It's One of Us(81)
“Park?”
“It’s just not fair,” he gasps out, coming to the bed and plopping down, hard enough to jolt her. She lets out a squeak of pain that he doesn’t notice. He lies by her side and swipes at his eyes. “I can’t believe Perry hit me.”
“He was defending Lindsey.”
“He was defending you, the asshole.” The heat has gone from his recrimination. The tears have stopped, too. He smells of Scotch and man, and she is as comforted as she is repelled. It’s been a thing with them lately, something in her chemistry that doesn’t enjoy his scent anymore. Hormones. Maybe some weird, basic, ancient biological response to the miscarriages; her body somehow knows he can’t provide her an undamaged embryo and doesn’t want her to couple with him again. The urge to procreate is so ingrained she wouldn’t be surprised to learn this biochemical reaction was a verifiable medical phenomenon.
“We need to get away,” he says again, softer now. “I can’t think straight with all this noise. I need to keep you safe. Whoever has been breaking in here—”
“Your son,” she interjects. “Your son, not whoever. You need to start realizing there is no escaping. Not really. We have to stay, and we have to deal with things. But for now, I need to sleep.”
The house phone rings. It has been ringing for an hour now, the media wanting to talk, wanting a quote, wanting to schedule interviews. Its incessant noise makes her shoulders hike up to her ears with each trill.
“I thought we were supposed to unplug it,” she says. “Isn’t that what Lindsey said?”
“Yes, but—”
“I don’t even know why we have a landline. We have to be the only people in Nashville.”
“You know exactly why. After the Christmas Day bombing, cell service was knocked out for three days. I’m not taking the chance of not being able to reach emergency services in case something goes wrong. And stop trying to pick a fight.”
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
The phone takes a breather, then starts up again.
“I’m unplugging it,” he says, striding to the wall and yanking the cord free of its plug. “I will not be railroaded into admitting I did anything wrong here.”
“Did you, Park?”
“Did I what?” He waits, standing by the bed, looking down upon her with a mix of tenderness and aggravation that she’s grown to abhor lately. She wants the fight, she realizes. She wants to have it out with him. To scream and blame and slam the doors. The words are out before she can stop herself.
“Did you have anything to do with that girl’s disappearance? From your old neighborhood?”
“How can you ask me that? You know me. You know I would never—”
“Park. We’re past the denials. That reporter got information from somewhere.”
The change comes over him as sudden as lightning. He goes cold, lips tight together, face white with fury. She’s never seen him so angry. If she wasn’t hopped up on pain meds, she might be afraid of him.
“Oh, so you’re going to believe a reporter over your own husband? Jesus, Olivia. You’re the last person I expected to side with them against me, but I guess I don’t know you anymore.”
“That’s not what I’m saying. I’m only asking if you know anything that you haven’t told the police. You’ve omitted a lot of things lately.”
His eyes narrow. “I know you’re upset about the donor stuff. But to accuse me of murdering a little girl when I was a kid myself? How dare you?”
“I didn’t accuse you, I just asked if—”
“No,” he yells. “And screw you for even thinking it. I’ve never lied to you. Never.”
“You lie to me all the time,” she shouts back. “All the time. About everything. You say it’s okay that I can’t stay pregnant, you say we have enough money to handle things, you say you love me. If you loved me, you wouldn’t hide these parts of yourself from me. If you loved me, you would open up and be honest. You wouldn’t creep around and pretend everything is just peachy keen. And it’s bad enough that you lie to me, but you lie to yourself, too. Ghosting for that nasty drunk?” A thought hits her, crystallizes sharply. “Oh my God. You’re hiding. That’s why you don’t want to publish under your own name, you’re hiding from all of these horrible things. You can fly under the radar here in Nashville, but if you were on the world stage, they’d dig it up. You’re afraid of them finding out about your past.”
His mouth is open in shock, hurt flaring in his eyes. He doesn’t even try to deny it.
“I would never have thought you capable of this kind of deceit, Park. I see now that I was wrong. You are.”
37
THE BROTHER
Perry does not want to leave the two of them alone, but he doesn’t exactly have a choice. Park was raving mad, and Lindsey has done her best against him, but punching him seemed to have the desired effect. Park shut up and went cold as ice. Then he booted them from the house.
What a mess this is.
The media scrum lights up as they exit, shouting questions and sticking mics in their faces, but Perry muscles through and gets them to Lindsey’s car.
“My house?” she asks, beeping open the locks.