Chapter 28
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
James’s whole body seemed to take a breath, reminding Daphne of a kitten she’d once rescued from a garbage bin when she first moved to Paris.
It had been wary of her, accepting of the food she offered, the shelter, the safety.
But always a little aloof. And then after about three months, he jumped onto her desk one day, blinked his big blue eyes at her, curled up into a ball beside her keyboard, and taken a big deep breath before dropping instantly to sleep.
In that moment, in that one exhale, she’d known that Franklin finally trusted her.
That he could let all his guards down around her.
He’d died too young, at twelve, but he’d been in her arms when he took his last breath.
James rose and walked to the minibar. Digging around the options, he pulled out a bottle she couldn’t see and poured two glasses.
“Amaro,” he said, returning to her. “Come sit with me.” He nodded to the two chairs placed in front of the window.
She took his hand, and he led her across the room. When she sat, he grabbed the throw blanket and draped it across her lap before taking his own seat.
Rolling his glass between his palms, he spoke.
“You asked what I was thinking. I don’t have an answer to that.
There are so many thoughts circling inside my head that I can’t seem to catch the thread of any one of them.
And then I wonder if any are worth catching at all.
At the end of the day, I want to live without a hit hanging over my head, and ideally, I’d like those responsible brought to justice—whatever that might be.
I also want the trafficking to stop. I want those women and men, hopefully not girls and boys, to have a chance to heal. ”
“But in between what happens at the end of the day and now is more complicated than that,” she said.
He nodded. “Memories keep popping up in my head, like a slideshow. Some are good, usually of my grandfather. Some are…not so good. My mother and sister fighting over a man who wasn’t worth fighting over.
My brother slipping out at night and coming back with a look on his face that I knew meant he’d done something he shouldn’t have but was proud of.
The men that came and went through our tiny apartment.
The blows, physical and emotional, until I was old enough, big enough, to be left alone.
The ever-present drugs lying around the house.
“Drugs and violence defined my life, the life of my siblings. I’m not excusing anything they did or are doing—they’ve made their decisions. But the way we grew up, the systems we grew up in…they made it near impossible to break those cycles. To even know they could be broken.”
“And you’re wondering, why you?”
He nodded again. “I did it. I made a different life. The unicorn, I suppose. But why me? Why not them? Could I have helped? Could I have done something different that might have set them on a different course?” He took a sip of his drink, then leaned back.
“I can’t change anything from the past, but I’m not quite ready to move on to thinking about what I can learn from this situation. ” He slid a rueful look her direction.
“It’s hard to think about that when they are still, literally, trying to kill you. Maybe it’s worth trusting that that will come?”
He inclined his head. “I hope. Right now, though, my mind is a jumble of anger and sorrow and regret and relief. And guilt,” he added, his voice quiet.
“That you managed something very few did?”
“And that I never looked back,” he said. “I just marched forward, happy to leave the stench of that world behind. And forget everyone in it.”
“Daisy was a part of that, wasn’t she?” Daphne asked. He flickered a look her way, then let his gaze drift to the window, as if pondering her words.
“I never thought about it that way, but I suppose she was. When we met, I saw a good person, someone from a stable, loving family. Someone who would want that for herself, who’d create something I could be a part of.
A life so different from the one I’d left behind in both New Jersey and the military.
” He took a sip of his drink, then kicked his heels out, settling in.
“I saw what I wanted to—stability, love, family. And I grabbed on to it as fast and as hard as I could. Maybe a part of me wondered if it was the only chance I’d have.
Or maybe I was blinded by the possibility of having it.
Either way, I made a decision that nearly cost a woman—my boss’s daughter—her life and left Daisy in prison rather than getting the mental health care she needed.
” He shook his head, started to say something, then closed his mouth.
“You regret it?”
“How can I not?” he replied. “I made a snap decision without really thinking it through, without giving myself time to evaluate. That kind of shit could get you killed in the military, but like a kid offered free rein in a candy shop, I grabbed my goodies and ran. So to speak. It was a dumbass thing to do on so many levels.”
Daphne shook her head. “I think it was a brave thing to do.”
He turned his head and looked at her, one eyebrow raised.
“You wanted something, James,” she said.
“You wanted family and love and stability. And you had hope that you could create it. That’s a bold thing to want, to hope for, when so much in your life taught you not to want or need any of it.
” She glanced down at the swirling dark amber liquid in her glass.
“And I don’t think you were swindled or missed anything when it came to Daisy.
She was, maybe still is, a troubled woman.
But I’m guessing she wanted all the same things you did.
She wanted family, love, a partner. But her brain chemistry interfered, made it impossible, without help, for her to have it.
I’m not making excuses for anyone or anything, but I don’t think you made a mistake.
I think you made a brave choice that didn’t turn out the way you hoped. ”
His green eyes studied her, then a hint of a smile appeared. “I think you’re an optimist, Daphne Parks.”
She rolled her eyes. “I’m practical, James Church. Realistic, with a touch of optimism, maybe.”
He held his hand out and she set hers in it, their arms stretching across the short distance between their chairs. “I can’t walk away from this,” he said, his fingers gently caressing hers.
She exhaled. “I know.”
“I need to confront my brother and sister. I may never understand them, but I need to try.” He finished the last sip of his drink.
“I don’t know why, though,” he admitted.
“Why I feel this need to see them, to talk with them, to try to understand them. I doubt it will accomplish anything. I’m pretty sure it won’t. But it’s something I need to do.”
Daphne knew enough about regrets to not question him.
Confronting his brother and sister might not accomplish anything as it related to the criminal cases, but maybe it would give James the opportunity to shed his survivor’s guilt.
Sometimes it was enough to know you’ve given your best, you’ve done everything you can to make a situation right, even if, ultimately, it ends up being a big pile of shit.
“You thought you’d closed the chapter on that part of your life, but now it feels like there’s one more page,” she said.
The left side of his mouth curled up. “Spoken like a writer, but yeah, that’s what it feels like. The chapter may end the same. It probably will, but at least I’ll know it’s really done.”
He’d left that life behind years ago, but she understood the difference between moving on and moving through the hard parts in life—kind of like being a dry drunk.
Just because an alcoholic stopped drinking didn’t mean they’d started recovering.
And just because James had built a different life for himself didn’t necessarily mean he’d healed from the one he’d lived the first eighteen years of his life.
“How do you propose to do that?” she asked.
“By not going home tomorrow. I’m going to suggest the FBI use me to get Chanel and Malcom talking.”
She nodded slowly. “Giving them more ammunition for their case while also providing you an opportunity to confront them.” He nodded.
“Are you ready for the FBI to hear things that aren’t part of the case?
They tried to kill you, so they might not be interested in having any kind of honest conversation.
But if they do, it will probably drag up a whole bunch of stuff from your childhood.
Are you ready for that? Ready for that to be recorded for posterity and the courts? ”
To his credit, he didn’t answer right away. Mirroring her earlier actions, he reached for her glass, slipping it from her fingers, and took a sip. “I am,” he said, his voice sure. “I’m not looking forward to being thrown back into that time in my life, but I can handle it.”
“And you’re not alone,” she said. He might be alone in the room with Chanel and Malcom—figuratively or literally—but he would never be alone again. Not with the Falcons as his family.
He squeezed her hand. Maybe he had her, too.
A thought that didn’t spike her heart rate like it usually did when the possibility had raised its head in the past. There were all sorts of reasons she’d avoided long-term commitments.
Not the least of which was she was nearly forty years old and hadn’t ever shared her space with a partner and didn’t think she’d be very good at it.
But those reasons seemed muted when it came to James.
Still there, just not screaming as loudly as usual.
Glancing across the space at him, a sense of intimacy spread through her.
Despite everything they’d done to and with each other physically, this moment, this moment when they barely even touched, was one she’d remember.
Something primal inside her shifted and settled into place.
Through the sensitive tips of their fingers, a quiet, unspoken promise flowed between them.
A trust they wouldn’t break, an honesty they wouldn’t breach, a respect they’d honor.
His thumb brushed over her knuckles, its heat trailing up her arm. She squeezed his fingers in response. He glanced over, and as their eyes met, she saw the same knowing in his that she was certain reflected in hers.
Without another word, they both turned their attention back to the world unfolding on the streets below them as they sat cocooned, quietly, in their own.