Chapter Twenty-Six
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Georgia/ Six Years Ago
T he August sun is baking my skin, turning the pasty color into a sun-kissed tone as I help set the table outside. “Do we have enough seats?”
Lincoln closes the grill, keeping his back turned on me. “I don’t know. I haven’t looked to see who all is coming.”
His tone is…off. Then again, it has been all week. He said it was because of work, but I’m not sure I believe him.
“Did you invite your friends from work? I know Marissa said she and Matt were planning on coming, but—”
“I said I don’t know, Georgia.” He cuts me off, pinching his nose when he sees me gawking at him.
My eyes go to the ring on my finger that the sun reflects off of. “I was only asking. I’m sorry.”
Scrubbing a hand down his face, his features soften. “Don’t apologize. I didn’t mean to be a dick. I sent out a group text saying we were barbecuing today and haven’t had a chance to see who responded because we’ve been prepping all day.”
“I’m sorry. I—” I cringe when he eyes me for apologizing again. “I know you wanted to sleep in more. I should have come here to set up myself.”
“It’s not about that.”
“Then what?”
It’s hard to keep the forced smile even when he walks over to me and rubs my arms. “Look, I’ve got a lot on my mind. Things that I don’t want to drag you into. Okay?”
“We can call it off if you’d prefer spending the day just us.”
When I asked what he wanted to do for his birthday, he said he didn’t expect anything special. Maybe drinks with friends or a night out at a nice restaurant together.
His parents and little sister went to Florida to see family, so I thought it would be a good idea to have a barbecue at their house with his friends that he hadn’t seen in forever.
“It’s too late for that.”
Does that mean he wishes we could? “You could tell them something came up. Make me the bad guy. Today is supposed to be about you.”
He looks away, a weird twitch in his eye that has my brows furrowing. “I’m sure Matt and Riss are already on their way, so let’s not worry about it. We’ll get more chairs if we need them.”
My shoulders slump in defeat as he walks away toward the half-empty beer he’d been working on for the last twenty minutes. “Did I do something? Because you’ve been weird all week, and I thought this would be a nice change of pace for you. If you want to talk about what’s on your mind, you know I’m here.”
The bottle pauses halfway to his mouth. There’s a pause before he takes a long swig and lowers it in his grasp. “It’s been a long week, Georgia.”
He always says that. “So let’s talk about it.”
“Not right now.”
He’s barely said anything about work all week, which isn’t normal. I always hear about the traffic stops he makes or the search warrants he helps execute. If there’s an arrest, I know the details. Same with any interactions with coworkers. I know Matt is planning on proposing to Marissa and that their other coworker Richie was caught sleeping with a dispatcher in a sergeant’s office and is probably being suspended without pay for a few days. But over the last week, something changed.
“Are you sure? Because we have time.”
Finishing off his beer, he tosses it into the trash bag hanging off the fence post and turns back to the grill. “I already said I don’t want to talk right now. Okay?”
He doesn’t want to talk to me or doesn’t want to talk to anybody? In defeat, I murmur, “You never want to talk.”
When he comes home, he’ll evade my questions when I ask how his day is by asking about mine instead. Then he’ll kiss me to distract me from asking again. And the kisses turn to touching. And touching turns to…way more.
I never complain. He makes us both feel good. Mine, he called me. My finger presses against the ring to remind me of that.
I’m his.
He’s mine.
That means something.
Lincoln chuckles, but it’s a dry sound. Normally, when he laughs, his eyes light up. They’re dull now. Drained. Distant. He doesn’t look like my Lincoln. The carefree one. “We talk all the time. You’re being a little dramatic.”
His condescending tone sinks its claws into me. Setting the dishes down, I turn to him. “It’s obvious that something is wrong, so I don’t know why you’re trying to deny it. I’m only asking because I care.”
Lincoln groans, and the sound is grating. “I know you care. I’m saying I don’t want to talk about it right now because we have people coming over.”
“People you clearly don’t want here!”
“I just wanted a quiet birthday, Georgia,” he finally admits. “I never asked for this. I didn’t want to entertain the people I see all goddamn week. Happy now?”
His tone is uncharacteristically cold, making me stare at the ground when his slitted eyes on me become too much. “I…” The words get stuck in my throat, so I don’t force them. Shaking my head, I walk away from him. What’s the point of having a one-sided conversation.
Seconds after the door closes, it reopens, and Lincoln’s footsteps follow the path I take to his parents’ guest bathroom. “Georgia—”
I close and lock myself in the bathroom, sitting on the edge of the bathtub and fighting off the urge to cry. My eyes go down to the piece of gold on my finger that suddenly feels too heavy.
Knuckles knock against the door. “Georgia,” Lincoln says quietly. “Can you open up?”
For a second, I think about not replying at all. Isn’t that what he wants? Quiet? But I decide not to be petty. “I think it’s better if I stay in here for a little while and cool off. Like you said, you don’t want to talk right now. People are going to show up soon anyway.”
Despite that, I see the doorknob wiggle before hearing the lock click open. I gape as he pulls the door open, unashamed at picking the lock and walking in. “I’m an asshole.”
I don’t disagree with him.
“You did this for me.”
Another truth.
He walks in and squats down so we’re eye level, tilting my chin up so I’m forced to meet his eyes. I want to look away, but he won’t let me. “I have had a shitty week at work, and you don’t deserve me taking it out on you. There was another complaint made against me that’s being investigated. If I get another one, I’ll have to face internal affairs. It’s not a great position to be in. Especially since I’ve been working on my portfolio to apply for BCI. The investigators aren’t going to want to take me on as a detective if they think I’m trouble.”
Another complaint? “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because it’s bullshit.” His lips twitch as he lowers his hand from my face. “Someone claims they saw me hitting a car at a gas station and driving away. They gave a generic description of the trooper that matches me and gave my car’s number. Thing was, I was at the gas station filling up before the end of my shift. But I was there thirty minutes before the woman said I was. And I sure as hell didn’t hit a car.”
“Why would anybody say that?”
He doesn’t answer, but something flashes in his eyes. “The girl that called my sergeant is a user. We’ve picked her up before for possession and arrested her boyfriend on numerous accounts of assault and distribution. That’s how she said she was sure it was me. And the gas station’s security system just so happened to be down for maintenance at the time this happened.”
“Wouldn’t your car have damage if you hit something?”
“I’m not worried about getting into trouble. I did nothing wrong. It’s not…” His fingers rake through his hair. “I just don’t need the extra pressure right now when I’m trying to make connections with the investigative team.”
“I’m—”
“Don’t. Don’t say you’re sorry.” He presses his thumb against my lower lip. “You have nothing to be sorry for.”
My eyes go to my ring, silently communicating with him that we both know I’m at fault. Nickolas Del Rossi said he would make Lincoln’s life hell if I disobeyed him. He’s always been a man of his word.
“You should have told me,” I say quietly. “If you keep bottling it up, you’re going to explode. And I…I don’t need another man in my life who could combust around me at any second. I need…stable. Safe.”
The frustration on Lincoln’s face melts. “You always have a safe place with me, Peaches. I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want to make you feel guilty. You’re not responsible for what your father chooses to do. And this shit has his name written all over it. He’s not a good person. He’s petty and angry and a lot of other shit that makes me dislike him a little more every single day. But he doesn’t matter. We’re in this together, right?”
One of my brows rises. “I don’t know. Are we? It’s a two-way street, Linc.”
He nods. “You’re right, it is. I’ll work on it. Okay?” We hear a car door close outside, marking the first guests. “It’s going to be okay. I won’t get into trouble for this. They’ll know I didn’t do it, especially when they see her record. She’s an unreliable witness.”
Even if that’s true, it’s obvious he’s concerned this could happen again. And I don’t want him to worry about what my father could do to his career. He’s done too much for me to risk it all because of pettiness.
He stands, offering me his hand. “Come on. Today will be a good distraction from work. You were right to plan this. I’m happy we’re doing it.”
I’m not sure if he means it, but I smile and pretend like he does. We answer the door together like a happy couple, welcoming Matt Conklin and his girlfriend Marissa in.
I give Marissa a hug.
Matt clasps Lincoln’s hand. “Happy birthday, you old fuck.”
Lincoln chuckles. “You’re older than me.”
Matt hands him a bottle of liquor with a blue ribbon on it. “Don’t remind me.”
Marissa rolls her eyes at the men. “Men,” she muses, nudging me with her elbow.
I feign a laugh. “I know.”
But I don’t know.
Not at all.
A few more people show up.
We eat.
We drink.
We joke.
Lincoln seems…happy.
Happier than he has been.
That makes the guilt seep in deeper.
Sometime later, I go inside to get another water from the fridge when I hear Lincoln and Matt talking quietly down the hall.
I stop around the corner, biting my lip, when I hear, “…are three different transactions that The Del Rossi group gets regularly from Scores Tech that I can’t find anywhere online. It’s always the same lump sum.”
Why is Matt talking about my father’s business?
“Forgery?” Lincoln asks.
“Could be money laundering,” Matt says, voice lowering. “You mentioned that his former partner was put away for it. Maybe her father learned from the best. A lot of businesses that partner with the mafia get transactions like these for their underground services.”
My stomach sinks. The mafia?
Lincoln and Matt are talking about my father like his life is the plot of a movie. And I…I don’t think I like that.
“What kind of services could Del Rossi provide? He only works in one area, so it can’t be transporting black market items,” Lincoln asks.
Matt pauses before saying, “Maybe it’s literally an underground partnership. He works in concrete, right?”
Lincoln cusses. “You think there’s a chance he’s burying bodies?”
My eyes widen. What?
There’s a sigh. “I don’t know, man. I think it’s possible. Whatever is happening, I’m positive of one thing. Nikolas Del Rossi is in over his head. It’s not good. He’s clearly working with someone to get money for his company. Word on the street is he’s not getting a lot of regular business these days. If that’s the case, how is he getting millions transferred to him? And for what? Whoever is sending him that money can’t be doing it out of the kindness of their hearts.”
There’s silence.
Then, “Hard to think Georgia could be related to somebody like that.”
Somebody like that.
I step back, cringing when a floorboard creaks. The voices stop, so I make a hasty exit back outside and take my seat next to Marissa. Adrenaline pumps through my veins as I try to calm my racing heart.
“You forgot your water, silly,” she says, patting my leg. She stands up. “I’ll go get us both one. Want anything else?”
Silently, I shake my head.
“I’ll be right back.”
I murmur, “Okay,” absentmindedly.
Lincoln comes out with a new beer in his hand, laughing at something Matt says. When he sees me looking in his direction, he flashes a smile.
It goes to his eyes.
I smile back, but I’m sure it doesn’t go past the tightness lifting my lips.
He’s pretending like he wasn’t just talking about my family.
Lying.
How long has he been checking into them?
I’m lost in those thoughts when he starts opening presents. I barely register when he opens mine and pulls out the Wolverine steel-toe work boots to replace the old pair that are falling apart at the seams. He presses a kiss to my cheek, but I barely feel it. “I love them, Georgia. Thank you. It’s a great gift.”
Liar.
I say, “You’re welcome.” But it doesn’t feel like I’m saying those words at all.
Because I’m thinking about Nikolas Del Rossi and the shared blood that courses through my veins. If he’s inherently bad, like Lincoln and Matt think, what does that make me?
*
The next night, I stare at myself in the vanity mirror, frowning at the chocolate-brown hair against my sun-kissed skin. If Nikolas were here, he’d tell me I looked like my mother. They both had dark hair, but it’s her eyes I got. My nose is hers. My lips. My face a mixture of the two.
But maybe I don’t want to look like her anymore.
I don’t want to be a Del Rossi.
I simply want to be Georgia.
I open the counter drawer and pull out the box of hair dye I bought months ago. I’d bought it with Millie’s words in mind about changing my hair, but I’d been too chicken to do it. The woman behind the counter said I’d need to bleach it if I wanted to go lighter, so I googled everything I’d need for when I decided to make the move.
My eyes go from the box in my hand to the mirror one last time.
I touch my brown roots with my other hand and trail my fingers down my long locks that rest just over my shoulders.
My father liked my hair long. He liked when Mrs. Ricci or Leani curled it. He said it reminded him of my mother when she wore it that way.
But I am not my mother or my father.
Just as I crack open the box and begin pulling out the items, Lincoln knocks on the door. “Are you okay?”
When I don’t answer right away, he cracks it open and pokes his head inside. Brows pinching when he sees what I’m holding, he walks in and leans against the edge of the sink. “What are you doing, Peaches?”
I fidget with the bottle of hair bleach before peeking up at him through my lashes. “I don’t want to be the reason you’re held back. I don’t…” I stare at the packaging, fighting a deep frown. “I don’t want to be like my father.”
Lincoln’s hand tilts my chin up to meet his warm eyes. “You will never be like Nikolas.”
Swallowing, I nod, even if I don’t believe it.
Mostly because I’m still trying to figure out who I am without my family. A daughter to a businessman. A wife to a cop. But who am I ? I don’t know because Nikolas has never allowed me to figure it out.
I enjoy my job, even when I find it boring. I like to read and talk about books with people who come in looking for recommendations. But there’s nothing else I’m good at.
“Is this what you want?” Lincoln asks, picking up the instructions that came with the bleach and scanning them.
Is it? I glance at the reflection one last time before making up my mind.
Whoever Georgia Del Rossi was doesn’t exist anymore. “Yes.”
“Okay.” He stands, flattening out the paper and reading over each step.
“What are you doing?”
His eyes meet mine in the mirror. “Helping.”
One word wraps around my heart like a warm hug as I watch him mix the containers and shake it before fighting with the gloves that are too small for his large hands. He foregoes them without a second thought, standing behind me and putting a hand on my shoulder.
“Ready?”
I look at myself one last time.
This version of Georgia.
The old one.
Swallowing, I dip my head. “Yes.”
It’s on the tip of my tongue to ask him about what he and Matt were talking about at his birthday party.
I’m about to when something holds me back.
Fear. The unknown.
I think about what Mrs. Ricci told me when I asked about my mother’s car accident. “That is a question you are better off not knowing the answer to.”
So, I watch his careful movement in the mirror as he covers the brown strands of hair with the bleach and remain quiet, saying a silent goodbye to the girl I no longer wanted to be.