Page 93 of What's Left of Us

“I’m—”

“Don’t. Don’t say you’re sorry.” He presses his thumb against my lower lip. “You have nothing to be sorry for.”

My eyes go to my ring, silently communicating with him that we both know I’m at fault. Nickolas Del Rossi said he would make Lincoln’s life hell if I disobeyed him. He’s always been a man of his word.

“You should have told me,” I say quietly. “If you keep bottling it up, you’re going to explode. And I…I don’t need another man in my life who could combust around me at any second. I need…stable. Safe.”

The frustration on Lincoln’s face melts. “You always have a safe place with me, Peaches. I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want to make you feel guilty. You’re not responsible for what your father chooses to do. And this shit has his name written allover it. He’s not a good person. He’s petty and angry and a lot of other shit that makes me dislike him a little more every single day. But he doesn’t matter. We’re in this together, right?”

One of my brows rises. “I don’t know.Arewe? It’s a two-way street, Linc.”

He nods. “You’re right, it is. I’ll work on it. Okay?” We hear a car door close outside, marking the first guests. “It’s going to be okay. I won’t get into trouble for this. They’ll know I didn’t do it, especially when they see her record. She’s an unreliable witness.”

Even if that’s true, it’s obvious he’s concerned this could happen again. And I don’t want him to worry about what my father could do to his career. He’s done too much for me to risk it all because of pettiness.

He stands, offering me his hand. “Come on. Today will be a good distraction from work. You were right to plan this. I’m happy we’re doing it.”

I’m not sure if he means it, but I smile and pretend like he does. We answer the door together like a happy couple, welcoming Matt Conklin and his girlfriend Marissa in.

I give Marissa a hug.

Matt clasps Lincoln’s hand. “Happy birthday, you old fuck.”

Lincoln chuckles. “You’re older than me.”

Matt hands him a bottle of liquor with a blue ribbon on it. “Don’t remind me.”

Marissa rolls her eyes at the men. “Men,” she muses, nudging me with her elbow.

I feign a laugh. “I know.”

But I don’t know.

Not at all.

A few more people show up.

We eat.

We drink.

We joke.

Lincoln seems…happy.

Happier than he has been.

That makes the guilt seep in deeper.

Sometime later, I go inside to get another water from the fridge when I hear Lincoln and Matt talking quietly down the hall.

I stop around the corner, biting my lip, when I hear, “…are three different transactions that The Del Rossi group gets regularly from Scores Tech that I can’t find anywhere online. It’s always the same lump sum.”

Why is Matt talking about my father’s business?

“Forgery?” Lincoln asks.

“Could be money laundering,” Matt says, voice lowering. “You mentioned that his former partner was put away for it. Maybe her father learned from the best. A lot of businesses that partner with the mafia get transactions like these for their underground services.”

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