ms. Sloane. I wasn’t aware.”

“Clearly,” Cooper mumbles, earning him a scowl from the detective.

“And where were you on the night of the accident Mr. Gray?”

Cooper scowls back. “In the Cayman Islands, on my honeymoon.” The Detective still looks skeptical, so Cooper adds, “My wife and I live in the building across the street. She can confirm we were there. You can also look at my credit card statements. Go ask the resort staff and the pilot who flew the damn plane.”

Reluctantly, he nods, placated by Cooper’s response. “Did you remember this man and his wife when you woke up, Ms. Sloane?”

I shake my head, tired of the conversation. “No, I didn’t. But his wife and I run this store together, and there are hundreds of photos of us together in my apartment, so I’m pretty sure they can confirm we know each other,” I respond sarcastically.

“I hope your memory returns, Ms. Sloane. The cut brake line was no accident. I’m gonna leave my card; if you remember anything, please call me.” He hands me his card and asks, “Are you driving again?”

Stuffing the card in my pocket, I reply, “No, I haven’t replaced the old vehicle yet, and to be honest I’m not ready to. I’m not sure I would remember how to drive properly, let alone know where I’d be going.”

Stuffing his hands in his jean pockets, he speaks as he steps back to his truck. “I’ll be in touch, Ms. Sloane. Stay safe.”

Not yet knowing who I need to be safe from, I simply wave lightly and hang my head.

Do you have any enemies?

Your break lines were cut.

“Shit just got a whole lot more serious, Jer.”

I nod, watching the SUV with two occupants drive away.

“It sure did, Coop,”

Chapter Thirteen

“Did you think I wouldn’t find you, Lass?”

I freeze as I pull the key from my apartment door. It’s not the old apartment above Ming’s Laundromat. It’s the new one a little closer to night school, the one I moved to so I could get away from the man currently parked on my couch in the living room.

Locklin.

It has been four months since I last saw him, four months since I packed my few belongings and moved into this tiny, low-rent apartment. It has only been two days since Portia left, and I’m grateful she’s not with me tonight; I have no idea how I would explain Locklin’s presence.

I had offered Portia my couch to sleep on after her horrible on-again-off-again boyfriend gave her a black eye. I still don’t know her very well, but I knew enough that no woman deserved that sort of treatment, and I also knew she needed a safe place to lay her head at night. The arrangement only lasted a few weeks while she waited for an apartment to open up. She left the other day, and I can truly say I miss having her here.

You don’t realize how lonely you are until the sound of silence truly sinks in.

Locklin has broken that silence, and for the first time since we met, I can honestly say I am not thrilled to see him. I spent weeks, maybe months, lost in myself and the grief over losing our child.

Lost and alone.

His presence now is a kick in the teeth.

“I don’t recall inviting you in.”

Even in the dark, I know he has that stupid smirk on his face, the one that says, “I’ll go where I want, do what I want, and see who I want, and not a damn thing will get in my way.”

“You left me, Jerrilyn.” The deep timbre of his voice, and the use of my full name, lets me know exactly how pissed off he is. “No forwarding address at Ming’s. No text. No calls. Why?”

His Irish brogue, which is more pronounced when pissed off or turned on, sends shivers down my spine. Much to my dismay, it still and probably always will affect me. Regardless of his wants, I need to put myself first. We’ve been doing this back-and-forth for years now, and no matter how much steel I put around my heart—sometimes to keep him in, sometimes to block him out—I know it’s time.

Closing the door, I finally turn to face him. The bulb over the stove casts a faint light on his face. The dark hair flopping over his forehead casts shadows over the angles of his cheekbones. I drop my purse on the counter and lean back against it. I have no intention of taking a place next to him on the couch. I can’t think, let alone speak properly, when we’re that close.

Folding my arms over my chest, I prepare to say what I’ve planned from the moment I left Ming’s. I knew he would find me eventually. Stupidly, I had hoped for more time.

“I’m done running with you, Locklin.”

His fingers clench into fists as he replies. “I’ve kept you in the same place for more than a year. That’s hardly running.”

I shake my head. “I know. I guess what I mean is
I’m
not running again. And if you need to, I won’t be coming with you. I’m staying here, Locklin.”

Leaning forward, he places his clenched fists by his thighs and flexes them. Mockingly, he says, “I had no intention of moving you. Boston has proved to be safe, so I don’t understand the theatrics and you running from me. If you wanted a new apartment—by the looks of it, a much shittier one—you could have talked to me first, and I would have helped you fucking move.” His voice raises with each word. “Because you wouldn’t talk to me, I had to track you down like a goddamn dog.
THEN,
I have to wait for days until that woman from school leaves your apartment. What the hell were you thinking, Jerri?”

I move from the island and stand on the other side of the coffee table, holding onto what little patience I have left. “What was I thinking? I’ll tell you what I was thinking, Locklin—”

“Please, fucking do!” he yells.

I calmly say, “I was thinking that I’m done hiding in an apartment with no life and no friends. I was thinking that if and when I’m not in school, I’m going to get a job. I’ll be twenty-four soon, Locklin, and I’m done hiding away while life passes me by.”

He throws his hands in the air in frustration and stands from the couch. “In case you’ve forgotten, hiding keeps you safe!”

“Oh, piss off with the safety bullshit again, Locklin. What do I do all day, huh? Up until
YOU
decided night school was safe, I spent my days held up in an apartment. The only thing I had to look forward to was when you would finally show up.” I curse the crack in my voice, but I power on. “It’s not just about school or getting a job, which I plan to do. It’s the fact that the only purpose I’ve had for the past few years is to sit . . . and wait . . . for you. My life revolves around you, Lockin. My days became, ‘How many weeks until Locklin returns,’ ‘How many days will he be staying,’ and ‘How many days until he comes back’? I’m sick of it, Lock. I can’t do it anymore.” Wiping the tears from my cheeks, I shake my head when he starts to move closer. “I don’t want to do it anymore, Locklin.”

He staggers, and when I have the courage to face him, I raise my wet eyes to meet his confused ones. Shaking his head, he says, “You don’t know what you’re saying, Lass.”

I nod. “Yes, Locklin, I do. I’m done waiting months on end for you to come to me. I’m done waiting weeks before I get a text letting me know you’re alive. I’m done being your temporary resting spot.”

“You were never temporary.
WE
are not temporary!” he says, slicing his hand through the air to emphasize his point.

“It’s not your choice, Locklin. I won’t sit and wait for you anymore. Either you’re here or you’re gone.  I’ve given you two years to settle this, and you haven’t. I’m done waiting, Locklin.”

Pushing the coffee table to the side, he curses. “This is bullshit, Jerri! You cannot make me choose. I’m not ready to take them down yet; I need more time!”

I knew that’s what he would say. “That’s fine, Locklin. You go do what you need to do, but just know I’m not in it anymore.”

Skirting the coffee table at speed, he grabs onto my shoulders. “You can’t do that to me, Lass. I’m still here because of you! I’m doing this for y—”

“Don’t you dare.” I nearly growl the words at him. “Don’t you dare, Locklin. You’re standing in this apartment because of me, but the reason you’re gone for months on end and won’t let this go is because of
her.”

Shaking his hands off my shoulders, I move to the island and retrieve the small black-and-white photo from the back of the drawer. Locklin watches me, running a hand through his thick hair. I stop in front of him, admiring his rugged beauty for what may be the last time before I hand him the photo.

Tentatively, he reaches out, holding the corner of the image with care before angling it toward the light in the kitchen. He frowns, and then his jaw goes slack when he reads “Baby Sloane” in the top right corner. The image of the unborn child is but a blob, but it still holds weight—the weight of something he and I created together.

“Jerri girl,” Locklin whispers. He looks from the photo to my stomach, surely not having read the date on the image, which was taken many months ago.

I shake my head and speak softly. “Do you remember what I asked you when you left Ming’s last time?”

“Same thing as always, Lass: for me to stay, and when I’ll be coming back,” he answers.

I nod. “That’s right, Lock. I asked you to stay, and you told me you can’t. And I asked how long you’d be gone, and you said maybe two months. Do you want to know why I wanted you to stay so badly that time? Why I was so upset?”

He shakes his head. “You’re always upset when I go, Lass, as am I. But we make it work. We’ve done this a long time, and we know each other better than any other, do we not?”

I frown. “No, we really don’t, Locklin. I asked you to stay because I was two months pregnant with your child.”

“Was?” he rasps, but I put my hand up to keep him from speaking. “Two months, Locklin. I asked you to stay because I was too scared to do it on my own. I didn’t want to do it on my own, but if I had to I would. I would have done anything.” I whisper vehemently, getting angrier with the loss that’s coming. “But you know what happened days after you left, Locklin?” I let the tears pour down my cheeks as I tell him. “I suffered a chorionic hematoma—a miscarriage.”

Grabbing the sides of my face, he wipes his thumbs over my wet cheeks before asking, “Why didn’t you tell me? Do I not have the right to know? Why would you keep this from me?”

I sigh. “Because it wouldn’t have made a bit of difference.”

“How can you say that?” he angrily replies.

“Because it’s true,” I tell him. “Would you have stayed? If I had told you about the baby that day, would you have stayed?”

The sound of silence is his answer, and it confirms what I already know. He will never give up, and until he finds complete justice for
her
, I will always be second fiddle.

No woman or child will change that.

As much as I admire his determination, his drive to complete a goal, I remind myself it’s not conducive to a relationship, let alone a family.

I squeeze his wrists and lower them from my face. “I’m done being alone, Locklin. I was alone when I was rushed in an ambulance, praying our baby was alive. And I was alone in the hospital bed when I was told I was losing our child. And I was alone when I called a taxi, not a loved one, to take me home.” I wipe my eyes and whisper, “I’m done being alone, Locklin.”

He too has shiny eyes, and he stubbornly shakes his head. “You won’t be alone.”

Letting go of his wrists, I tell him, “I already am.”

“No!” he argues. “You should have told me! You could have called me; I would have been there!”

I scoff. “Where were you a few days after you left? The harbor? On a ship to Ireland? Where, Locklin?”

“It doesn’t matter. I would have come back, Jerri. You lost a child for fuck’s sake. Our child. I would have made time!”

Shaking my head, I ask him, “And would you have stayed?”

“Yes, I would have stayed!” he shouts.

“For how long?” I quickly reply.

“Until you were well!”

“Exactly!” I shout back. “You would have stayed until I was well enough to be alone, and then you would have left again. What if that baby had survived? Would you have stayed with me then? Would you have helped and been here for the birth and raising of our child?”

“Don’t, Jerri. You act as though people don’t travel for work.”

“This is not work, Locklin! It’s revenge! There’s a big fucking difference.”

He sighs, nostrils flaring. “I would never leave you on your own, Jerri. I would have helped you when I could, and I would have been there for our child.”

“Yes, when it was convenient for you. I won’t live like that, Locklin.”

“No, you’re choosing not to live like that, there’s a big fucking difference there too, Lass. Have the past few years meant nothing to you?”

“Don’t you dare turn this around on me. Your silence has been deafening, Locklin, and I’m not going to feel guilty for wanting more. Do you know how badly it hurt knowing that while I was losing our child you were out avenging her? I’ve been patient and understanding for years. That meant everything to me, Locklin.
You
had been my everything. But for nine short weeks, it wasn’t about you or me; it was about the baby. It was during that time I realized that there are more important things in life than avenging death. Those nine short weeks of embracing the life we created were proof of that.”

Before I even get the last sentence out, I’m in his arms. His hand holds firm at the back of my neck, and my face is buried in his chest where I breathe in his scent. “I’m so sorry, Jerri girl. I know words don’t help, but I am sorry.” His lips move where they are pressed against the top of my head. Locklin doesn’t process emotions instantly. He’ll quickly analyze the facts (which he’s done) and argue the logic, and afterwards, which could be a few hours or a few days, the rest will set in.

In this case the rest is the loss of our child and the ramifications for his actions. He truly does mean what he says. I know he is sorry, most likely for a lot of things. But the kicker is it won’t change. He won’t change. I’ve been doing this dance with him for long enough, and
she
will always take precedence over what happens between us. And another thing about Locklin—he never makes a promise he can’t keep.