Page 88 of Ruthless Regret

"What?" he asks when she leaves.

I shake my head. "Nothing. Just ... thinking."

He raises an eyebrow, but doesn't push and we fall into silence.

I’m acutely aware of how strange this is. Sitting in a diner with Zain, like we're just two normal people having lunch. Not a woman and the man she wrongly accused of murder.

"This is weird, isn't it?" I blurt out, and immediately regret it.

Zain's lips twitch, almost like he's suppressing a smile. "Yeah."

More silence. I cast around for something to say,anythingto break this awkward tension. And before I can stop myself, before my brain can tell me it’s the worst thing to say, words tumble out.

"What did you do? In prison, I mean." As soon as the words leave my mouth, I want to take them back. "I'm sorry, that was insensitive. You don't have to answer that."

But he just shrugs. "I read a lot. Worked out. Tried to keep my head down and stay out of trouble." His eyes meet mine, and there's a challenge there. "What about you? What have you been doing for the past fourteen years?"

The question catches me off guard. "I ... I went to college. Got a job. Tried to build a life, I guess." The words sound hollow, even to my own ears.

"And did you? Build a life, I mean?"

I think about the house I share with my friends in New York, my job, Scott. The life I thought I wanted.

"I thought I had," I admit. "But now ... I'm not so sure."

Zain doesn't respond, but something in his expression shifts. Before I can decipher it, our food arrives, giving me an excuse to look away.

“Do you ever think about ..." I start, then pause, uncertain how to phrase my question.

His head lifts. I take a deep breath.

"I'm so sorry. I know I've said it before, but I don't think I've ever truly expressed how sorry I am for what I did to you."

His fork stops halfway to his mouth. He sets it down slowly, his eyes never leaving mine.

"You were only twenty," I continue, my voice barely above a whisper. "I took away fourteen years of your life. I can't even begin to imagine what you went through in that prison because of me."

His jaw tightens. When he speaks, his voice is clipped, each word sharp and precise. "You're right. You can't imagine it."

I flinch at his tone. But before I can respond, he continues, his voice losing some of its edge but still guarded. "But you were just a kid. Manipulated by the system."

"I know my apology doesn't change anything. It doesn't give you back those years. But I need you to know that I will regret what I did for the rest of my life."

He’s quiet for a long moment, his eyes searching mine. Finally, he speaks, his tone neutral.

"I appreciate that. But you're right. It doesn't change what happened. A week ago, I’d have said that nothing you can say or do can make up for what you did back then." He lifts a hand and rubs the back of his neck. “A lot has changed in a week.”

I look back down at my plate, no longer hungry. His words aren't quite forgiveness, but they're not rejection either. I push my food around my plate, appetite gone.

Zain's phone buzzes, breaking the silence. He glances at the screen, then answers.

"McFadden," he says by way of greeting. "Alright. We'll be there as soon as we're done here." He hangs up. "They've got Holson at the station."

My heart rate picks up. "Should we go now?"

He shakes his head. "No, let's finish eating first. We might be there a while, and I'd rather face this with a clear head."

We return to our meals, but the atmosphere has changed again. The tension from before has been replaced by a strange mix of anticipation and dread.

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