Chapter 3 #2
Detective Mitchum hands Olivia his own card and smiles at Delaney before following Brooks through the door.
As we watch in silence, the two men disappear into the hall. Liv lets out a visible breath and crosses the room behind them, like she’s making sure they’re actually gone.
Delaney’s hand shakes in mine, bringing my eyes back to her as she sits silently, petrified. The terror in her eyes grows as Olivia shuts the hospital room door and stares at us for a beat too long.
“I need you to listen to me very carefully.” Liv stays standing in front of the door, blocking it, in what appears to be a power move, or more accurately, a protective one.
She’s stopping anyone from entering.
“I spoke to Finn a few minutes ago—” Olivia starts.
“Why?” Delaney fumbles the sign for the word, but I’m sure that’s what she means as she cuts Liv off. “What does he have to do with any of this?” She adds, giving up on signing in the silent room. “I haven’t spoken with Ashton yet. He’s going to tell her and Jamie before I can.”
Apparently satisfied that no one’s coming back in, Olivia drops her bag to the counter and smooths her hands down her pencil skirt in a nervous habit you need to know her to recognize. And I know my cousin. She rarely gets nervous. This isn’t good.
“I spoke to Finn because he’s a doctor at this hospital, and according to Hendrix, was working tonight.
I needed to know what I was walking into to formulate a plan.
Because the press has already gleaned as much information as they can from the police department and filled in the blanks with what they can from social media. ”
“Social media?” I ask before I can think better of it.
Of course, all the assholes with their camera phones would post the worst moment of someone’s life with absolutely no regard to what it would do to Delaney to have that moment memorialized for the world to see and her to relive. Fucking scumbags.
“Yes, Ryker. Social media.” Olivia doesn’t bother to hide her annoyance.
Got it. Dumb question. “She gets attacked, and maybe it’s any other day.
It would be a blip in the news cycle and they’d move on to something else.
The Kings’ star defensive player beats a man to death protecting her in the parking lot of a bar, after a game.
A man he was pitted against during the game .
. . That makes the rounds pretty damn fast, and that owns the news cycle for the foreseeable future. ”
My cousin has known sign language for over a decade, and she’s been choosey about her words for just as long. While the rest of us never shut the fuck up, Liv has always been the quiet cousin. The one who preferred to be by herself while we all got up to no good even as preteens.
Olivia St. James doesn’t misspeak.
She never has.
And she just said beat a man to death.
I’m not sure I heard anything after that.
“Liv,” I plead as her words sink in, and her face softens.
Anger turns to sympathy, and my entire body revolts.
Wanting a man dead for what he did and killing him are two very different things.
“Ryker . . .” She walks back over to the door, and presses her back to it again, like she needs to know no one is walking in unannounced.
“Roger Dennings coded twice in the OR. They managed to revive him, but he’s in a medically induced coma.
I doubt the officers even knew that yet when they were in here,” she says slowly as she vigilantly signs each word.
“This is bigger than Delaney being attacked.”
Holy shit.
He coded.
I killed him.
“But you didn’t,” Olivia answers me when I hadn’t even realized I’d said that out loud. “And now you’re going to do exactly as I say.”
“What?” I ask, struggling to follow, my brain fighting to keep up with what feels like quicksand threatening to swallow me whole.
“As your lawyer and your family, I need you to do exactly what I tell you.”
“Fuck, Liv . . .” I groan and drop Delaney’s hand, a million things racing through my mind, least of all the fact I’m not sorry.
I’m not sorry, and I’d do it again.
One minute later and I’m not sure she’d be here right now, next to me. And this woman’s life is worth ten of his. “What do I need to do?”
Olivia looks between Delaney and me, her steely green eyes nearly predatory with the way she stares. “You’re going to get married.”
“That’s not funny, Liv.” My head fucking throbs as I try to wrap it around everything being thrown my way.
“I’m not being funny, Ryker. There are a million clips circulating of you getting in the ambulance and telling the EMTs you’re Delaney’s husband.
They’re circulating with clips from minutes before, when you were beating Roger Dennings with your bare hands.
His body limp, clearly unconscious by the time Hendrix pulled you off him. ”
“I needed them to let me in the ambulance with her, Olivia. I said what I had to say to make sure she was safe,” I argue, not sure how any of this matters.
“Well, it was fucking genius, Ryker. And it’s what’s going to get you out of this.
” She steps away from the door, moving closer to Delaney’s bed.
“Obviously, there would be a record if the wedding took place already. So we’re going to say you’re engaged and getting married soon.
Very soon.” She shrugs, like it all makes perfect sense.
“Like the sooner, the better. But we’ll get to that once you’re home.
We have a lot to go over. In the meantime, if anyone asks, you’re engaged and living together. ”
“No.” I flex my hand, my knuckles splitting more.
“Unless you like the idea of spending the next twenty to life in prison, no isn’t an option.
” She shakes her head, like she’s frustrated I’m being stubborn about something trivial.
“When a man walks into an alley and beats another man nearly to death, I can’t argue self-defense.
He wasn’t hitting you. If it were anyone else, it wouldn’t be headline news.
But you—a Kingston—a Beneventi—a professional athlete from an affluent family.
They’re going to come after you with everything they have.
The new DA is going to want to build their record on your back, Ryker.
The prosecution will say it was a grudge between two rivals, and you took it too far. ”
Delaney grabs my arm, getting my attention. “But that’s not what happened,” she argues quietly. “I’ll testify. They took pictures of my injuries. They—”
“They won’t care,” Liv shuts her down. “You walked away. You both did. Dennings didn’t.
As far as we know, Delaney was the only witness.
If Ryker is your husband, you can’t be compelled to testify against him.
If Ryker is your husband, I can spin it that your now-husband, then-fiancé, walked outside and found a man trying to rape his future wife.
I can argue that he did what any man in his shoes would do.
He defended his wife, and in doing so, Dennings hit his head on the asphalt. Tragic—yes. Attempted murder—no.”
“Olivia . . .” I try to slow her down, but she steamrolls on.
“If we change the narrative, I can spin this. I can get the media on our side, and . . . if I’m as good at my job as I know I am, charges will never be filed. But we need to decide on the new narrative right here. Right now.”
Fury bubbles hot in my veins. I was trying to save her life, not ruin it.
“No.” I shake my head. “I’m not going to ruin her life to save mine.”
“Ryker . . .” Liv pleads, her eyes softening.
“Yes.” Delaney swings her shaky legs out of the hospital bed and carefully stands, taking two steps until she’s in front of me.
Her golden eyes lock on mine as she grips my blood-stained shirt in her hands.
“He was going to kill me, Ryker. He was choking me with one hand and shoving down my pants with the other. You saved me. You saved my life.” Her tear-filled eyes break my heart.
“I wouldn’t be here, right now. I’d be in the morgue. ”
Carefully, she turns to Liv. “I’ll do it.”