Chapter 13 #2
“Is something wrong?” Isaiah asked. “Did you hear from the Warriors?”
“Oh, uh . . . no.” Draven glanced around the apartment. “You’re painting? Looks nice.”
“Genevieve gets the credit.”
Draven kept inspecting the walls, looking anywhere else than at my face. Isaiah looked at me. I held up my hands. He jerked his chin at Draven, urging me to talk.
Ugh. “Fine,” I mouthed. “Was there something you needed?”
Draven looked at his boots. “I was wondering if you’d like to go out for breakfast.”
“Ohh-kay,” I drawled. “Why, exactly?”
“To talk. Thought maybe while I was a free man, I’d get to know you some. If you wouldn’t mind.”
It was interesting how he’d phrased the request. He wanted to get to know me. Not get to know each other.
My feelings toward Draven were confusing at best. I was under the impression he struggled with all his kids.
According to Bryce, Draven and Dash had been close once.
Then Dash had learned of Draven’s affair with Mom and their relationship had been shattered.
Bryce had mentioned briefly that Draven and Nick had gone through a rough patch as well.
But at the wedding, they’d seemed to get along fine.
Mostly, Draven had doted on Nick and Emmeline’s kids.
Breakfast would only last an hour or two. The desperate look on his face, the silent plea, was hard to dismiss.
“All right. May I have fifteen minutes to get ready?”
He nodded. “Take your time. I’ll wait in the office downstairs.”
The moment he was out the door, I flopped backward on the bed. “Do you want to take the first shower before we go?”
“We? I think that invite was just for you.”
I sat up on my elbows. “What? You have to go with me. I need you there.”
“You need me?”
“Duh. We’re a team.”
Isaiah stared at me, dumbfounded. Why was he surprised? We hadn’t dealt with anyone alone up to this point. I wasn’t going to start now.
“So?” I tossed a hand toward the bathroom. “You or me first?”
His eyes softened. “I’ll go first.”
Fifteen minutes actually took thirty by the time we were dressed and downstairs. Our awkward family caravan to the diner downtown was led by Draven in his truck, me in my car and Isaiah following on his bike.
The place was packed for a Sunday morning. Most people were dressed in nicer clothes than my black yoga pants and pale purple hoodie. They’d probably already been to church while I’d been lying in bed, salivating over Isaiah’s tattoos.
As we followed the waitress across the black and white tiled floor, the people we passed cast Draven sideways glances. A few leaned in to whisper behind his back. They narrowed their eyes. They hugged their children closer.
I gritted my teeth to keep my mouth closed.
He was innocent. The urge to defend him nearly won out when I heard a man say the words death sentence to his wife. But I held my tongue, glad when we reached a red booth along the far wall.
Draven took one side while Isaiah and I took the opposite. We ordered coffee and water, then focused on our menus.
The eerie whispers made the hair on the back of my neck stand on end. Conversation in the restaurant had all but stopped.
I slapped my menu down and shot glares at anyone who dared meet my gaze.
Did these people not believe in innocent until proven guilty? Hadn’t they read the paper? Bryce had done her best to show there was reasonable doubt in Draven’s case, but maybe it was too little too late. Without proof he hadn’t killed Mom, there’d be no changing minds.
Clearly, if I was sitting here with him, it was worth pondering.
I mean, it was my mother who’d been killed.
Small-town gossip had no doubt spread about Draven’s daughter working for Jim Thorne.
And here I was, about to share omelets and pancakes with the accused man. Didn’t that make people wonder?
The two men at the table across the aisle from us were blatantly staring. Judgment was written all over their faces.
“What?” I barked.
Their eyes whipped back to their plates.
When I turned to face our own booth, Draven was holding in a laugh.
“People need to mind their own damn business,” I said loud enough that our surrounding tables would hear. “And it’s rude to stare.”
I picked up my menu again, flipping it over to the breakfast side. It took me seconds to pick my breakfast.
“I’m getting pancakes. What are you having?” I asked Isaiah—anything to not acknowledge that I’d just snapped at two strangers in an effort to defend the father I barely knew.
When I looked up, his vibrant, green-gold gaze was waiting. He wore a black baseball cap today. It hooded his eyes, making his eyelashes stand out and the chocolate ring around his irises pop. And he wore the grin.
It stole my breath.
“Pancakes. And the Denver omelet.”
I leaned closer, brushing my arm against his.
I was glad Draven was here and that we were in public.
Maybe it was because of yesterday’s stress, but I was feeling oddly clingy with Isaiah today.
He didn’t seem to mind. Since we were in public, I could pretend he was a real husband. I could believe that grin was for me.
Day by day, I was falling in love with the lie.
The waitress came over and delivered steaming cups of bitter coffee. I loaded mine up with cream and sugar while Isaiah and Draven sipped theirs black.
“How’s work?” Draven asked. “Do you like Jim?”
“He’s the best boss I’ve ever had,” I admitted. It was true. “I, um . . . thank you. For helping me get that job.”
He shrugged. “I just made a phone call. You got yourself the job.”
Modesty was not something Draven wore often. It suited him.
“Has he told you much about my case?”
“No.” I shook my head. “He’s trying to respect the personal situation here, which I can appreciate. He expects that if there’s something you want me to know, you’ll be the one to tell me.”
“That’s fair. Jim’s always been fair. He’s one of the few people in the world I trust. And you know, I’ve never lied to him. He’s defended me the best he could while staying true to the law, even the few times when he knew I was guilty. He kept me from trouble with the law.”
That wasn’t exactly what I wanted to hear about my new mentor. But I’d learned the last few months that my sense of justice—of right and wrong—had been na?ve. Unlike the diner’s tiled floor, there was no clear line between black and white. If there were, then Isaiah would be in prison.
So would I.
“And what about this time? What are Jim’s chances?”
“Not good.” Draven sighed, running a finger over the rim of his coffee mug. “This time, there’s no settlement to pay. No loopholes.”
“But you’re innocent.”
“No.” Draven lowered his voice. “I’m far from innocent.”
Was he giving up? He sounded like the jury had reached a verdict already. Draven didn’t seem like the type of man who’d go down without a fight.
The man who’d done this was still out there. Didn’t Draven want to know who it was?
The man who’d killed Mom might have disappeared already, but there was a chance he could come after any one of us.
We all assumed framing Draven was his end goal, but what if it didn’t stop there?
What if he was lying low, waiting for Draven to be punished before he resurfaced?
This unknown enemy of ours might try to kidnap me again.
He might go after Bryce. He might go after any one of the former Kings—Dash or Emmett or Leo.
If Draven went to prison, the bastard won.
“It’s not fair.”
“Life’s not fair.” Spoken like a parent. Draven looked up from his mug. “Do you believe I didn’t kill her?”
“I wouldn’t be in this booth otherwise.”
Under the table, Isaiah’s hand found my knee. He knew this wasn’t easy for me.
“What was the best birthday present you ever got?” Draven’s question came out of nowhere, until I remembered the purpose of this meal. He wanted to get to know me.
“One of those little kid cars. Mine was a pink convertible that Mom bought me when I was five. I’d seen it on TV and begged for it. It was the Barbie brand and probably cost her a fortune at the time, but I’d wanted it so badly.”
Mom hadn’t spoiled me. Normally I’d get one gift from my Santa list, a book and some clothes. Maybe that was why the convertible stood apart from other birthdays and other Christmases. She’d splurged.
I’d driven that car around our driveway and up the neighborhood block until I could barely fit in the seat.
“Your birthday is July sixteenth, right?”
I nodded. Mom must have told him.
“That’s . . .” Isaiah trailed off.
I nodded.
Our wedding day.
He dropped his chin. To Draven, it probably looked like he was studying his coffee cup. But I knew he was berating himself for missing it. How could he have known? We’d been strangers.
Later, I’d tell him it wasn’t a big deal. I hadn’t wanted to celebrate my birthday this past year anyway, not without Mom.
“Where’d you go to college?” Draven asked. “Your mom mentioned you were top of your class.”
“University of Denver. I got my undergraduate degree in political science at the same time I got my associate to become a paralegal. I thought some work experience would set me apart in law school. And I needed the money. I didn’t want to be too far in debt when I started law school.”
“Smart.”
“Hard. It was hard. There wasn’t a lot of time for fun.” And luckily, I had a skill to fall back on. Or else I might have been waitressing in this diner.
We talked more about my life in Colorado.
Draven asked question after question. I gave answer after answer, both for him and Isaiah, who listened with rapt attention during the meal.
Finally, when my stomach bulged and we’d had our fill of coffee, Draven paid the bill and we walked outside into the fall air, loitering on the sidewalk.
Draven took out a pair of sunglasses but didn’t shield his eyes. “Before this is over, before I go away, can this become a thing? Sunday breakfast?” He was so sure he’d be proven guilty. Or maybe he was preparing himself for the inevitable.
I nodded. “Okay.”
“Thanks. See you tomorrow.” He waved, turning for his truck.
“Wait.” I reached for him but didn’t touch. “Can I ask you something?”
“Yeah.”
“Did you love my mom?”
The question had been at the back of my mind since our first conversation at the picnic table. I wasn’t sure why it mattered. Maybe because I wanted to feel like I’d come from something other than a drunken party.
His shoulders fell. “I’ve only loved one woman in my life. And that was my wife.”
It wasn’t a shock, but it stung nonetheless. I was a mistake. He’d said it himself. “But Mom loved you anyway.”
“Wish I had taken better care of her feelings, but I didn’t know. Not until it was too late.”
I sucked in a deep breath, finding the courage to ask about one more thing.
As I’d been digging into the details of what had happened, I’d read Bryce’s newspaper stories.
I’d filled pages and pages in my notebook about people related, even loosely, to the motorcycle clubs.
Everything I found jived with what he’d told me months ago.
It wasn’t until I’d had some time to let it sink in that one thing had begun to bother me.
Draven had had sex with Mom before she’d been killed.
Why?
Chrissy had been gone for more than a decade. Had something blossomed between Mom and Draven?
When Mom had moved to Bozeman for her job, she’d started dating a guy—Lee. I’d been proud of her. I’d worried about her living alone in a new town and hoped dating would help her meet new people. She hadn’t told me much about Lee other than it was casual.
Had she kept it casual on purpose? Had she always been in love with Draven? Had her trip to Clifton Forge been a last-ditch effort to try and win him again?
I’d never know the answers to those questions, but I could find out why Draven had slept with Mom.
“Why did you have sex with her?”
He ran a hand over his beard, blowing out a deep breath. “We were talking. Reminiscing. One thing led to another and well . . . she asked me to.”
Damn. Mom had been a pity screw? My heart ached for her. She’d loved him, too much. Why couldn’t she have just let him go? Why? We wouldn’t be here if she had just moved on.
“I cared for her,” Draven added. “Always.”
But that wasn’t enough.
“That’s all I wanted to ask.” I was done with the questions and certainly with this topic.
“See you next Sunday?”
I nodded, not risking another word.
Draven waved, leaving me and Isaiah on the sidewalk. I felt dizzy. Heartache and disappointment and fear and sadness swirled, threatening to kick me off-balance.
“You okay?” Isaiah’s arm came around my shoulders.
“No.” I fell into his arms, holding on to him the way a wife held on to her husband.
We were still in public. The patrons of the diner only had to glance up from their breakfasts to see us beside the street.
So for the next few minutes, when I needed his embrace and to make believe love didn’t always end in disaster, I was going to live our lie to the fullest.