Page 148 of Only Be Mine

“Remember,” he said softly, unbuckling his seatbelt. “You don’t owe anyone more than the truth.”

I swallowed. “What if the truth isn’t enough?”

He turned fully toward me then, his expression steady, almost tender. “It always is.”

We rode the elevator in silence. The doors closed with a dull thud, sealing us inside the narrow space. The numbers ticked upward - one, two, three - each floor bringing with it a pressure I couldn’t name.

When the doors opened, the air changed.

It was cooler, sterile. The faint smell of disinfectant and paper. A woman at the front desk looked up as we approached, her smile polite and practiced.

“Cate Larkin?” she asked.

“Yes.”

Trevor shifted beside me, just a half step forward, subtle but unmistakable.

“She’s Cate Reeder now,” he said, his voice calm, polite. Corrective.

The woman blinked, fingers pausing over the keyboard. “Of course. I’m sorry.”

“It’s recent,” Trevor added easily, like he was smoothing over her mistake rather than marking one.

I nodded, even though something tight brushed the back of my ribs at the sound of my old name being replaced so quickly. So completely.

“Detective Marshal is expecting you,” she said, glancing between us. “You can both head down the hall - second door on the left.”

Trevor’s hand settled at the small of my back, guiding me forward.

The hallway was quiet, lined with closed doors and framed certificates I didn’t stop to read. My shoes sounded too loud against the tile, every step announcing me like I was late to something I didn’t want to attend.

The door was already open.

Inside, the room was smaller than I expected. A plain table. Three chairs. A box of tissues placed carefully in the center like an offering. No mirror on the wall - at least, not an obvious one.

Detective Marshal stood when we entered, his gaze pausing on me for half a second.

“Ms. Larkin,” he said, his voice calm, professional. “We met briefly before,” he said, not unkindly, but without familiarity. “I’m sorry we’re meeting again under these circumstances.”

He didn’t sound the way he had that night.

Then, he’d spoken softly. Carefully. Like he was delivering news he wished weren’t his to give.

Now, his voice was flatter. Measured. Like everything had already been decided except the paperwork.

Trevor’s jaw tightened, just enough for me to feel it before I saw it.

“It’s Reeder,” he said evenly.

The detective paused. “My apologies. Mrs. Reeder.”

Trevor nodded once, satisfied.

He turned to the detective before I could speak. “Trevor Reeder,” he said smoothly. “Her husband.”

The detective acknowledged that with a brief nod. “Of course.”

Trevor pulled out the chair beside mine and waited until I sat before taking his seat. Close enough that our arms brushed. Close enough that I could feel the heat from him, steady and grounding.