Page 91 of I Would Die for You

“Erm, well… when I got to the second floor, I heard shouting…” He brought a shaking handkerchief up to his brow. “And then… then… I sawhim.”

The lawyer had snapped her head toward where my father was looking. “Byhim, do you mean Mr. Edwards?”

“Y-yes.”

“Liar!” Ben had called out from the dock. “He’s lying!”

My father had frozen, like a deer in headlights, his eyes the only thing moving as he peered around the courtroom, gauging whether people were believing him or Ben.

“And where was he, Mr. Alderton?”

Ben had stared at him, silently begging him to change his story.

“Mr. Alderton?” the lawyer pushed, when there was no response.

“He was going into room 245,” my father had said, clearing his throat. “Michael Delaney’s room.”

Now, I look to Ben, whose eyes burrow into my soul, as if he can see the very same flashback. No doubt the scene has been on repeat in his head for years.

“I’m not expecting you to forgive my father for what he did,” I say. “But I can only ask that you try and understand.”

“How do you expect me to do that?” Ben says brusquely.

I think of Zoe sitting in the car outside, me promising I’d bring her in if it felt like the right thing to do.

“Do you have children?” I ask, remembering the dreamscape we’d naively created back when we were together. We were going to have three: two boys and a girl—Stevie, Eric, and Joni, named after our musical inspirations—who we were going to homeschool as we traveled the world on tour. A whimsical fantasy from another lifetime.

Ben shakes his head ruefully—yet another punishment he’s had to endure.

I swallow my regret—not only for what he’s missed out on, but for what we all, in one way or another, lost on that fateful day.

“I have someone I want you to meet,” I say.

49

LONDON, 1986

Amid all the furore of the press conference, it’s easy for Cassie to snatch Ben’s jacket—with its distinctive spray-painted logo—from the back of his chair and walk unnoticed to the lift. She lets herself into room 245 with the key Amelia had managed to extract from the bellboy in exchange for sexual favors.

There’s a moment’s hesitation as she turns the key in the lock, but as soon as Michael’s musky scent permeates her nostrils, Cassie’s suddenly underneath him again and all thoughts of backing out transform into a rabid ball of anger.

She helps herself to the minibar as she waits, drinking anything that will help numb her nerves and steady her resolve, all the while psyching herself up for when he eventually arrives.

She doesn’t have to wait more than fifteen minutes for him to burst through the door and, as expected, he’s blinded by rage and fury, so much so that he doesn’t even see her sitting in the chair by the fireplace; as she watches him rip the ringing phone from thewall and listens to his embittered bellowing, a breath catches in her throat. She hasn’t thought this through. She’s thrown herself into the lion’s den. She’s enraged him before and look how that turned out. Why thehellhas she done it again?

As he disappears into the bathroom, yelling expletives, she edges herself out of the chair and tiptoes toward the door. She’s almost there—just a few steps more—but it’s too late. He’s spotted her.

“What the fuck are you doing in my room?” he roars, as blood runs down the side of his face.

All thought of doing what she came here to do vanishes. Shehasto get out of here.

She lunges for the door, but he gets there first, slamming himself against it, his body filling the entire frame.

“Please,” says Cassie, making a feeble attempt to reach around him for the handle.

He pushes her and she falls backward, stumbling over the coffee table and onto the floor. Her face crumples as he comes toward her, but she refuses to cry.

“I asked you a question and I expect a fucking answer,” he yells as he looms over her.

---