“Maybe that’s the problem.”
I tried to raise my head, but he held it to his chest. “The problem is that my husband is dead.” My chest seized. Saying it out loud didn’t make it hurt any less.
“And now you are too.”
I sagged into him. Yes. Except I was stuck here with only our son to keep me going.
“Do I really only say mean shit?”
“Where did that come from?”
“My brother said so.”
His fingers stroked my back. “If I said mostly would you tear into me?”
“I already knew the answer. I thought you might lie to make me feel better.”
“I’m here to aggravate you. Why would I do that?” His lips grazed my head.
Blake had fallen asleep. I felt close myself. I wriggled in his hold, but he wouldn’t let me go.
“I can’t do this.” Panic flooded me. “Not here. It’s wrong.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Let me go.”
“If you think I’m going anywhere with you two in this state, you’re wrong.”
“Why would you be nice to me? We don’t even like each other.”
He considered for a long moment, as if trying to control his next words. “I’ve asked myself the same thing a million times, yet I still find myself wanting to be near you, Wicked.” He pulled me between his legs. It was so nice to be held. To be comforted in the place where everything fell apart. In the place where life stood still. “You think this is a betrayal to him?”
“It is,” I confessed.
“The vows are ’til death do us part.”
“Well, they were wrong.” I wanted to push him away. I should push him away, but I just had no energy left. I hated that I felt so empty all the time. “You can’t fix this,” I whispered.
“I know I can’t bring him back and change the way things are. But, if there was one thing I could fix, it would be your broken heart.”
The pain in his voice nearly tore me apart again. That he wanted that for me . . . I wasn’t sure what to do with it.
“What if this is as good as it gets? That we all stay broken?” Although that wasn’t right. Dad had Mrs. Quinn, Andrew had Trish and Ella, and now Holt had Baker. And I had . . . I had Blake. I wasn’t completely alone.
“What if you fixed me? Made my life better?”
I stared up at him. For a second he looked so sincere, I believed him. But old habits die hard. The fight that I’d lost strength for came back in increments.
“You know I can’t do that for anybody.” I got to my feet. “I appreciate that you came to . . . apologize. And let me cook for you.” He smiled a reluctant, almost sheepish smile. But I couldn’t go down this road with him. We were not an us. “Please don’t come in my house again uninvited.”
Slowly, he raised to his full height. Anger and pain simmered in his eyes. Would he fight me? Yell at me some more? “It would be a nice change if you ran to me instead of away from me.” And then he handed Blake to me and walked out the door, closing me back within the silent walls.
Chapter Eighteen
Patrick
“Mr. Whitley. I’m glad I caught you.”
The man spoke with an accent I couldn’t decipher. His features were dark—maybe Pacific Islander?
“Do I know you?” I paused before I exited the lobby onto the sidewalk.
“My son. He needs your help.”
Lightbulbs went off. I’d managed to avoid this man for how many days as he’d sat in my office. I had to give him points for persistence for waiting outside the building, especially on a Sunday.
“I’m not taking on new clients right now,” I said diplomatically.
He tugged on the sleeve of my sweater. “Please. He didn’t do what they’ve accused him of. You can help him.”
I’d heard the mothers and fathers of many a client say the same thing. They were usually right I could help, but most of the time, their children had done exactly what they were on trial for.
“They could give him the death penalty.”
“I’m sorry, sir, but I can’t help you.”
“My boy didn’t hurt that girl. He wouldn’t hurt anyone.” Tears pooled in his dark eyes.
I felt that familiar pull, the whole reason I’d gone down this path to begin with. But I was done defending the guilty. I had enough work with those women from Paths of Purpose to keep me busy for a year. Everything from mental abuse to violent crimes. Divorce cases.
“Let me think who to refer you. Call my assistant on Monday for the name.”
“No.” He’d gone from desperate to forceful in a nanosecond. “It has to be you.”
“I can’t help you. Please don’t return to my office.”
The man was still on my mind as I entered Dino’s. My mood took a nosedive as I approached the table, minus two faces. So much for thinking I didn’t want to see them.
“We were beginning to think you weren’t going to make it.” Mr. Dixon stood, followed by Holt and Andrew.
“Seems like I’ve heard that before.” I shook and fist-bumped with all of them. “Ladies.” I made the rounds, kissing the cheeks of Mrs. Quinn, Baker, and Trish.
I dropped into the seat next to Baker and reached for the communal bottle of wine.
“You been working today?” Andrew raised his glass to me.
“Always.” I touched my goblet to Baker’s. “When’s the big day?”
“Thursday.”
I sprayed wine on the table. “Thursday?”
“Are you gonna tell us it’s too soon like somebody else?” Holt peeled the label on his beer.
“No. But you gotta give a guy a little notice. I can’t come if I don’t know when it is.” I grabbed a garlic knot. “Oh shit. You don’t want me there.”
Baker placed a hand over mine. “We just found out the church has an open spot on Thursday.”
“Church? I might disintegrate if I
