Where We Belong (A Touch of Fate #1)(96)

“I-I- will be.” It was all I could say. I knew I would be. I just had to be.

“Okay," she said after a pause, "I’ll get the twins. Call me when you can.” She hung up and I sent up a quick ‘thank you’ that I had a friend I could count on, one who didn’t badger me with questions when she could tell that the time wasn't right. Someone who I trusted implicitly with Paisley and Parker, even if I did question her judgment about the men in her life. Still, I hated relying on her. I hated relying on anyone. But if there were ever a time I needed to, it was now.

After hanging up with Ana, I called the school. Once I knew that the kids would be taken care of, I made the one call that couldn't be put off any longer.

***

“So let me get this straight,” the detective said, doubt and incredulity clear in his voice. “You made a deal?”

The shock of what had happened was wearing off, my adrenaline plunging to ground zero. Irritation had begun to settle in and unfortunately, this guy was in the line of fire.

“Detective—?”

“Westlake.”

“Okay, Detective Westlake. Do you have children?” Based on appearances, I didn’t think so. But then again, most people assumed I didn’t have kids either.

“No, I don’t. And I also don’t see how that’s relevant.”

“Well, it is,” I informed him. He arched his brow in response. “Because if you did have kids, then you would know why I made the deal that I did. Had I not made a deal, I wouldn’t be sitting here talking to you right now. My five-year-old twins would have waited at the school for me to pick them up until someone—probably from Social Services—arrived to tell them that I would never be coming home…oh, and that their beloved dog was also dead. If you did have kids, Detective, then you would also understand that a parent would do anything, and I mean anything, to keep their children from having to experience something like that.”

He seemed to think about this for a few seconds. “So, can you tell me about your…um, negotiation?” he asked.

“Sure,” I said after a deep exhale. “After Joe forced his—”

“Wait, Joe?” he questioned, arching his eyebrow once again.

“That’s what he said his name was. Sorry, I didn’t check the guy’s ID so I couldn’t tell you if he was telling the truth or not.”

Detective Westlake gave me another incredulous look. I continued, undaunted. “But I figured if it was his name, then he wasn’t planning on letting me live long enough to pass that information along.” He nodded his head as if this were an accurate statement.

“Anyway, first thing he did was shoot Hero…I know, I know, you don’t have to tell me. Terrible name for a dog, and not much of a ‘hero’ when it came down to it. But at that point, I knew two things: his gun was loaded and he wasn’t afraid to use it. He wasn’t wearing a mask, so the fact that I could identify him and he readily told me his name, I knew my chances of surviving this…um, encounter…were next to none.”

“You were probably right,” he said, nodding again. Good, a detective who was honest and not full of bullshit.

“I know.” Another arched eyebrow. Damn, he was good at that. And worse, he looked good doing it. Moving on, Celeste.

“Because I knew this, I made a decision. I wasn’t going to let my kids grow up without a mother because of Joe-the-motherf*cking-delivery-guy-who-probably-wasn’t-even-a-delivery-guy. They need me and I…”

I couldn’t go on, not with the Texas-sized lump in my throat. Looking away from the detective, I tried to gain control over the tears I could feel burning the back of my eyes, begging to be released. I didn’t want to cry because it made me feel weak and powerless, which was exactly how I felt at that moment.

I focused on the one wall that wasn’t covered in pictures of Parker and Paisley; seeing their perfect little faces would undoubtedly unleash the threatening torrent. My blurry eyes concentrated instead on a framed Ernest Hemingway quote, and I felt the corners of my mouth turn up slightly, though it was difficult to say whether it was because of the irony of those words or the strength I derived from them.

The world breaks everyone, and afterward, some are strong at the broken places.

When I knew I had stuffed any semblance of fear or pain as deep inside as it could go, I glanced back at the detective, who was now looking over at the quote himself with a curious expression on his face. Before he could ask any questions, I cleared my throat to draw his attention. He looked back at me quickly, his face a blank mask that I’m sure mirrored my own.

“After he made it clear what was going to happen,” I continued, “I told him that if he would let me live, I wouldn’t fight him.”

“And he agreed?” he asked.

“Yes, and he shook on it.”

“He shook on it?” he repeated dubiously.

“Yes, and before you say anything, I know he could have been lying or could have changed his mind. But it’s not like I had a lot of options at that point, right?”

After staring at me for what seemed like hours but was probably only a few seconds, he answered slowly. “Right. So you went with him to your bedroom?” he prompted.

“Yes,” I responded, without elaborating further.