The Truth About Love (24 page)

Suzanne walked to the podium and cleared her throat. “It is an honor for Morgan’s Ladder to be involved in the release of another innocent man from prison.” She paused. “As with many such cases, Cyrus Alexander was a victim of witness misidentification, prosecutorial incompetence, and subpar police work. The killer—in this case, Mr. Seth Rowling, now deceased—hadn’t been questioned by police at the time of the murder. And the only eyewitness was a nine-year-old boy.”

“Where is Landon Vista today?” The reporter’s voice was loud and clear. Every camera on the scene undoubtedly captured the question.

“Mr. Vista is not a part of this group.” Suzanne motioned to the relatives and prison officials gathered around her.

“So where is he?” the same reporter asked.

Don’t look at me. Don’t look at me. Don’t look at me.

Gina willed her boss not to give any nonverbal cues that Gina might know where Landon had gone. All she knew was that he’d left town. He hadn’t given her any indication where he might be going or how long he’d be gone. And for that, she was grateful. If she didn’t know the answers, there was no way she could give them away.

And Suzanne was too smart to give Gina away as anything other than an attorney on the team at Morgan’s Ladder. “Mr. Vista is obviously remorseful that his testimony helped convict an innocent man.”

Gina wondered where Landon was. How he was feeling tonight. And if Cyrus Alexander’s release from prison would be an ending.

Or a beginning.

CHAPTER THIRTY

L
andon stood back and watched as Calvin swatted spiderwebs away from the door of the cabin. It was pretty damn funny to watch a two-hundred-thirty-pound man afraid of a few little bugs.

Calvin called this trip to a state park on a lake in the North Georgia mountains a “guys’ getaway,” but Landon knew his friend had invited him as a convenient excuse to get him out of town.

Finally, his former coach wrestled the door open and they stepped over the threshold. Inside, a tiny kitchenette with an ancient gas stove took up one corner of the midsize room. A round dining table with mismatched chairs looked perfect for a game of poker, had there been more than just him and Calvin on the trip. A sliding glass door in the small living area looked out over a weathered wooden porch.

Calvin walked into the single bedroom and threw his duffle bag onto the bed. “Dibs on this room,” he said.

“Dibs? What are you, ten years old?” The apartment-size couch was way too small for someone Landon’s size, not that Calvin would fit on it any better.

Calvin pointed above them. “There’s supposed to be a bed in the loft.”

It was the least Landon could do since his friend had planned this excursion on his behalf. He climbed the rough-hewn staircase to an area just large enough for the king-size bed. A single window looked out into the tops of the trees. Exactly the kind of place that would help him relax while avoiding the chaos of the Tallahassee news media. And it felt kind of like a tree house. “It’s pretty cool up here,” he called down to Calvin.

“Good. ’Cuz you’re not sleeping with me.”

Landon dropped his bag onto the floor next to the bed and went back down the stairs, where Calvin was sliding open the back door. They stepped out onto the porch and looked over the edge of the railing. The sharp incline of the mountain meant that the porch was twenty or thirty feet off the ground, supported by stilts. Two rocking chairs looked out over the forest.

“Rachel would love this place,” Calvin said.

Landon looked over the edge of the porch again. The height gave him the heebie-jeebies, which was stupid, so he challenged himself to lean out over the edge even farther. “You should have brought her with us.”

“Nah. Guys’ weekend away. No girls allowed.”

“I know what you’re doing.”

Calvin lifted the lid to inspect the grill that sat behind the rocking chairs. “Yeah? What’s that?”

“You’re getting me out of town while the whole Cyrus Alexander thing goes down.” Landon wasn’t sure what he’d have done otherwise, but he sure as hell didn’t want to be in Tallahassee while the media focused on it.

“Maybe.” Calvin closed the lid and dusted his hands on his shorts. “Would that be such a bad thing?”

“I owe you one.”

Calvin laughed. “No, bud. I’ve known you for a long time. You owe me several.” He disappeared back inside the cabin.

Within minutes, Calvin produced a cooler filled with thick steaks and a casserole dish of Rachel’s homemade scalloped potatoes. Landon turned on the oven and finished unpacking the car while Calvin lit the grill on the cabin’s elevated back porch.

An hour later they were in the rocking chairs, each with a cigar and a cold beer, as the sun lowered toward a distant mountaintop. Landon knew he didn’t deserve this peacefulness.

“What do you suppose Cyrus Alexander’s doing right now?” He exhaled a cloud of smoke into the treetops, trying to feel as relaxed as he knew he was supposed to be.

“Smokin’ a cigar. Drinkin’ a beer.” Calvin’s chair creaked as he rocked forward and back. “What time was his release?”

“Three o’clock.” Landon had looked it up on the Internet. Had become obsessed with the goings-on of the day. He was responsible, after all. Responsible for putting Cyrus in prison.

He wondered where Cyrus would spend the night. How soon he’d get to see his son. How the two of them would create the beginnings of a relationship. What the first meal he’d eat would be.

Beside him, Calvin seemed to understand he needed time to be alone with his thoughts. They sat silently for several minutes. In the distance, an owl hooted.

“You know,” Calvin finally said, “you need to get over all this as soon as you can. Quit blaming yourself for everything that happened.”

Landon stood to rummage through the cooler for another beer. “You don’t think I should feel bad about sending a man to prison?” He’d already slipped into an endless sea of blame and culpability. He’d been nine years old at the time of the trial. Old enough to understand—at least vaguely—what was going on. Old enough to be at least partially responsible for the outcome of the proceedings. “How can I not be responsible for that?”

Calvin stood and walked toward Landon, pressing him against the railing. Landon wasn’t sure if he was doing it on purpose or not.

“Just because one life is ruined doesn’t mean you have to ruin yours,” Calvin said.

Landon tensed with surprise and placed both hands on Calvin’s massive chest, pressing him backward. “You need to back off.” He glanced downward to the forest floor two stories below.

“God gave you a million things to be thankful for. You’re a good-looking boy—a
white
boy—with a killer arm. You didn’t pay a dime for college. You’ve got a good job. Do you know how lucky you are?” Calvin pushed closer to him. “Do you?”

The weathered wood of the railing creaked from Landon’s weight pressing against it. “Why have you gone apeshit all of a sudden?” He tried to push Calvin away, but the big man was built like a sequoia.

“Do you know how stupid it would be to let this guilt ruin your life?”

“Do you know how stupid it would be if this railing broke?”

Calvin stared at him with eyes more intense than Landon had ever seen them, even during their biggest games. Their whites glowed against the setting sun while the dark centers burned the color of onyx. Finally, he backed away and bent to get another beer.

Landon skittered away from the edge and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “You’re a crazy son of a bitch.”

“You’d better not let this ruin your life.”

Landon’s breath came in short bursts. His body hummed with the flow of adrenaline. He grabbed his bottle of beer and took a big swig, mainly to kill time while he decided whether to try and throw the big guy over the edge of the balcony. Calvin stood with his back to Landon, looking out into the woods.

“It’s not going to be easy to get over this,” Landon said into the darkness.

“But that’s my point. If anyone’s up for it, you are.” Calvin spun around, stomped to the sliding glass door, and threw aside the vertical blinds. He stalked inside.

Landon stayed on the darkened porch by himself. The smell of his cigar in the ashtray sickened him now. Now that the camaraderie of friendship had disappeared, the cigar no longer held its appeal.

What if Cyrus couldn’t find work? Even with his murder conviction erased, he was still a man who’d spent almost two decades in prison. What kind of marketable skills did a person like that have? Not to mention the burglary conviction he’d had before Mama had died.

What if Cyrus didn’t fit in well with his family? Maybe it would be like Christmas—when the buildup was sometimes better than the actual event. What if they didn’t get along, and he ended up out on the streets?

He felt himself spiraling downward. Someplace he didn’t want to be. He turned and looked inside. Maybe Calvin could say something to convince him this situation sucked a little bit less than he thought it did right now.

Through the slit in the vertical blinds, he saw Calvin in the tiny kitchen, washing the dishes they’d used for dinner.

Landon walked inside and grabbed a dish towel. Calvin glanced at him, but didn’t say anything. They worked side by side for a couple of minutes.

Finally, Landon spoke. “So how do I keep from feeling guilty? I mean, other than being such a good-looking white guy?” He grinned at his friend.

Calvin jammed the pan he’d just washed into Landon’s gut. “Fuck you.”

Landon took the pan to dry. Damn Calvin, for getting the front of his shirt all wet. “You don’t think I should feel guilty.” It was a challenge more than a question.

His coach pulled the stopper from the drain and turned to face him. “I think there’s nothing you can do to change the past. You can mope around feeling sorry for yourself—which doesn’t do anybody any good—or you can admit how bad it sucks that it happened and then get on with your life.” He grabbed the dish towel from Landon and dried his hands. “Your life. Your choice.”

“You’re a regular Dr. Phil.” He appreciated Calvin’s concern, but the guy code didn’t allow him to say that out loud.

“You can sit around feeling sorry for yourself. Or you can start building a life with Gina.” Calvin tossed the towel back at him and leaned against the counter. “And, believe me—I know which choice I’d make.”

Landon scoffed. “There isn’t going to be a life with Gina.”

“Then you’re even more screwed up than I thought.”

“The last thing I need is something else complicating my life.”

“Then I feel sorry for you, man.” Calvin walked toward his bedroom.

“Why’s that?”

“Because you didn’t just ruin Cyrus Alexander’s life that day. You ruined yours, too.”

Gina paced her living room, waiting for Landon’s arrival. It had been two days since Cyrus Alexander had been released from prison, but she’d only spoken to Landon via text since that time. During their last exchange, from this morning, he’d asked if he could see her tonight.

What did she say to a man whose life she had changed so much? How did she find out if they had a future together? If their feelings for each other were free to explore now that the case was resolved?

She peeked out the front window again and then went to the kitchen to check on the lasagna. The heat from the oven blasted into her face when she opened the door. Cheese and tomato sauce bubbled perfectly near the edge of the glass dish. The garlic bread heated on the shelf above it.

She wished she could be as certain of the outcome of this evening as she was about the taste of her dinner.

A knock pounded on the door. She jumped so hard the oven door slammed shut. She rushed to the apartment door and opened it.

Outside, Landon stood on the stoop looking disheveled. And sexy as hell. He looked like someone who could use a confidante, and she hoped that she was the one he turned to.

“Come in,” she said, stepping aside to give him room.

He came inside just enough for her to close the door behind him. They stood in awkward silence.

“So,” she finally said. “You’re back in town.”

“How was it?”

She knew he was talking about Cyrus Alexander’s release. “Happy. Sad. Kind of nerve-racking hoping the media didn’t ask about you.”

He shoved his hands in his pockets. “Did they?”

“Yes, but Suzanne did a good job of steering them away from the topic.”

He nodded and the awkward silence returned. God, she hoped this wasn’t what it had come to between them.

She motioned toward the kitchen. “I made lasagna.”

His gaze rose to hers and held there for several seconds.
“
 ‘Second best in the country.
’ 
”

Her chest warmed inside. He was quoting their conversation from that first night they’d met.

He made quotation marks in the air as he continued.
“
 ‘My mom makes the best, but I use her recipe.
’ 
”

She smiled. “You remember.”

He took a deep breath, as if he was thinking about what he’d say next. “I wish I’d known that night what kind of trouble I was jumping into.”

“That trouble would have come along whether you’d met me or not.” She took his arm and guided him into the kitchen so she could check on the bread.

“Maybe I’m not talking about Cyrus Alexander.”

She looked at him with a “we’re not going to do this now” expression, then nodded toward the fridge. “Will you get the salads and dressing out? There’s a bottle of ranch in the door.” She switched off the oven, then leaned down to get the bread and lasagna out while he set the rest of the food on the table. “Go ahead and sit down,” she said. “We’ll let the lasagna cool off while we eat our salads.”

She didn’t have a basket in the apartment, so she put the bread in a mixing bowl and covered it with a napkin to keep it warm. She noticed that he remained standing.

“So where did you and Calvin go?” she asked as she joined him near the table, which she’d already set.

He pulled her chair out, just as he’d done before. “Some state park up in the Georgia mountains. It was nice.”

She handed him the salad dressing to use first. “So what’s he think about all this?” She wasn’t sure she knew what “this” was, but she’d see how Landon answered.

“We’re guys. We don’t really talk about stuff.” He reached into the bowl and took out a piece of bread.

“You just sat there and stared at each other the entire time?”

“Well, he did try to throw me off a porch that was about three stories up . . .” He took a bite of his salad.

“Why?”

“I think he was trying to prove a point.”