Page 25 of Close Call

The hum of the tires on the road is the only sound in the car.

“I’m sorry for leaving you at the cabin. I shouldn’t have done that.”

I wave my hand at him. “It’s fine.”

“Not really, since you’re still pissed, and you look like you’re going to cry. I’m also sorry I let you leave the hospital by yourself. Your grandfather sounds like an absolute piece of shit.”

“It’s really fine,” I insist, but my voice is all weird from not crying.

“Lily.”

I stare out the window.

“Angel.”

“If I was an angel, nobody would shoot at me.”

“If a real angel descended into Manhattan, everybody would take a shot. Those things are—”

“Terrifying. You’ve said.”

Jameson turns on the radio, then reaches across the center console and takes my hand. He holds it while we get farther from the city, rubbing the pad of his thumb over my knuckles. I don’t recognize any of the songs on the radio. Commercials for used cars and vitamin supplements leave bits and pieces in my mind.

Snowball falls asleep in the back like a kid. For a minute, as the radio plays an ad for thebiggest selection of vehicles in the tristate area,I can imagine heading north for a weekend away with an actual baby napping in the backseat.

I wouldn’t mind that.

I haven’t done much daydreaming about babies and kids and husbands. Up until Jameson yanked me out of my life, I had a plan that didn’t take a family into consideration at all. When would I have had time, between law school and working as a prosecutor and becoming a judge and serving for most of my natural life span.

“Have you ever thought about having kids?”

Jameson squeezes my hand fast, like a startle. “What?”

“Kids.” I keep looking out the window. “Did you want to have any?”

“Nobody in their right mind would have a baby with me.”

“That’s not really what I asked.”

Jameson’s quiet for a few miles.

“I don’t know—” He stops. Clears his throat. “I don’t know if I want kids. Wouldn’t be fair.”

“Because of your criminal lifestyle?”

He squeezes my hand again, softer this time. “What about you?”

Not only his criminal lifestyle, then. Maybe it’s his nightmares. Or the fact that his parents are gone. Or that he really does plan on spending most of his life in jail.

“An illustrious law career was going to be my main focus. But…I’ve always liked the idea of having a kid.” Another knot forms in my throat. “There are reasons it might not be fair, though.”

Jameson scoffs. “What, are you an undercover criminal?”

“No, but I could be like my mom.”

“Your mom…” His thumb strokes idly over my knuckles. “A free spirit? There’s nothing criminal about that.”

“She left, though.”

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