CHAPTER 10 #2
“Being included before you decide my life.”
“Then decide. Do you want to remain part of the investigation?”
Fear tightened my chest while I waited.
“Yes.”
I disliked the answer.
I accepted it.
“Conditions,” I said. “No meetings alone. You choose your security. You disclose direct contact.”
“Those are reasonable.”
Daniel looked at Luke. “I think we witnessed a miracle.”
I ignored him.
Ben softened by a degree. “Olivia is good for you.”
“She is furious with me.”
“Both can be true.”
The phrase had infected everyone.
At six thirty, I changed into a clean shirt and placed every surveillance report in a locked case. I added the hospital files, Parker messages, and my original written agreement with Robert.
Daniel watched from the doorway. “Do you expect her to forgive you tonight?”
“No.”
“What do you expect?”
“The chance to stop lying.”
He nodded, unusually serious. “That is a start.”
Luke offered to drive. I refused because Olivia had said alone. Instead I walked through the arena, passing empty concession stands and banners carrying names of men who had been celebrated until the next season needed new heroes.
Near the old rink entrance, I found a framed photograph of the development class. Evan stood in the back row, red helmet tucked under one arm. I stood two players away.
Ben sat in the front, too young to belong, smiling because Evan had placed the wolf charm around his neck for the picture.
I remembered then.
Evan had not given the charm to me for safekeeping.
He had given it to Ben.
Gerard’s possession of it was not only evidence from the hospital. It was proof he had entered our locker area and taken something from a child.
The threat had begun earlier than any of us knew.
I photographed the team picture and sent it to Noah before entering the dark rink to meet Olivia.
The old rink sat beneath the west stands, closed after Titan Crown’s renovation. Dust filmed the glass. The ice had been removed, leaving concrete marked by faded circles and goal creases.
Olivia stood at center wearing a dark coat, the surveillance folder in one hand.
I stopped ten feet away.
“You came alone,” she said.
“Yes.”
“Did you check whether I was followed?”
“No.”
Her eyes narrowed.
“I asked Noah to monitor threats around the arena, not you specifically.”
“That distinction matters to you?”
“It matters if it matters to you.”
She looked down at the folder.
“I read everything.”
I waited.
“You started because my father asked.”
“Yes.”
“He told you someone had threatened me after I left.”
“Yes.”
“He told you to stop after six months.”
“Yes.”
“And you hired a private investigator yourself.”
“Yes.”
“Did you ever enter my home?”
“No.”
“Record me?”
“No.”
“Read my email?”
“No.”
“Follow me personally?”
“Twice.”
Her head lifted sharply.
“When?”
“Once after the threat resurfaced outside your office. Once when Jonathan took you to Atlantic City.”
“Because of his gambling debts.”
“Yes.”
“You threatened him.”
“Yes.”
“What did you say?”
I did not soften it. “That if he used you to pay what he owed, no one would find enough of him to collect.”
Olivia’s face went still.
“Did he intend to use me?”
“I believed so. He had asked a bookmaker whether dating Robert Carter’s daughter could secure credit.”
“Did you have evidence?”
“A recorded call.”
“Why did you never give it to me?”
“Because then you would know I was watching.”
The shame of the answer burned more than any punch.
She walked away three steps, then turned.
“You let me believe he left because I was difficult to love.”
The words landed where I had no armor.
“I am sorry.”
“I do not want an apology designed to end my anger.”
“It is not.”
“What do you want?”
You.
The answer would have been selfish.
“I want you to have the truth.”
“And after that?”
“I want whatever you choose to give me.”
Her eyes filled, but no tears fell.
“You did not trust me to recognize danger.”
“No.”
“You did not trust me to make my own choices.”
“No.”
“Why?”
The rink lights hummed above us.
I looked toward the faded boards where I had learned to skate in borrowed equipment while Ben slept beneath a coat in the stands.
“My father came home drunk when I was fifteen,” I said. “Ben was nine. He had broken a lamp and tried to hide it. Our father found the pieces.”
Olivia did not move.
“He grabbed Ben by the arm. I stepped between them. He hit me with a bottle.” I touched the scar at the back of my neck. “I broke his wrist and kept hitting him after he let go.”
Her breath changed.
“No one came,” I continued. “Neighbors heard. My mother was at work. Police had been called before and left us there. That night I understood that if I did not control what happened, no one else would.”
“That was a child surviving.”
“I never learned when the danger ended.”
The admission stripped something open.
“I protected Ben by deciding everything. Where he slept. What he told teachers. Which doors he could open. It worked, so I used the same rules on every person I cared about.”
Olivia looked at me. “Including me.”
“Especially you.”
“That is not love.”
“No.” My voice roughened. “It is fear wearing love’s face.”
Silence stretched between us.
She came closer, but stopped outside my reach.
“What happened after your father died?”
“I paid for the funeral. Ben did not attend.”
“And you?”
“I stood beside the grave to make sure he stayed in it.”
Pain moved across her face.
I did not want pity. I wanted her anger because anger kept the balance honest.
“You cannot use this history every time you hurt someone,” she said.
“I won’t.”
“You cannot promise change and expect trust immediately.”
“I don’t.”
“You cannot decide my forgiveness is required because you confessed.”
“I know.”
She almost smiled at the phrase, but the hurt remained.
“I hate that you remember my tea,” she whispered. “I hate that you know when I am lying. I hate that part of me felt safer when you walked into my apartment.”
I stayed still.
“And I hate that kissing you felt like the first honest thing between us.”
The words pulled every part of me toward her.
I did not move.
She noticed.
“Why are you standing there?”
“Because you are angry.”
“I can be angry and still choose where I stand.”
She closed half the distance.
I forced my hands to remain at my sides.
“I am not forgiving you,” she said.
“I know.”
“If you say that again, I may hit you.”
“I would deserve it.”
Her mouth twitched, then flattened.
She held out a small flash drive. “Everything from Elaine’s archive. Evan’s medical report, the video, emails between Richard and my parents.”
I took it without touching her fingers.
“My mother knew,” she said. “She tried to stop them.”
“Parker’s message said Robert buried something.”
“Maybe he buried her warning.”
“Or protected her involvement.”
Olivia looked toward the dark stands. “The recording says Richard had the original medical report. If my mother gave it to him, why?”
“To create leverage against Robert.”
“Or because she trusted the wrong person.”
My phone vibrated.
I checked it only after she nodded.
Ben had sent a photograph of a birth certificate and a newspaper clipping.
Richard Parker stood beside Marissa Hale at Evan’s memorial.
The clipping identified him as Evan’s maternal uncle and former financial adviser.
A second message followed.
PARKER JUST CALLED ME. HE SAYS EVAN’S DEATH WAS MURDER.
Olivia read over my shoulder.
“What does he want?”
Ben’s next message appeared.
HE WANTS OLIVIA IN EXCHANGE FOR THE ORIGINAL REPORT.
Every violent instinct inside me rose at once.
Olivia saw it.
“Do not,” she said.
“Do not what?”
“Turn this into a decision you make alone.”
I looked at the message again.
Then at her.
“What do you want to do?” I asked.
It was the hardest question I had ever learned to ask.