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“He’s absolutely fine.” The younger cop leans forward. He looks about my age, maybe slightly older, with mousy hair and toned muscles. His eyes are kind, though. “I believe he needed stitches in his arm, but he’s all good now.”
“Stitches?” There’s no hiding my horrified gasp.
Detective Batista sends her colleague an annoyed glance. “I know it sounds bad, Miss Winkley, but you have my word he’s in good shape.”
Right.
And that’s all I’m going to get because I don’t have a right to his life anymore.
I left the ring back at his house. For all I know, it’s in the trash by now.
He said I could keep it, but I couldn’t bear to.
Not after—well, everything.
“Is it all right if we ask a few follow-up questions?” Batista asks.
“Of course.”
“How did you know Forrest Haute?”
I walk them through my interactions, focusing on the meeting at the clubhouse and the deal he brokered there. I hardly mention Dex, even though he’s probably given them every detail.
I don’t know what to say about the whole fake engagement thing.
Our contract. Our illusion. Our marvelously stupid mistake.
The detective’s gaze is sympathetic as it lingers on my face for a second too long.
Oof.
I probably should have cleaned up better this morning. At least splashed cold water on my face and put makeup over the dark circles around my eyes.
I look about as good as I feel, too.
Godawful.
“And what were the terms of the contract you arranged with Mr. Haute?” she asks.
“I have a copy of it on my laptop, I think. Hang on.” Desperate to get out of the room with the cops and her all-knowing eyes, I leap up and run upstairs.
As soon as I’m in my room, I stop, standing in the middle of the floor.
I’m fine.
If I keep telling myself that, then maybe I’ll eventually believe it.
No, I didn’t think he’d reach out to me again just like that.
After all, I’m the one who walked out of his life and left the ring behind as a parting f-you.
It makessensethat Dexter wouldn’t want to lay eyes on me again.
I’m a little mistake wrapped in a bigger one with catastrophic consequences. One line in a chapter I’m sure he’d love to delete from his life like a shameful memory.
And I’m fine, I’m fine, but oh God, ithurts.
Pressing a hand against my stomach, I close my eyes and count to ten before I grab the laptop off my bed.
