Chapter 25 Faith
FAITH
The drive back to my house stretched like a funeral procession. Silent. Suffocating. Every few seconds, I caught myself glancing at Ryker’s profile, willing him to say something. Anything would be better than this arctic freeze-out.
His hands gripped the steering wheel like it had personally offended him, and the muscle in his jaw kept twitching. Perfect. He was doing the strong, silent brooding thing now.
I couldn’t take it anymore.
“So, this is it? We don’t talk anymore?”
“Faith …”
“What was that phone call?” The one that had put a suspicious, abrupt halt to the rest of our painting session. The one he’d taken in the hallway, voice low, coming back with that look on his face and said he needed to go. “You won’t even tell me what it was about?”
It was just an excuse to get away from me. From my damage. From the girl who was glad when people died.
Make up your mind, Faith. Push him away or pull him close.
He turned onto my street, his blinker clicking like a countdown timer. Our time was running out, and somehow, that made everything worse. I didn’t want him to drop me off and leave things hanging like this. But I also had this sick urge to push him so far away, he’d never find his way back.
At least then I’d know where we stood.
“The news broke,” he said finally.
I blinked. “What news?”
“About Daniel’s death. A major news organization ran the story.”
My stomach dropped. “That’s … bad?”
“They published your name.”
Oh shit.
The words hit like an avalanche, burying me under the weight of what that meant.
I’d forever be known as Faith Morrison: The Girl Who Killed a Man. Not the girl who’d survived the death of her parents, followed by challenging foster homes. Not the woman who’d built a safe haven for aged-out foster kids. Just a killer. My worst fear, gift-wrapped and delivered.
How terrible of you to think of how you’ll be remembered when you must have taken that man’s life.
“So, reporters might start crawling out of the woodwork, looking for a juicy story,” he continued, pulling into my driveway.
At least, by the looks of it, they hadn’t parked outside my house. Yet. “And that’s bad for my defense?” I pressed.
He cut the engine and finally looked at me.
“Reporters can be very persistent, Faith. The good ones will dig into your past and ask hard-hitting questions about things you’d rather forget.
” He shifted, angling his body slightly toward me.
“Even if you don’t answer, your reaction will be picked apart and scrutinized, frame by frame. ”
My throat went dry. “And the bad ones?”
“The bad ones will antagonize you. Push every button until you crack.” His voice turned razor-sharp. “They’ll keep pushing until you lose it on camera, and then they’ll have their story.”
The reality crashed over me like a tsunami.
They’d dig. Every foster home where I’d been unwanted.
Every social worker who’d written me off as “troubled.” Every person who’d looked at me like I was broken beyond repair.
Every fight, every suspension, every single thing I’d ever done that I was ashamed of.
They’d find everything, package it with a bow, and serve it to the world. All my broken pieces analyzed. Speculated. Judged. My worst fear coming true, and my brother, my friends, and Ryker would hear all of it.
I owed Ryker the whole truth. But he’d stopped me, hadn’t he? Cut the conversation short with that phone call. Maybe because he’d already heard enough. Maybe because he couldn’t stomach hearing more.
Ryker unbuckled his seat belt. “We can’t let them hurt your defense.”
I followed him to my front door, watching the way he scanned the street. Looking for reporters probably. Or maybe just looking for an excuse to leave.
At least he walked you to the door. That’s good, right?
“Do me a favor from now on.” His tone had gone all professional lawyer. The warmth from earlier—from the kitchen last night, from this morning’s flirting—was completely absent. “Stay inside. Lock your doors. Don’t answer if anyone comes knocking unless it’s me.”
“You really think they’ll show up here?”
“Faith.” The way he said my name made my chest tight. This was different from how he’d said it before. Distant. “They’re going to paint you as either a victim or a villain. And they won’t particularly care which one sells more papers.”
Fantastic.
We went inside, and he shut the door behind us, immediately moving to check the windows. Making sure no long lenses were pointed our way, I guess.
“I have to head to the prison,” he said, already pulling his phone out. Already mentally gone. “I’ll be back later to check on you.”
“You’re leaving?” The words came out almost as a shriek.
Real strong, Faith. Why not just beg him to stay?
I could see the shift in his face as clearly as I could feel the energy change around us. A cold frost had settled between us, shoving aside the tropical warmth we’d been swimming in and flash-freezing it into something that looked suspiciously like disgust.
“I have to meet with Knox.” He glanced at his watch like he’d just remembered he had somewhere more important to be. “My regular meeting with him.”
“Right.” I stepped back, putting distance between us before he could do it first. Of course you do.
“I’ll stop by later, okay? We’ll figure this out.”
The casual dismissal hit like a slap. “Is there anything I should do in the meantime? I want to help with my case.”
“Just stay out of trouble.” Again with that smile. The one that looked like it had been purchased from a catalog of Professional Expressions for Difficult Conversations. “I mean it, Faith. No reporters, no phone calls, nothing.”
With crushing clarity, the truth lanced through my entire core like a blade finding its mark.
Everything has most definitely changed between us.
I wanted to smack myself. Of course Ryker Kincaid was too good to be true. I knew better than to let myself hope that maybe—just maybe—I was worthy of love. Just like I used to feel with my parents. Before they both died in that car wreck.
The memory hit me suddenly, unbidden. I was five years old, and I’d had a nightmare. I’d woken up crying, and Mom had come running.
“I had a bad dream,” I whimpered.
“Tell me about it.”
“You and Daddy left. You didn’t want me anymore.”
“Oh, sweetheart.” Her arms tightened around me. “That could never happen. Never ever, ever.”
“Promise?”
“I promise.” She kissed the tip of my nose. “There is nothing—nothing—you could ever do that would make me stop loving you. Do you understand?”
“What if I’m bad?”
“You’re not bad, baby.”
“But what if I am someday?”
Mom smiled, and it was like being wrapped in sunlight. “Then I’ll love you anyway. When you’re good, when you’re bad, when you’re happy, when you’re sad. When you make mistakes and when you do everything right. I will always, always love you, Faith.”
She held me until I fell back asleep, her hand stroking my hair, her voice humming something soft.
“Always,” she whispered. “I promise. Always.”
But always had ended the next day. Christmas Eve. A drunk driver and a patch of black ice, and always became never again.
Snapped back to the present, standing in my broken-down house, surrounded by my broken-down dreams, the absence of that love felt like a physical wound. Mom had loved me unconditionally, had promised me nothing I could do would change that.
And I’d believed her because she’d never given me reason not to.
But nearly everyone since had proven the opposite. That love was conditional. That there were things you could be, things you could do, things you could survive that made you unlovable.
I’d stupidly let myself believe Ryker might be different, but today proved otherwise. He’d gotten a glimpse of the real me, and he couldn’t get away fast enough.
I felt myself curling inward, pulling back from Ryker and away from the naive belief that anyone would ever be able to fall in love with me. As that familiar shield slammed back into place around my heart, so did the anger.
Because fuck this. I was broken—no shit. But I wasn’t worthless garbage.
If Ryker Kincaid had such a perfect life that he was going to reject me, then he could go find someone else to play savior for. Someone easier. Someone cleaner. Someone who didn’t make him look like he wanted to scrub himself clean after hearing her story.
So what if my heart still wanted to reach for him? It would learn soon enough to stand down. I would make sure of it.
“You’d better go then,” I managed, proud that my voice came out steady.
It was all I could say.
And then Ryker did exactly that—he left, taking all my foolish hopes with him.