Page 95 of Sex Coach

I wanted to believe that .

Maybe there even could be .

Sighing, I hooked an arm around her neck and tugged her in closer. "There are things I should tell you, Michelle ."

* * *

T he letter was wrinkledand creased from being carried in my wallet for the past couple of years .

The picture of my mother was faded .

Michelle held the picture in one hand, and at some point, she'd pressed it to her heart .

It made me ache, just seeing her like that .

She held the letter in her other hand, reading it .

She flipped it over, then back, then flipped it over again. I think she must have read it five times before she finally put it down and met my eyes. "He never says what he's sorry for," she said softly .

"I know ."

The letter was from Marlon McCrane .

Holding out a hand, I waited for her to return the letter, and I looked down at the words and letters, the familiar scrawl of Marlon's handwriting. "This was the son of Senator Washington McCrane," I said quietly, looking up to meet her eyes. "He died a few years back, but not before he sent this letter to the prison where I was serving my time. I'd just...I got out a few days before the letter got there. It should have been forwarded, but for some reason, my old cellmate ended up with it ."

Rubbing a thumb across one crease, I thought about that phone call the guy had given me, telling me about the letter. I'm going to mail it to you, man. But just in case...I want to read it to you. You should know what's in it in case something happens .

What was in it was a bunch of rambling nonsense, the by-product of a mind destroyed by booze or drugs or both. But one thing that was clear...Marlon felt like he had something to apologize for .

Over and over, he'd written, I'm sorry, man. I'm so sorry .

But I didn't understand just what it was he was supposed to be sorry for .

Not at first .

Later, though, I started to wonder and think. If he had just been in the car, what would he have to be apologizing for? I'd never know, either .

Slowly, I looked up and met her eyes. "I already told you this, I think. But I don't remember what happened the night my mom died." She lowered the picture to look at the image of my mother, her hair falling to obscure her face. "I loved her. Her and my dad. They were good parents. I had a good life, played football. I was a good kid. We were like some sit-com family, just...happy ."

I blew out a shuddering breath .

"I wake up in the hospital and I'm told that my mother is dead. That I'd been driving, and I hit her and killed her. There wasn't a trial, just a plea deal, and I signed it without thinking about much of anything. I just wanted to die. For the longest time after I went inside, that was the only thing I wanted – to die ."

"Jake..." She reached out to me .

I took her hand and kissed the inside of her palm. "Guilt is a terrible thing, Michelle. It will eat you alive. It took me a long time just to be able to look myself in the mirror in the morning ."

Her face was unreadable, and I couldn't even begin to guess at what she was thinking .

I wasn't sure I wanted to know. Not just yet, at least. I was talking about my mother's death and the possibility that I had killed her. That's what I believed for so long. But when I got that letter ...

"You wanted to know why I reacted so bad about Whitley..." I squeezed my eyes closed for a long moment before looking back at her. "I've been watching the McCrane family – specifically Senator Washington McCrane for a very, very long time ."

"Why?" Michelle's eyes were confused .

"Because the only other person who knows exactly what happened the night my mother died was the boy in the car with me...Marlon McCrane ."

Her lashes flickered. "Oh ."

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