Chapter 22
Chapter
Twenty-Two
T he fact Trudeau comes to the diner for three hours and just sits with a cup of coffee feels suspicious at best. At worst, it’s a subtle threat that I work hard to ignore.
Which is hard, since he requested to sit in my section. Martha makes her presence known while he’s sitting there, glancing his way every once in a while and doing everything she can to seem as inhospitable as possible.
Not that it works.
My phone going off in my pocket has me heading back to the break room forty-five minutes before the end of my shift, and I glance down to see I’ve missed a few messages in the past few minutes. The ones from Reagan take priority because of my guilty conscience, and I read through her rambling worries and irritated complaints about ignoring her.
Though, I’m unsure when we became such great friends that she expects me to text her back within the hour. Last I checked, we were good friends, sure. But she has her friends and I have…
Well, I have my cats.
And now, I suppose I have Cass, too. Even though our conversation and his confession from this morning play on repeat in my brain like one of those songs that you just can’t get out of your head. It’s almost like elevator music. Always there, playing on repeat, no matter how distracted I am by other things.
He’d meant it. There’s no way around that. And no way around the fact that Cass is absolutely, without a doubt, a psychopath .
So why am I not more afraid of that realization, like I should be? Why am I not marching over to Detective Trudeau to tell him all the things Cass told me so he can, I don’t know, investigate him for other crimes or maybe chastise him at least?
Why am I so okay with it ?
After sending back a few more half-assed apologies to Reagan, I open the messages from Cass, leaning against the counter as I read through them.
I hope you’re having a good day. Miss you.
A grin curves the corners of my mouth upward, and I tilt my head to think of an answer, even as my fingers tap on the screen.
It’s only been a few hours.
Unlike Reagan, the text flips to read instantly, and the typing bubble immediately pops up. In seconds he’s responded, and I glance up at the door, making sure I’m still alone. Not that anyone would mind me being back here for a few minutes.
You’re off in forty-five minutes, right? Can I come pick you up? I thought we’d go get dinner, if that’s okay.
God, he’s so sweet over text. I tell him that works, and stuff my phone back into my pocket before heading back out to finish my shift.
The forty-five minutes left of it feel like days. Not just because I’m excited to see Cass and go out somewhere with him. But also because Trudeau just fucking sits there. Like a log. Like a lump.
Like an ugly, toad-eyed lump I’d like to get excised as soon as possible.
At seven fifty-five, I’ve had about enough of it. My patience is as frayed as the napkin he’s been absently shredding, and while my other customers have been pretty unremarkable, even Martha has started dropping hints that maybe he could leave or order a second cup of coffee at the very, very least.
But he doesn’t take her hints, or Jeremy’s. He just sits there and smiles in that oily, polite way of his, and nurses an empty cup of coffee. His gaze makes me itch, and the hair on the back of my neck prickles constantly, but finally it’s time to make my last round and let my diners know that my shift is over.
“If you decide to order anything else, detective, my replacement will be around to check on you in a few minutes,” I tell him, the epitome of politeness. “I hope you’ve enjoyed your coffee. Martha said to let you know it’s on the house.” I smile sweetly at him, aware that the expression doesn’t come close to genuine.
“Where you off to?” he asks absently, looking up at me with his bulgy eyes. “Back home? Or are you planning to have a fun night out?” It’s wildly inappropriate, and not at all his business. But I only smile wider at him.
“I haven’t quite decided.”
“Isn’t that Byers’ car out in the parking lot?” He doesn’t even look out the window, and I wonder how the hell he already knows what Cass drives. I don’t fall for it or look.
I just shrug my shoulders in a show of hapless naivety. “Maybe? I don’t monitor where he goes or anything. So I guess he could be here if you say his car is outside.”
My eyes never leave his, and I fight to not look the least bit uncomfortable. I don’t want him to know how much he gets under my skin.
“This will be all for me, actually. And it’s really kind of your boss to cover it.” He nods and eases out of his seat, not leaving me a tip. I hadn’t expected him to, but my opinion of him lowers even more as he saunters out the door to the parking lot.
“What a jerk,” Jeremy mumbles in my ear, stopping to watch him go. “Not even a tip when we didn’t charge him for the coffee? Asshole.”
“At least he’s gone.” I sigh. “And so am I. Have a good Halloween, Jeremy.” It’s only two days away, and this year, I’m not dreading it nearly as much as usual.
I might even be looking forward to it, if I’m being honest.
As quickly as I can, I take my hair down and run a brush through it, then change out of my black pants and ugly but comfy shoes, into leggings and ankle boots. My shirt comes off next, replaced with an oversized hoodie that is the definition of comfortable, and maybe not very fashionable.
I’m back in the front of the diner within a few minutes, looking presentable for the outside world and smelling of fruity body spray instead of waitress suffering and contempt, like I usually do. But just as my hands land on the glass of the door, my eyes flick up and I see the problem immediately.
Trudeau is still here.
And he’s standing way too close to Cass. My heart takes that moment to thud against my ribs in warning, like I’ve somehow not seen them and it needs to inform me how bad of an idea this is. Or at least, how badly this situation could go.
“Cass!” I call, surprised when he doesn’t look up. Instead he’s leaning against his car, ankles crossed, the picture of relaxed. In contrast, Detective Trudeau looks anything but at ease. He crowds close to Cassian, keeping him against the car, with his hands hooked in his utility belt suspiciously close to the gun he has holstered there. But Cass doesn’t seem to care. His hands are shoved loosely in his pockets and his eyes radiate boredom.
Part of me wonders if it’s an act to piss off the detective. That seems like something Cassian would do.
I don’t slow down, even though it’s clear they’re having a private moment. My steps take me quickly over the asphalt, but when I open my mouth only a few feet away, my stalker holds up a hand, causing me to stop in place and not say a word.
His eyes flick to mine, a clear message that I’ve done the right thing. There’s a smile creeping over the edges of his lips, and when Trudeau turns to look at me, his expression is anything but friendly.
“You should pick better company, Winnifred. I’d think this boy would be the last person you’d ever want to be around.” His voice is low, tight, with a hint of something I really dislike. His words taste sour in my throat, and I press my lips together in an irritated scowl.
“I’m an adult and I can pick my own company?—”
“Makes me wonder what your mother would think if she could see you right now.” His words have the unintended effect of making me take a step back, and he must sense that it was the wrong thing to say by the look on my face. His brow furrows, and suddenly Cass is pushing off of the car, looming in the detective’s space without hesitation.
“Stop,” he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper. “You can insult me and threaten me all you like.” His words are slow, careful, and there’s an undercurrent of a threat that would be impossible to miss even if I didn’t know him. “You can tell me you’re just waiting for me to fuck up. Tell me again how you always have your gun with you. I don’t care, detective. But you will not bring her into this. You will not try to hurt her just to get a reaction from me. Do you understand me?”
Silence falls between them, and the two men just stare at each other for so long that I start to fidget. The air is cold enough that I shiver, even in my hoodie, but finally Trudeau lets out a breath. “I only meant it as?—”
“I don’t care how you meant it. You don’t know anything about her life, or her mother. Anything you’ve read in a file” —he sneers the word—“won’t give you a real picture of what happened. You’re not from Hayden Fields, Detective. You were never a part of what goes on here. And I suggest you stop trying to be. Go back to solving murders in Akron. Hell, do something useful and look for the person who committed murder here recently. Oh, that’s right…” His smile turns mocking. “You haven’t been looking, have you? Because you’ve been convinced it was me this whole time.”
Trudeau looks back at me, and I hear the warning sound that grates in Cass’s chest. “No, you don’t look at her, Detective. She has nothing to do with any of this. And neither do I, not that you’ll believe it. I paid for what I did all those years ago. And I’m not dumb enough to come back to my hometown near Halloween just to start killing. No matter how much you want that to be the case because of how easy it would be.”
I’ve never seen Cass be so…in control. So sure of himself that he’s all but threatening the detective. It’s kind of hot, if I’m honest with myself.
Okay, it’s really fucking hot to see him standing there, uncaring and unafraid of the detective or the gun his fingers are inching toward.
“Now, unless you have something you want to officially accuse me of…” Cass reaches a hand out toward me and I stride over to him, letting him curl his arm over my shoulders and drag me against his warm, solid frame. “I’m taking my girlfriend on a date tonight. If you need anything else, I’m sure you have my number and hers. Though I’d prefer you call me and leave her alone.”
I’m barely listening to the rest of what’s a thinly veiled threat at this point. How can I, when Cass’s words won’t stop playing on repeat in my head?
Girlfriend.
My girlfriend.
I’m his girlfriend? The words have a strange effect on me; especially the way my insides twist and flutter, as the butterflies are resurrected to fly in giddy, nervous circles in my stomach. Sure, we’re sleeping together. And he sort of lives with me at the moment.
And we’re going on a date.
Fuck, maybe I am his girlfriend. And maybe he’s my boyfriend, though those words somehow don’t quite fit.
I miss whatever Cass says, but in a few moments Trudeau is wheeling around on his heel, stalking across the parking lot to his shiny, clearly new police cruiser. It’s not like the ones I normally see around here. It’s not scuffed and well-used and maybe a little muddy.
It’s too shiny, too pristine. Too perfect for an actual working cop. He leaves quickly, tires all but squealing on the asphalt as I gaze up at Cassian with questions on my tongue and curiosity in my eyes. He’s…something.
He doesn’t look down at me, but he lets out a little sigh and pulls me closer into his arms. “I know, I know,” he mutters, finally turning and burying his face in my hair. “We’re not officially dating. And I don’t like calling you my girlfriend.”
My heart starts to plummet at that, and I bite my lip, wondering if he regrets saying it.
“Because that sounds too…temporary,” he huffs. “Like there’s a chance of you being someone else’s eventually. But we both know that’s never going to be the case.” He pulls me even closer, holding me tightly in his arms like he’s afraid someone will try to pull me away.
Or like maybe I’ll try to leave.
“Let’s go get food,” Cass sighs, thankfully not pushing me to answer. “I got us a reservation.”
“Where at?” I ask curiously, going to the passenger door and opening it to slide into the seat. His car is much nicer than mine, and I sprawl out in the seat, legs stretched out in front of me on the very clean, pristine floorboard.
Which is definitely different from mine.
“Guess you’ll see,” he hums in response, reaching out to trace my jaw before his hands settle on the steering wheel. “It’s a bit of a drive, but I’ll get you home in one piece. And maybe even before midnight.”
I snort, leaning my face against the cool glass of the passenger window. “Oh good. I wouldn’t want to be out past my curfew or anything. My parents might get mad.” My words are dry and full of sarcasm. It’s not like I have parents who care , and he knows it too.
I shouldn’t be surprised when he takes me to a Hibachi restaurant with a variety of veggie sushi on the menu. After all, Cassian clearly knows more about my preferences than any of my friends, and definitely my family. So why wouldn’t he know exactly what I like to eat, when given the chance?
“Some people would say you’re obsessive and creepy,” I tell him with my chopsticks in my hand. For his part, he’s eating a meal of teriyaki beef and stir-fried vegetables. Which I’ve made faces at for the last ten minutes. “For knowing my favorite food.”
“Yeah,” he agrees, resting his head on his hand. “You’re right. Some people would definitely say that. Most people, probably.” But he’s clearly not bothered by it. I snort, rolling my eyes at his nonchalance.
A few bites later I’m done, and I rest my chopsticks on my plate, feeling the anxiety that’s been itching at my insides come back again. “So, umm. Do you remember when I asked you about Carissa?” I ask under my breath. “And you said that you’d tell me if I told you about my dad?”
Cassian pauses, laying his own chopsticks down. “You don’t have to tell me,” he assures me slowly. “I offered up the information this morning. I didn’t push you on it.”
“No, I know, but”—I let out a breath, and grin wryly at him—“fair’s fair, right?” He doesn’t answer, and I’m sort of glad about it. I can’t handle his questions just now.
“I won’t go into detail. Not really ,” I warn, glancing around to make sure no one is nearby. We’d gotten lucky and been seated in a rather isolated spot, and our waitress is attentive, sure, but not overwhelming. I’m not expecting her for another ten minutes or so. “You know, umm. What he was doing to me.” It’s not a question, and I’m not surprised when he inclines his head in a small nod.
“After you and Carissa, Dad suggested I didn’t need a babysitter anymore. He said he’d change his schedule around to watch me after school. Lou fought my parents about it, but she was still at college. So, she couldn’t do much.” I tap my chopsticks against my plate after picking them up again, rolling the wood in my fingers.
“My dad was drunk that day, more than usual. He tried to uh, go further. He broke my arm and hit me in the face when I told him no.” It’s hard not to grab my wrist where it still aches sometimes from how badly he snapped the bone in a spiral fracture.
From under my lashes, I can see Cassian shift in his seat, but he doesn’t speak. “Then I ran to his room and locked the door. I knew where his gun was, and I was just so scared . I was alone. Mom knew what he was doing, but she didn’t care.” My eyes prickle with long-shed tears that ran dry years ago. “So I thought, what’s left? I’d rather be in jail or wherever instead of getting hurt by him. He broke down the door and I begged him to leave me alone. He was so drunk .”
Looking up at Cass, my lips are pressed flat and my eyes are wide. “I don’t regret it,” I murmur. “I don’t regret shooting him five times. He didn’t die right off, by the way. He laid there, choking on his own blood, and begged me to call for an ambulance.” A wry grin touched my face. “But I sat on their bed with his gun in my hands and watched him die. Mom was the one who found us. And, well, she’s obviously never forgiven me.”
Our waitress takes that moment to reappear with our bill, which Cass pays using a hundred-dollar bill and a winning smile. The cost couldn’t be half that, and when he tells her not to worry about the change, she gazes at him like he might be a saint come to life.
“You guys have an amazing night,” the waitress insists, smiling at him then winking at me, her silent look obviously trying to tell me that in her mind, Cass is an absolute gem.
If only she knew the truth.
She wouldn’t feel the same if she did, I’m sure.
Neither of us speak until we’re outside of the restaurant that sits on a busy, well-lit street. There’s an upscale bar on one side, and a BBQ place on the other that I’d balked at before Cass had assured me with a cackle he knows about my aversion to that type of food.
“Thank you.” Cass turns, backing me into the wall, and presses his forehead to mine as we stand there. “You didn’t have to. I just…” He reaches up to cup my cheek. “I wish I could’ve done it for you. Because I would’ve without remorse.”
“It’s okay.” A smile hitches the corner of my mouth upward. “I don’t know; there’s something vindicating about doing it myself. Like, taking back my life, you know? Though I could’ve done without my mom’s love drying up the moment my dad stopped breathing.”
His face hardens at that, eyes cold as he keeps me in place. “I’m sorry,” he says flatly. “You deserve better, Winnie. You’ve always deserved better.”
Instead of replying, I reach up to grip his jacket, tugging him down into a kiss. It’s sweet, at first, before I urge him to deepen it.
He takes me up on the offer almost immediately. Within seconds, his knee is pressed between my thighs, and I’m pressed hard to the wall and panting into his open mouth as he drinks in the soft sounds I can’t help making while he nips and teases at my lips.
“Cass…” I murmur, trying to catch my breath as the words in my brain burn on my lips. “I think I?—”
A wolf whistle cuts me off, and both of us jerk around to see two men coming from the direction of the bar, both of them obviously drunk and grinning. “You two puttin’ on a show?” one of them crows, kicking at the gravel under his feet. “Or is this an open invitation?”
His cohort cackles and lifts his hand, spreading two fingers to make an obscene gesture with his tongue toward me.
Cass snorts under his breath and I grip his jacket harder, giving him a baleful look. “They are so not worth the jail time,” I tell him flatly. “Don’t even start.”
“I’m not, I’m not.” But he does smile mockingly and return their sentiments with a rude gesture of his own. “Fuck off,” he tells them too-sweetly. “Go walk in front of a semi or something, would you? I’m sure you’d be doing the world a favor.”
The two men cackle at his insults, confirming my suspicion that they’re too drunk out of their minds to know what’s really going on. Then a group of girls catches their attention and they turn, forgetting about us as they stumble after the women who look like they’d eat these men for breakfast.
“It’s getting late,” I inform Cass with a grin. “I’m going to be in trouble if I’m home after curfew.”
Cass huffs out a laugh and kisses the tip of my nose. “Sure, babe,” he agrees with a chuckle. “I’ll get you home before you turn into a pumpkin at midnight, I promise. I won’t even speed.”
“Good.” I drag him back toward his car. “Because from what I hear, there’s a cop near my house who’d just love the chance to pull you over.”