"What stopped you then?" Konnor sneers, locking eyes with him.
"Your goddamn life! Your safety. We'd always be looking over our shoulders."
Konnor scoffs. "But I wasn't safe."
"We didn't know what would happen," Butch says through a tight jaw. "Madeline thought Dustin would be a good father to you if he thought you were his. I gave him my son with that hope too."
"He found out I wasn't his," Konnor murmurs, his voice fracturing.
"Rumours in the District; it is like a plague. . . I should have never left her with him. He was blindly infatuated with her; he'd rather see her dead than in another man's arms. He said as much on several occasions. If I didn't have my own boys to protect. . . choosing one over the other all this time has not been done without considerable pain. And if Dustin believed the rumours, then what happened to you could have been his doing."
But there is no proof. "But there is no proof," I find myself saying out loud. "That's the issue, right? That's why we can't touch him. He does all these terrible things, but no one can be sure it was him." My lower lip shakes uncontrollably.
"I want you to go outside," Max orders quietly.
"No," I breathe. "I want to be here."
"Do you want me to drag you out?" he threatens.
I squeeze his bicep. "Please, Max. Just keep hold of me."
His arms tense up, but luckily, he doesn't fight me on this. Yeah, luckily, because I wouldn't have retaliated if he had scooped me up and carried me to our room. I'm done pretending for the day, ignoring the lies in every smile. The pity in every congratulations.
I just want to be with my husband. Want to cry in his arms. For Konnor. For Butch. And for everyone who has been living with these secrets weighing them down like stones shackled to their ankles.
But I need to know the truth. So I’ll stay.
"That's right, Cassidy. We don't know anything for sure," Butch confirms as he rises and holds his hand out for Konnor to take. "And that is why we are telling you this now."
Konnor stares at Butch's hand as if its existence is a complete mystery to him. After several seconds, he swallows hard and accepts it, letting Butch pull him to his feet.
"Why?" Konnor shakes his head. "Why now?"
"Because Ben and I have a favour to ask." Butch exhales, seemingly regretful. When he turns to face us, my eyes widen. "Of Max." Feeling the earth tilt again, I lean further into my husband for support. Please don’t say the P word. Please don’t remind me again that I'm losing him. That soon he will be gone. That I'm losing half of myself. The reality of our situation has been locked away in a dark pit inside of me, and no matter how many times it tugs at my nerve endings, sending shocks of sorrow through my entire being, I force the truth back down.
I fight it.
I fight it so that it doesn't creep into my chest, leaving nothing in its wake but a gaping hole where my heart used to pump.
Max's biceps contract around me, but he's warm and sturdy in every other way. Butch continues and his pained eyes physically hurt something raw and maternal within me. "It is something I shouldn't ask of my son. Not now. Not when he should serve his time and think of no one but himself while he is in there. But it might be our only chance and I know he'll do it." He spares a glance at Konnor. "He'll do it because you're his brother and nothing matters more to my boys than their blood."
"What is it?" Max asks tightly.
Butch sighs slowly. "There is a man in the maximum-security prison you will be sent to," he states, looking at Max firmly. "Donavon Knight. He is responsible for kidnapping Konnor. Holding him in a basement. He is a lying sack of shit, and the cops couldn't get a straight answer from him. He pleaded guilty all those years ago with no trial. He was more afraid to snitch than he was to do hard time. Max, I want you to find out why he took your brother." Butch grins ominously. "And who he's so fucking afraid of."
Cassidy
Fifteen hours and twenty-two minutes left.
I cross my legs up on the mattress. Staring at the floor plan of our new house in Brussman, I walk my finger down the hallway and into the master suite. It's an open-plan bedroom with a resort style ensuite that is separated from the main area by white shutters. I imagine opening those shutters and touching myself in bed while I watch my husband shower. I picture him catching me, grinning menacingly, and running out to grab me, still dripping with water, leaving wet, size-eleven footprints in the carpet. He will carry me to the shower and make love to me under the flowing water.
We are not saying goodbye.
This is not a fantasy; this will happen. I have an entire house and yard to decorate. A baby to nurse and play with. Shaking my head, I smile with tears in my eyes. He did this so I'd be busy. Too busy to miss him, perhaps. He really does underestimate just how much I love him with every fibre of my being. In all the seconds. Not just the lonely ones.
I wipe the tears as they fall, having promised him we are not saying goodbye.
Max has asked two things of me, both of which are incredibly painful and impossibly hard.
Not to go to court tomorrow.
Not to visit him in prison.
I exhale a shaky breath, the two requests terrifying to think about. To accept. I understand them though, and that is why I will do what he has asked. Because no matter how hard I think this is for
