Page 80 of Shadows of Justice

The door is tentatively opened, and dark eyes peer out at me from beneath a too-big Yankees hat. A stained Spiderman T-shirt shows from where his top half is poking out, his tiny hand holding the door fast.

“You’re not pizza.”

I blink, my lips twitching. “I’m not. Sorry to disappoint you.”

“That’s okay. Not your fault,” he answers, with a small shrug.

He’s cute, but this must be the wrong house. Dismay worms through my gut, breaking down what pieced-together expectations I had into a shattered mess on the doorstep.

“Is your . . . mom home?” I ask, my hands trembling. I force them down at my sides and the boy shakes his head.

“No, she’s in heaven. Want to talk to my dad?” I nod dumbly, too shaken to speak.

The boy disappears. He leaves the door open and it widens slowly to reveal a tastefully decorated living room, a paused game of Mario Kart on the television.

I pick at my nails and roll my shoulder, part of me hoping this is the wrong house and a stranger will come to the door. The other half—the pathetic half—is still hoping that it’s Leo that shows up.

I look back at my car. Doughnut’s front half is perched on the steering wheel, watching me with palpable loyalty.

“What are you doing here?”

I turn back, my eyes running over him from head to toe, feasting on him with an insatiable hunger that’s been left unfed for far too long. His chocolate eyes, the dark waves of his hair, the way his clothing hugs every delicious part of his body in unspeakably good ways.

Home.

Neither of us speaks, that familiar prickling of unsaid things charging the air like the moments before a tornado touches the earth.

“What are you doing here?” Leo finally repeats, and the honey-like lilt of his voice wraps around me like silk. I clear my throat, forcing myself to find the ability to speak.

“My new badge seems to carry a lot of weight with deliverymen.”

His dark brows pull together ever so slightly, and then I watch as understanding washes over him. He runs a hand down his face, noticeably irritated.

“You shouldn’t be here.”

Anger lances through my gut, combining with the river of doubt and insecurity that’s already a raging rapid. It’s punctuated by the crack of lightning, the rolling thunder that follows so strong that it shakes the porch’s floorboards beneath my feet.

“Why didn’t you come?” I ask, my eyes narrowing. “I waited and waited for you, every day, thinking that you just had to show up—that you couldn’t just leave it like that. But you did. You disappeared.”

He looks back into the house for a moment, and then grabs my arms and backs me away from the door, noticeably trying to conceal me from its inhabitants.

“You shouldn’t be here, Genevieve,” he says firmly.

“Why?” I say, closer to shouting than I intended. “Because you can’t allow your son to have a glimpse of your old life?”

His face contorts, shock marring his features. “You think I’m ashamed of you?”

I throw up my hands. “I don’t know what to think!”

He puts his hands up in a clear attempt to quiet me down, but my blood is pumping too fast to care. “You don’t understand, Viv. My life is messy. You don’t really know me,” he says, something close to pain on his face.

I scoff, motioning at the house. “I’m inclined to agree,” I say with a sneer. “I told you everything about me. About the darkest things, the deepest shit inside that I’d never told anyone, and you don’t tell me you’re a father?”

He starts to speak, but stops, the words dying on his tongue.

It’s so reminiscent of the time before we came together, of when he kept me at arm’s length and wouldn’t let me in. Seeing it return cuts me deeper than I would have expected.

Maybe I’ve formed a misplaced bond with him. I was the victim of a violent act—of multiple violent acts—and now perhaps I’m clinging to him incorrectly. Uncertainty and shame warm my cheeks and I pinch my eyes shut, too embarrassed to look at him anymore.

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