Page 134 of The Trust We Broke
But at least all the data was compiled. And Lucy and I have handed off the files to the police with a promise that she will not let them rest if they try to bury it or hide it. Wren was able to get more details off Lucy’s father’s files. The irony was that, in trying to protect himself against the force of the Rebels, he’d built an extensive paper trail that incriminates himself.
He’s in hospital, but under arrest, cuffed to his bed.
Lucy and her mom gave their statements about how the raid on their house went down. How they were alone. How the men tried to kill them because of information they were uncovering. And how we arrived after the men did, thanks to the video surveillance from the house that showed them entering ahead of us.
Her mom has hired a lawyer, started divorce proceedings, and gone to stay with a friend in Denver while her house undergoes repairs.
“I feel shitty for pushing them to get the information pulled together faster.” I start unbuttoning my flannel shirt. “I’m still getting used to the whole pronoun thing. ‘Them’ sounds like a plural, to me. I fucked it up twice over pizza.”
Lucy steps into my space, close enough that the heat from her bare skin warms mine, and places her hands on my chest. “And you fixed it both times. Wren’s really gracious about it. You’re trying, Zach. That’s what matters.”
I tuck a strand of her hair behind her ear. “You never fucked up, though.”
Lucy shrugs. “Maybe it’s the lawyer in me. We use ‘they’ and ‘them’ all the time when we’re trying to shield a client or witness’s identity. It just makes sense. You’ll get there.”
“Or King’ll shoot my balls off,” I mutter.
“That’s a tough position to be in,” she says, unbuttoning her jeans, her tone gentle. “Why are they even here? Did King tell you?”
I feel the internal tussle between loyalty to my club and the woman who has slowly reclaimed every piece of me.
“King did,” I say, pulling my flannel off and tossing it on the chair. “But it’s club business, Luce. And as much as I was honest with you about what happened here with the Rebels and yourfather, I’m not gonna cross that line when it comes to Wren. If they want to tell you on their own time, that’s on them.”
She studies me for a beat, and something in her face softens. “I understand,” she says finally, and kicks off her jeans.
“You do?”
“Sure. I mean, I won’t be able to tell you everything about my cases either. Some of them might eat me alive, and I’ll have to come home to you and either pretend they didn’t or tell you something horrid happened and I just need a hug from you.”
Gratitude coils in my chest. “Hugs I can do.”
She pauses, standing in a pair of simple cotton panties and a ridiculous pair of pink fluffy socks. “If you tell me you can’t tell me, I’ll believe you. And I trust you to tell me what you can, when you can.”
I step in close, my hand finding her bare waist, soft under my touch. “You really trust me?”
She lifts her chin and meets my gaze. “You never let me down, Grudge. Not once. You never gave me reason to not trust you.”
Her words level me harder than anything ever has.
I slide my hand up, fingers brushing her ribs. Her breath catches as her body leans into me. I cup her throat with my other hand, and her pulse flutters beneath my thumb.
She looks up at me like I’m something worth believing in.
And I want to be.
I want to be worthy of every trial we had to face to get here. To make up for every second we lost.
She’s tired, dark shadows dancing beneath her eyes. Her hair is a mess from hours of pulling her fingers through it. And she’s still the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.
I listened as Wren and Lucy mentally sparred and challenged each other, putting the pieces of her father’s crimes together.
They’re good for each other.
Both brilliant.
The sum of those two is even greater than the individual pieces. For a second, I imagine a future where our club suddenly benefits from both their brains.
What a fucking legacy that would be.
