Page 88 of Love and Other Lost Things

“No.” Nik pressed a palm to his forehead with the sudden memory of Matteo standing in the McCaffreys’ hallway, fists clenched, voice low and threatening. The bruise on Jane’s cheek. Matteo’s limp form on the stretcher. Nik could still feel his own body rocking from the hundreds—maybe thousands—of chest compressions he’d administered, trying to save the man’s life. He’d done everything he could.

But would he have if he’d known who he was trying to save?

Nik’s blood pounded in his ears. Thank God he hadn’t known. Thank God he’d never have to find out.

“What do you think happened?” Ed’s voice cut into his thoughts. “Did you see any signs of drug use when he came into the ER?”

That explanation would make sense. These rural areas saw their share of heroin, fentanyl, pain pills. Clubs in LA probably did, too. But then, Matteo had been the same age as Nik’s dad when he’d died, and maybe their causes of death were similar. An undiagnosed coronary artery abnormality and a whole bunch of really shitty luck.

“Nothing immediate, but…” Nik trailed off.

“Mrs. McCaffrey said he was staying in the motel on Route 8. I’ll send a deputy over there to gather up his belongings. See if that will tell us anything.” Ed looked Nik over, his face creasing with concern. “You look pretty shaken up. Are you okay to deliver the news to Jane and her mom, or do you want me to?”

Nik stared at Ed, trying to wrap his mind around those words.

How do you tell the woman you love that her abuser is dead? That you tried to save him but couldn’t. Nik didn’t want anyone to die—ever—on his watch. Hell, he’d gone into this profession for the exact purpose of saving lives. But right now, part of him wanted to throw a fucking party. Jane’s nightmare was over. Every time he thought about what she’d endured for the past ten years, he wanted to punch a wall. Or Matteo’s face.

But though one nightmare might be over, a new one could be starting. She’d spent a decade with the guy, had raised Scarlett with him. A part of Jane must have cared about him. Loved him, even. Nik’s stomach clenched at the thought, but he couldn’t just shove it aside. How was she going to take this news that Matteo was dead?

And how was she going to tell Scarlett?

“Nik?” Ed’s voice came from somewhere far away. “Maybe I should be the one to tell them?”

Nik shook his head. “I’ll do it.”

THIRTY-FIVE

Jane sat on the couch, too stunned to move or speak. Matteo had left in an ambulance half an hour ago, unconscious and with barely a pulse. She had no idea if he was okay or if he…

She squeezed her eyes closed.

Ed had shown up moments after the first responders, and once Matteo was in the back of the ambulance on the way to the hospital, he had asked her and Mom some questions, but he’d only seemed worried about them, not suspicious. And why would he be suspicious? Never in her wildest dreams would she have imagined that Mom would be capable of poisoning her husband.

Poisoning Matteo.

Every part of her wanted to reject the thought. There had to be some other explanation. But given Mom’s admission in the kitchen, Jane had no idea how it could be anything else.

She finally managed to turn her head to glance over at Mom, who sat calmly beside her, hands folded in her lap. “Is it true?” Jane whispered. “Did you really do this? Did you really—” She coughed. “—murder Dad?”

Mom’s hands tensed, the white skin on her knuckles the only sign she was affected by the question.

“And—” Jane could barely get the words out. “Did you really try to do the same to Matteo?”

Mom remained silent, her head nodding almost imperceptibly, as if she were running through a dozen responses in her head, trying them out until she landed on one that felt right.

Jane waited, breathless.

Finally, Mom turned in her seat and looked Jane straight in the eye. “What choice did I have?” She paused, straightened her shoulders, and continued. “What choice do any of us in that situation have?”

Jane stared at the worn indents on the floor where Dad’s recliner used to rest. Those marks were probably permanent. They should have ripped out the whole damn carpet. Set fire to it on the lawn.

“Could I have found a way to run?” Mom gave a slow shrug. “Maybe I could have. But I would have spent the rest of my life living in fear. Every time I left the house, I would have worried that he was there. Waiting. Every time I turned off the light, I would have wondered if that was the night he would finally find me.”

The words were as familiar as those old family photos lined up on the mantel. How many times had she thought of leaving Matteo, only to spiral through the exact same thoughts?

Most women who are murdered by their abusers are killed after they leave.

“Your father took everything from me. My independence, my dignity, my self-worth.” Mom took a breath, and the slight hitch at the end finally gave away a hint of emotion. “He took three decades of my life and, eventually, he took you. My daughter. My baby.” Her voice shook now. “Do you understand that there was only one way to take it all back?”

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