Chapter 13 #2
I frowned at her, having no clue as to what she was referring to. “What about me?”
“I bared my soul. Told you about my father, my childhood, all of it.” Her eyes held mine, open in a way I wasn’t used to seeing from her. “What about your family? How did they handle everything that happened to you?”
The last thing I wanted was to excavate that particular wound. But she had opened up to me—told me more than she’d had to, and certainly more than I’d expected.
In another life, I would have introduced her to my parents by now.
They would have insisted on hosting dinners, getting to know her properly.
When they learned about her past, they would have embraced her the way they’d embraced me—chosen family, as real as blood, because that’s the type of people they were.
My throat tightened at the thought of what could have been.
I’d always wanted that kind of life. A wife. Kids, someday. The whole domestic picture. Two years ago, I’d looked at Charlotte and wondered if she might be part of that future.
“Not much to tell,” I said, forcing the words out. “My dad works in insurance. My mom’s a high school English teacher. She takes watercolor classes; he raises bonsai trees. They’re pretty boring people, honestly. In the best possible way.”
“That sounds wonderful.” Her voice softened. “Trust me, I don’t take boring for granted. Not after growing up with my father.”
“You’d like them.” The words slipped out before I could catch them, and I winced internally.
She ducked her head for a moment, but not before I caught the surprise that flickered across her face. “And how do they feel about what happened to you?”
“They believe me.” I said it with certainty, because it was the one thing I knew for sure. “Never doubted my innocence for a second. But they don’t understand why I didn’t fight harder. Why I didn’t pursue legal action or try to expose whoever set me up.”
She lifted her gaze to mine and nodded in understanding. “Fighting that kind of institutional cover-up would have been nearly impossible,” Charlotte agreed. “Someone in power wanted you gone. Going up against that takes resources and connections most people don’t have.”
“I tried explaining that to my parents. They just don’t get it.
” The old frustration surfaced, familiar and tired.
“They love me—that’s what matters most. But to them, I gave up.
Walked away instead of fighting. That’s not how they raised me, and they can’t understand why I didn’t just.. . push through.”
“Did you give up?” Her voice shifted into that reporter mode register, probing for truth. She caught herself and grimaced. “Sorry. Occupational hazard.”
“I did give up,” I admitted truthfully. “I was too bitter for the kind of fight that would have required. Going up against something that big, you need to be emotionally ready for it. I knew I wasn’t.
” I paused, and found myself opening up a bit more.
“What happened changed me. I’m not the same person I was before. ”
My mouth tightened slightly. “Back then, I trusted people too easily. I believed if you did the right thing, the system would protect you. That your coworkers had your back. That the truth would prevail in the end and all that crap.” A humorless laugh slipped out.
“Turns out none of that happens once fear and self-preservation get involved.”
“You’re not the same person,” Charlotte agreed quietly.
“When I saw you in the conference room at Noble and Associates, I didn’t recognize you.
I mean, of course I recognized your face, but it was like someone else was wearing it.
You were so cold and hard, but now that we’ve spent more time together.
..” She paused, choosing her words with care.
“I can see him again. The man I knew before. He’s still there.
” Another pause. “I hope you find your way back to him.”
“After everything, I don’t know if that’s possible,” I replied truthfully.
The conversation was cutting deeper than I’d anticipated, but something about Charlotte made honesty feel safe. Maybe because she’d already witnessed the worst of my situation. Or maybe because we’d burned through the anger together and built something fragile in its place.
We had nothing left to hide.
“I don’t like feeling cut off from people,” I admitted gruffly. “But I don’t know how to trust anyone anymore.”
“If you figure that out, let me know.” Her mouth curved with dry humor. “I’m not exactly an expert at trusting people, either.”
“Your friend Angelica, the one who brought you to the security firm, seemed to genuinely care about you. You trust her.”
“She’s my only friend. Pretty much the only person I’m close to.” Charlotte was quiet for a moment before meeting my gaze. “I’m sorry about your parents. I understand both sides, honestly. It sounds like they’re genuinely good people who’ve never had to see how ugly the world can get.”
“That’s true. My parents believe that if you work hard and do the right thing, that honesty and decency will be rewarded.
They’ve never really had a reason to think otherwise.
” I looked down at the papers scattered across the coffee table.
“And honestly, I used to believe that too. That’s why I became a cop, because I wanted to help people and believed justice actually meant something.
” A humorless smile tugged at my mouth as I lifted my gaze back to hers.
“Turns out the world doesn’t really work that way. ”
“Instead the system failed you.”
Charlotte’s expression shifted as she said the words, the analytical part of her personality softening into something more personal. Like she wasn’t looking at me as a story or a scandal anymore, but as a man who’d been hurt and betrayed.
“When all this is over,” she continued carefully, “I want to help find out who framed you. Someone had a reason for pinpointing you, specifically. If we think it through together, we might figure out who benefited most from destroying your career.”
“You don’t owe me—”
“I literally do, Kane.” Her eyes locked onto mine, unwavering despite the emotion tightening her voice. “I’m the reason you lost your job.”
The self-blame in her tone hit harder than I expected.
“No, the person who framed me is the reason I lost my job,” I said quietly.
“If you hadn’t written that article, someone else eventually would have.
” I held her gaze, wanting her to understand this part at least. “And honestly? I’m glad it was you. ”
Surprise flashed across her face, quick and unguarded.
I leaned back slightly. Now that the anger and bitterness toward her had finally started to loosen their grip on me, I could see what I’d missed before.
Charlotte had been carrying this pain, too.
Not just guilt over the article, but the weight of believing she’d destroyed someone she’d genuinely cared about.
And maybe that should have satisfied some ugly part of me.
Maybe I should have wanted her to hurt after everything that had happened to me.
Instead, all it did was leave a dull ache in my chest, because the woman sitting next to me didn’t look vindicated or self-righteous.
She looked exhausted. Regretful. Like she’d spent two years questioning herself just as much as I had.
I didn’t want her carrying all of that guilt anymore.
“You published the story because you believed the truth mattered more than your personal feelings for someone.” I reached out and took her hand, wanting her to know how sincere my words were, even if I’d suffered the harshest consequences of her decision.
“Based on the evidence you had, you did the right thing. That takes integrity. I don’t know many people capable of that. ”
“Thank you,” she said, a soft vulnerability shining in her eyes. “I didn’t enjoy doing that to you. God, I really didn’t.”
I believed her. Completely. And the moment I did, something shifted quietly between us.
Another wall cracking. Another piece of the bitterness I’d clung to for two years falling away.
That softening toward her should have made me scramble to put my guard back up again, because forgiveness meant letting go of the anger that had protected me after everything fell apart.
It meant seeing Charlotte as a woman who had been hurt too instead of the enemy I’d spent years trying to hate.
The realization left me feeling strangely at peace. For the first time since my world had imploded, talking about what happened didn’t feel like ripping open an old wound.
I’d walked into this assignment with Charlotte expecting tension, resentment, maybe unresolved desire.
We’d already run the gamut of all three, but I hadn’t anticipated a reconciliation of sorts.
Never would have imagined looking at her and feeling the undeniable feelings of trust returning piece by piece.
And sitting there with Charlotte’s hand in mine, seeing genuine remorse and quiet sincerity in her eyes, I realized I didn’t want to keep fighting her anymore.
“I really do want to help you find out who framed you,” she said again, leaving the emotional part of our conversation behind.
“I honestly can’t think of anyone who had a problem with me,” I admitted and reluctantly released her hand because touching her made the fragile truce between us feel far too intimate. “Except maybe my brother Kohen.”
Charlotte looked genuinely surprised. “Oh?”
I huffed out a quiet breath. “Sibling stuff. It’s complicated.”
She pulled her knees up and wrapped her arms around her legs. “In what way?”
“Kohen and I had good parents, but we were never really close,” I said, rubbing a hand over the back of my neck. “He’s always had this reckless streak, like he needs someone to compete with or rebel against, and growing up, that person was usually me.”