Page 65 of Perfect Assumption
“Thank you, Ward.”
“Good night, Angie.”
I back away, not out of fear but because of the novel feelings washing over me as his eyes hold mine. I narrowly avoid missing the guitarist and blush to the roots of my hair. “Oops.” That’s when I turn and head out the door.
And just like promised, Hayden was waiting to take me home.
Alone in the back seat, I relive every moment of dinner. I whip out my phone, ready to text Sula, when Hayden’s voice washes over me like a bucket of ice water. “He doesn’t know, does he?”
No. Not now. Not when I just had the most perfect evening. I lift tormented eyes to meet Ward’s godfather’s in the rearview mirror. “No.”
His head bobs up and down, but he doesn’t say anything else until we pull up at my house. Wildly, I fumble with the handle, but I can’t quite get it to open. Hayden turns his head so I can see his profile. “Angela, there is no punishment great enough for what happened to you. I say that not only as a judge, but as Ward’s godfather. Anyone worth their legal salt could see the problems with that case.”
My forehead hits the cold glass with a thunk. My breathing is jagged.
“Do you think he won’t see it the same way?” Hayden presses.
“I want him to see me.”
“Then let him in to do just that.”
“I’m trying, and I’ve never wanted to try before him,” I admit.
Hayden jumps from the car and opens my door. He holds out his hand to help me from the car. “Just know he’ll recognize the truth, Angela.” With a quick nod, he slips back inside the car to go back for Ward.
But as I trudge up the front steps to be accosted by Flower, I wonder if Ward will recognize that by being associated with me, I could topple the world as he knows it. He didn’t ask for fame, but he also didn’t ask for notoriety.
Deciding I need another point of view, I send a text to Sula.Are you up?
While I wait for her response, I feed Flower and then scurry upstairs, but the urge to shower, to wash Ward’s touch off me fails when I reach my room. Instead, I sink down onto the floor and wait for Sula.
The phone rings.
“What’s wrong?” she demands the instant I answer.
My voice hardly a whisper, I ask, “Is it always so scary?”
“What?”
“Feeling.”
“If it’s done right,” she admits.
I tip my head back against my bed and gather my thoughts. “I’m wondering who punished me more for what happened that night. Was it the media or myself? Have I been punishing myself for what those bastards did to me for all these years?”
“If I thought that, I’d have kicked your ass. What’s making you call me in the middle of the night questioning yourself.”
“Not what. Who.”
“Ah. Who is he?”
I muster my courage. “Ward Burke.”
“I. Knew. It!” I have to pull the phone away Sula screeches so hard in my ear. There’s a rustle of sheets as she gets comfortable. “Tell me everything. Is he seriously as…everything as the rags make him out to be?”
“No.”
“Oh.” Her disappointment is clear.
