Page 114 of The Locksmith's Promise

“I’ve got to see Miller about a few things. Can I call you later when I’m done?”

“Sure,” she replied easily, not knowing her whole world was about to implode.

“Thanks,” I rasped and pulled the phone away before slapping it back up to my ear and desperately adding, “Maggie, I love you.”

I shoved it back in my pocket and strove to control my breathing.

Bent over, I braced my palms on my thighs and forced myself to inhale deeply.

Ten years.

Jenny.

Maggie.

Cor.

I dropped to my haunches. That fucker brought me to my knees. “Fuck!”

Breathing heavily, I stood and turned to Jenny, blurting, “I’m sorry. I know it’s not enough, but I’m sorry.”

She shook her head.

My stomach clenched and soured.

I didn’t deserve her forgiveness.

“Bax, it’s not your shame.” Rising from the bench, she took a step back. “It never was,” she assured me. “But it wasn’t mine either and I couldn’t carry it any longer.”

Blowing out a harsh breath, she shook her head and actually smiled. “Thanks for listening.” Offering a final nod, she walked away along the path edging the water.

Locked on her retreating back, I turned her words over in my head.

Not your shame.

Walking out onto the dock, I stared unseeing out over the icy water.

Jenny had spread the past out in front of me like a rotting banquet, and it was worse than I feared.

How did I move on from this?

Maggie.

I sucked in a breath through my nose, expanding my chest with air before blowing it back out again as I jogged back up the hill with my cell phone pressed to my ear.

I needed to make sure before I dropped this bomb on her.

“Miller?”

“Bax.”

“Can you meet me at the station?”

“I’ll be there.”

A squat, red-brick building, the station housed both police and fire and it was exactly what you might expect. Grey walls surrounded pock-ridden desks tucked behind a Formica counter and buffered by a tiny vestibule.

Miller was already there by the time I picked up my truck and drove over.

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