Chapter 21 #2
The fact that Dash wasn’t speaking to him was tearing him to pieces.
Draven’s love for his late wife was undying.
Draven didn’t speak about Chrissy often, but he’d mention her every once in a while if he had a story to share.
He’d get a faraway look in his eyes that held eternal love.
That love was always accompanied by a shade of regret—for how he’d treated her and for how she’d died.
And there was regret in Draven’s heart for my mom.
I’d always be disappointed that Mom hadn’t been brave enough to tell me the truth. But I understood.
Draven was her mistake. Her ultimate weakness.
Maybe that was why Presley was so attached to Jeremiah. He was her weakness too.
“I’m coming to visit you in prison.” Presley pushed out of the booth and without another word, walked for the door. But about halfway across the diner, she spun back around, hurrying to our table to bend down and place a kiss on Draven’s cheek.
He looked up at her with loving eyes and gave her a smile, and then she was gone again.
“What did you do to Jeremiah?” I asked.
“I, uh . . . encouraged him to break it off with Pres. Told him if he wanted to be a Warrior, he’d have a better chance at making it if he wasn’t tied to a woman in Clifton Forge.”
“Wait. You want him to be a Warrior?”
“I want him out of Presley’s life. She knows she’s got a good gig at the garage.
She likes it there and isn’t eager to leave.
Ashton and the Warriors are three hours away.
Now, maybe the Warriors think they’ll gain information through her, but they won’t.
I trust her completely. And eventually, the distance would drive them apart.
I’m hoping if Jeremiah joins the club, it’ll be the end for them. ”
Then for Presley’s sake, I hoped he’d join too.
Draven left two twenties on the table after we drained our coffee mugs. Then we pulled on our coats and hats to venture outside. He’d started his truck already—remote start. Isaiah had bought me the same type of kit for Christmas and had installed it on New Year’s Day.
We got inside Draven’s truck and I buckled my seat belt. When he put the truck in reverse, I looked over at his profile. His eyes met mine and he smiled.
Damn it, I’d miss him. I hadn’t realized how much until just now. We hadn’t had enough time. We talked about me mostly and not nearly enough about him.
What television shows did he like? What was his favorite book? What was his favorite part about Clifton Forge?
All stupid questions but I wanted answers. But instead of asking those, I went for one that had been on my mind for the past month.
“Are you scared?” I whispered as he drove.
“No.” He let out a long sigh. “I’m tired. Tired of fighting. Been doing it for too many years.”
Would he have to fight in prison? Probably. I didn’t think prison would be an easy end to his life. And damn it, he didn’t deserve to fight in there. This wasn’t his fault.
While he was inside, I would keep fighting outside. My phone calls to pawnshops hadn’t turned up Mom’s necklace, but I’d call more. I’d start researching every single resident of Clifton Forge and Ashton besides. Somehow, I’d find the evidence to set him free.
The garage was in front of us before I was ready, and a sting hit my nose. Emotion clawed its way up my throat because I didn’t want to have this goodbye.
“I’m glad I got to know you.” Draven reached over and put his hand on my shoulder.
My chin quivered. “I’m glad I got to know you too. Will you write to me?”
His answer was a sad smile. Did that mean no? Would he really go to prison and I’d never hear from him again?
I unbuckled my seat belt as he shut off the truck. We climbed out in unison, the slamming of our doors echoing in the quiet parking lot. He met me in front of the grill.
“Take care of yourself.”
I nodded. “You too.”
He took a small step forward, his arms lifting slightly.
I’d never hugged Draven. I’d hardly touched the man. But in that moment, I flew into his arms, wrapping my arms around his waist and hugging him for all the hugs I’d missed in my life.
“Proud of you, girl.” Draven’s whisper hit my ear at the same time the tears fell down my cheeks. “So damn proud.”
I smashed my face harder into his chest. “Thanks, Dad.”
His arms squeezed tight at the name. “Goddamn, I wish things were different.”
So did I.
We stood there, hugging, for a long time, until the sound of boots coming down the stairs broke us apart. I swiped at the tears on my cheeks. Draven sniffled, clearing his throat as Isaiah joined us by the truck.
One look at me and I was tucked into his side. Then he held out his free hand to Draven. “Appreciate all you’ve done for me.”
“You take care of her and consider the debt paid.”
Isaiah simply nodded.
I met Draven’s eyes once more, the shade of them the same I saw in the mirror every morning. “I don’t want to say goodbye.”
“So don’t.” He winked, then spun on his boot heel and went to his truck.
Isaiah and I stood in the lot until his taillights disappeared down the street.
“You okay?” Isaiah asked.
“No.” Today, I wasn’t okay. Tomorrow didn’t look good either.
But we’d get through this eventually.
And I didn’t care what Draven said, I’d see him again. I’d go to that prison and keep learning about my father. I’d ask the questions I hadn’t yet. And one day, maybe, we’d be able to set him free.
Footsteps on the stairs outside woke Isaiah and me from a dead sleep.
I sat up with a gasp, blinking my eyes awake as my heart galloped. He beat me out of bed. I whipped off the covers, reaching for the sweatshirt I’d tossed on the floor. The clock on my nightstand glowed two minutes after three.
Who the hell was at the apartment at three o’clock in the morning?
Isaiah hurried to the closet for a shoebox. That box had been the only thing he’d had in there besides clothes. When I’d done the reorganization, he’d asked to keep it inside.
Because there was a gun inside.
“Isaiah.” My worried eyes met his as a knock came at the door.
He held up a finger to his lips. Then he pointed for me to stay back as he padded across the floor.
Goddamn it, why didn’t we have a peephole? We needed a peephole. After tonight, we were getting one.
Another knock echoed through the dark apartment just as Isaiah turned the deadbolt. He peered through the crack as the door opened, his foot and knee braced on the backside to slow down anyone who might try and bust inside.
The muscles in his shoulders bunched. “What are you doing here?”
“Here.”
I vaguely recognized the man’s voice but couldn’t place it. My heart raced.
Isaiah opened the door an inch wider to take something from the man outside. “What is it?”
“Justice. You’re both free.” The man’s footsteps started down the stairs.
Isaiah slammed the door and flipped the lock. Then he went to the window, watching with the gun still in his hand. The engine outside was barely audible, but it was there. Then it faded as our visitor left.
“Who was that?”
Isaiah set the gun on the table, then stretched for the light switch. My eyes squinted as the room illuminated, and when they adjusted, I spotted the white envelope in Isaiah’s hand.
“Who was that?” I asked again as he tore into the envelope.
“Tucker.”
My jaw dropped. “Tucker, as in the Warriors’ president Tucker?”
He nodded, then pulled a letter from the envelope.
I crossed the room, standing at his side as he unfolded the page.
Isaiah was too tall for me to read over his shoulder and he kept turning so I couldn’t read what it said from his side. His face paled. His eyes narrowed at the handwriting on the page.
“Isaiah?”
He kept reading.
“Isaiah, you’re scaring me.” I tugged on his elbow.
Still, he kept reading. Only when he was done did he turn to me. His face was twisted in agony, his eyes full of sorrow.
“What?” I choked out. “Tell me.”
He tossed the letter on the table beside the gun, stopping me as I reached for it.
With both hands on my arms, he pushed me backward, away from the paper and to the couch.
I sat as he crouched down in front of me, his Adam’s apple bobbing while he searched for the words.
His hands stayed firm on my arms, braced like he was ready to catch me if I fell.
“It’s Draven.”
My heart stopped. “What?”
“He’s . . . dead,” he whispered. “I’m so sorry, doll. He’s gone.”