Page 34 of Secrets Unveiled

“Is that Mayor Harrison’s wife?”

My phone buzzes in my purse that’s still hanging off my shoulder. I pull it out to see I have a text alert. Opening the message, I read and reread the text illuminating my cell phone screen.

Dante:

Don’t let your guard down around your uncle. We need to talk again; you and your brother may be in danger. Let me know when you’re free as soon as possible.

What the actual fuck is going on?

SAGE

I pocket my cell without responding to Dante. I need answers about the photo that I’m now looking at. Bile churns in my stomach as I look at the far too intimate photo of Mayor Harrison’s wife, Gloria. Dad has her held against his chest, their eyes locked on one another so enduringly emotional it feels wrong to be looking at this photo. A private moment captured to expose something that was meant to be secret.

“Wait, was Dad having an affair with Gloria?” I ask in a whisper as I hold back the tears forming behind my eyes.

“It looked to be that way,” Frankie says, and my chest tightens while the blood in my vein’s rushes to my ears. I’m not mad, but I am feeling… something. Confusion maybe?

“Are you saying the reason Dad was murdered was because he was seeing Gloria behind Mayor Harrison’s back?” It’s the same question I’d already asked, but I’m not sure I truly understand. Saxon comes closer to the couch, his hand waving off Saint as if to say he’s fine, and I hold out the phone to him. He takes it and glares at the image with Saint at his side, looking over his shoulder.

“So, you’re implying Mayor Harrison found out about the affair and this could be the reason he was murdered in the first place?” Saxon breaks the silence that had fallen over the room. “What were the other messages you received? The letters and stuff you just said?”

“They were all short, nothing that stood out or gave any information about who could have sent them. One said, ‘Any affair, by its nature, feels like a spark but ultimately ends in disaster.’ It was as if the messages were meant to be for your father, not me. The messages were all phrases that indicated your father was having an affair, but until I received the photo proving his connection with Gloria, I hadn’t believed it. The reason I quit cooperating with the police was because if Mayor Harrison is involved, the evidence I would have collected, I would be giving straight to the cops. You three and I all know how the mayor has the police chief in his back pocket. So, I stopped. I started doing my own digging and got close a few times, but every lead I got led to a dead end.”

Frankie paused then, standing from the sofa and pacing the room, looking defeated and so alone. As if this whole time, he’d been carrying this burden on his shoulders.

“Why keep this from us?” I ask, watching him pace back and forth.

“Sweetheart, you’d just lost your dad. Why would I tell a fourteen-year-old who just lost their only parent left that he was having an affair that may have caused his death, which almost killed you as well? My only job was to protect you both and make sure nothing else hindered you from having a beautiful, fulfilled life. I couldn’t break you anymore than you already were.” He looks at Saxon then, his eyes full of sadness and hurt.

“I know you were twenty at the time, but don’t forget you lost a parent as well. I don’t care how much of an adult you think you were at the time; you lost a father. You started becoming more and more angry as you grew up. You carried so much on your shoulders from the club, feeling as though you needed to raise Sage, stepping into a role you weren’t fully prepared for. The best years of your life were taken from you and forced you to grow up faster than you should have. You should have been out partying, getting in trouble, and chasing girls, instead you quickly became president of The Kings’ Aces—the leader of the greatest motorcycle club in the country.”

I look at Saxon, whose eyes are fixed on Frankie; his expression is as unreadable as it is most of the time. If he feels broken or distraught, like I am, he never shows it. Instead, he lets out a deep breath and straightens his spine a little more.

“Don’t pity me, uncle. I wanted this; I’ve always wanted this. I missed out on nothing. Now, send me all the messages, pictures, and letters you received from this anonymous prick. Since it’s been seven years, and you’ve still not found the person responsible, I will.” Saxon then exits the living room, grabs his motorcycle keys, and speeds down the driveway.

This is how he handles any of his emotions; he never allows others to see him falter or crack. He leaves by himself and deals with it on his own. It’s how he’s always been.

“I’ll follow him,” Saint finally says.

“No, don’t. Let him allow his feelings to come out. He won’t show them when he’s around anyone. He won’t do anything dumb; he just needs… time.” I say, placing my hand on his chest to stop him from leaving. I fix my eyes on Frankie.

“Thank you for telling us, but next time you need to share with us everything you know. I can’t afford to lose anyone else.” I cross the room and give him a hug; his arms wrap around me and squeeze so hard it feels like an apology.

“I’m so sorry, witch stick. I’ve only ever wanted to protect you.”

“I know.” I hug him a moment longer, his embrace speaking so many unspoken words. Frankie kisses my forehead before saying goodnight to the both of us, grabbing his keys and leaving as well. The moment his bike is down the road, and we can no longer hear the rumble of his engine, Saint wraps his arms around me, pulling me into his chest where I finally allow the tears to fall. After I am sure I have no tears left, I pull out my phone and send a message.

Me:

Meet me tomorrow at Green’s Café, 7:00 a.m.

Dante:

Got it.

SAGE

The next morning, I arrive at the café twenty minutes early. My curiosity is humming at what this federal agent needs to tell me. I haven’t mentioned anything to Saxon and Saint about my meeting, but now that I am here alone, I feel like I should have brought someone. The bell on the front door rings, and I can feel the ominous presence of Dante before I even look up from my coffee.

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