56. Chapter 56
Cate
Present
The car felt smaller on the way home.
Not physically - Trevor drove the same speed, kept the same distance from the cars ahead - but something about the space between us had tightened. The air pressed closer. Every sound seemed louder than it had been an hour ago.
The click of the turn signal.
The hum of the engine.
My own breathing.
Downtown slipped past the window in familiar fragments - coffee shops, crosswalks, people going about their afternoons like nothing fundamental had shifted. Like a man hadn’t just been confirmed dead. Like my life hadn’t quietly tilted off its axis.
Trevor reached over at a red light and rested his hand on my thigh. Warm. Steady.
“You okay?” he asked.
“I think so.”
It wasn’t a lie. It just wasn’t the whole truth.
The rest of the drive passed without conversation. Trevor didn’t fill the silence the way he usually did. He let it stretch, like he was giving me room to breathe.
Or time to settle.
When we pulled into the driveway, he parked and cut the engine, then turned toward me fully.
“Before we go inside,” he said gently, “I want to check in.”
My chest tightened slightly. “About what?”
“About today,” he said. “About how that felt for you.”
I thought about the interview room. The table. The way Trevor’s voice had slid so easily into the spaces where mine hesitated.
“I don’t know,” I said. “It was… a lot.”
He nodded, unsurprised. “That makes sense.”
We sat there for a moment longer before he leaned over and pressed a soft kiss to my temple.
“I’m proud of you,” he murmured.
Pride. Approval. Words that landed warm and heavy all at once.
Inside, the house greeted us the same way it always did, with low lights and everything tucked neatly in its place. Trevor hung up his jacket, loosened his tie, slipped seamlessly back into the role of normalcy like it hadn’t been interrupted.
“Do you want tea?” he asked. “Or water?”
“Water’s fine.”
He filled a glass and handed it to me, watching until I took a sip.
“Good,” he said. “Hydration helps with shock.”
Shock. That was an understatement…
I sat on the couch, curling my legs beneath me, while Trevor moved around the kitchen. He didn’t hover this time. Didn’t steer. Just… existed nearby.
After a few minutes, he joined me, leaving a careful inch of space between us.
“They may reach out again,” he said casually. “The detective.”
I stiffened. “He said that.”
“And if he does,” Trevor continued, “we’ll handle it the same way. Together.”
I stared at my glass. “He mentioned wanting to speak to me alone.”
Trevor didn’t react right away. Then he sighed, “Procedurally, that’s not unusual,” he said. “But it’s also not something you’re obligated to do immediately. Or without counsel.”
“I’m not in trouble,” I said.
“No,” he agreed. “You’re not.”
The way he said it, firm and reassuring, made it sound settled. Closed.
“You don’t owe them access to every part of you,” he added. “Especially not while you’re grieving.”
I thought of John then. Not the body, not the confirmation, but the version of him that still lived somewhere intact in my memory. The man who’d laughed too loud. Who’d held my hand like it was an anchor.
“I didn’t lie,” I said suddenly.
Trevor turned toward me. “Of course you didn’t.”
“I just…” I swallowed. “Some of the answers felt… practiced.”
He studied me carefully, then smiled in understanding.
“That’s what happens when you’ve lived with something for a long time,” he said. “Your truth becomes streamlined. It doesn’t mean it’s false.”
I nodded slowly, letting that explanation settle.
“Cate,” he said gently, “you did exactly what you needed to do today. You survived something that could have broken you. That matters more than perfect phrasing.”
I leaned back against the couch, exhaustion finally seeping into my bones.
“I think I want to lie down,” I said.
“Of course,” he replied immediately, standing. “I’ll bring you some tea anyway. Just in case.”
He walked with me to the bedroom, then paused at the doorway. “Try to rest. I’ll be right here.”
I closed my eyes once he was gone, letting the quiet wrap around me. My mind replayed fragments of the day - not the questions, not the answers, but the way Trevor had moved through it all with such confidence. Such ease.
When he returned, he set the mug carefully on the nightstand and brushed my hair back from my face.
“Sleep,” he whispered. “We’ll deal with everything else tomorrow.”
I drifted under with his hand resting lightly on my arm, his presence anchoring me.