“Toss up for which one,” Ethan huffed, the smell of the blacktop reminding him of his college brawls. He always hated this part, but at least the plan had worked. Adam had to take him to the station himself. Giving Ethan enough time to talk his sanity away with Audrey’s brother, uninterrupted. He couldn’t run off this time.
The back of the police vehicle was hardly the ideal place for this conversation. Certainly wasn’t impressive to prove to the woman’s brother that he was worthy of her. But beggars couldn’t be picky. At least Adam had given Ethan a little dignity and left the lights and siren off. Or maybe he was too ashamed to admit that he let a man clock him in the middle of the street.
“Whatever you have stuck up your backside about your sister,” Ethan started from behind the barred partition. “You have to let it go.”
Adam didn’t look at him or respond, but Ethan saw the man’s jaw line tense.
“She needs your help.”
“I thought you were the one that needed the help.”
“That’s obvious, but I don’t care about me.”
Damn, these cuffs hurt like hell. I really pissed him off.
“She’s about to go through the worst moment in her life, again. All because of me, and she needs you.”
Adam shook his head. “Not that I’m any fan of yours…or think she deserves my help, but what did you do?”
“You didn’t read the paper this morning, did you?”
“Shit,” Adam groaned and pulled the car over. Finally, he looked at Ethan in the rearview mirror. “You slaughtered her in the article, didn’t you?”
“Long story, but yeah. Cat’s
way
out of the bag on the car accident.”
“Which means you dragged the Davises through that hell again, too.”
“I’m not proud of myself. Look what I’ve resorted to: quitting my job, punching a cop, and going to jail just to prove how much I love her.”
Ethan swore he could hear every beat of Adam’s raging heart in the silence as he stared at him. Adam finally put the car into gear and turned around. Away from the station.
“Where are we going?”
“Pit stop before I book your ass.”
“Where?”
“You owe someone an apology.”
“Tell them to take a number. I’m making rounds.”
The Davises porch was surrounded by flowerpots full of orange and red marigolds. Fresh paint emanated off the porch railing, gleaming white, that matched the hanging chair swing in the corner, where a white-haired lady sat, a book in her lap.
Mrs. Davis.
The humiliation soared through the roof of the cop car he was cuffed in.
Please God, let this work.
“Adam Biddinger?” Mrs. Davis called from the porch. “Is everything all right?”
“Mrs. Davis, someone here owes you an apology.” He’d rounded the car and opened the back seat, the gravel driveway crunching underneath his feet as he reached inside to pull Ethan out.
By now, the woman had reached the bottom step and pulled her shawl around her shoulders. The drums of the band in the parade carried over the small forest lining the Davises’ property line in the distance. The adorable lady hadn’t attended the parade with everyone else.
My fault? Yeah, probably.
“Who is this, Adam?”
“My name’s Ethan Tanner, ma’am.”
How can I sound more genuine in metal cuffs while held against a police car?
At least he could look the woman in the eye as she realized who he was. Looking into her eyes… recognition dawned on her face.
Yep. She read the article
. But somehow she didn’t look as enraged as he’d expected.
“What in the world…” The screen door screeched open and Carl Davis stepped out. “Adam? What’s goin’ on, son? Is that…Ethan?”
“Yes, sir,” Adam answered. “This is the man that wrote an article that dragged you all—”
“Adam,” Carl stopped him. “We’ve not heard a peep from you in ten years and
this
is how you want to start up a conversation? Bringing a man here in handcuffs?”
“He assaulted an officer.”
Both the Davises blanched and looked to Ethan, who wanted to cringe under judgmental eyes, but he kept his chin up.
“You mean he punched you?” Carl deduced.
“It’s the only way he’d talk to me,” Ethan explained, stretching his wrists in the cuffs. “I have several apologies to make today, and the biggest one to Audrey. I need his help…and yours.”
Carl descended the stairs and stood face to face with Adam, the sun gleaming off his spectacles.
“All this because of a silly article? Again?”
“It was disrespectful.” Adam squared his jaw, the skin only now reddening after Ethan’s punch. “To you, to Jack—”
“Jack’s gone, son. Nothing can offend him.”
Adam looked down and paused, almost subordinate. And annoyed. This cop was fighting something back.
Maybe the sour taste of being wrong?
“What are you really here for?” Carl lifted his hand like he was going to hold Adam’s shoulder, but stopped short.
“He tried to fight me.”
“Just like you and Jack used to.”
“This was different.”
“How?” Carl caught his eyes.
“Because he’s not Jack.” Adam’s voice rose and eyes flashed.
“No, he’s not,” Carl checked. “He’s not Jack, Adam.”
The Biddinger scowl reappeared, with a boiling rage that Ethan wouldn’t dare tempt. But Carl had clearly seen it before—he wasn’t backing down.
If anyone could reach this guy, maybe…just maybe.
“If Jack were here, what would you say to him?”
“He’s not here. Why does it matter?” Adam’s rage trembled into a half-cry.
“Because I don’t think anyone has asked you that question, and you need to answer it.” Carl finally rested his hand on Adam’s shoulder.
The apple of Adam’s throat bobbed up and down and he looked away. This volcano was either going to burst red hot lava or a rain cloud so dense it would drown the Sahara.
“What would you say to him, Adam?”
“I’d punch his lights out!” The scream wrenched from Adam’s chest, obvious to Ethan’s ears. Like the urge had been buried for a decade because he wasn’t allowed to say it.
Carl didn’t move, nor did his expression change. Adam’s admission, however shocking, didn’t surprise the old man in the least. He kept on holding Adam’s shoulder, with that reassuring empathy. The kind Ethan had always wanted from his own father, but never received.
“Why, son?”
Adam gripped his ears and looked like he would almost rip them off as he fought back the raging emotions—and failed. Red flooded his face as his teeth clenched.
“I know Jack was no saint. That day, I was so mad at him, I really wanted to deck him. The next time I saw him, just drop him to the floor and whale on him. But…”
“But then you couldn’t,” Carl finished for him.
Adam turned his back, shaking his head. The radio on the shoulder of his deputy’s uniform shook as he fought to control his emotions. The silence between the group would have been perfect timing for one of Ethan Tanner’s zingers, but not if he needed to prove his worth.
And he was worth it, dammit.
The more Audrey’s family pissed him off, the more he couldn’t stay away. The more he had to gain their approval. This was worth it. For her.
“It was Jack’s choice,” Carl continued. “But living your life angry at a dead man isn’t living.” Mrs. Davis finally stepped off the porch and reached her husband’s side, holding a handkerchief. “And redirecting your anger on Ethan…or Audrey, can’t change what happened.”
Mrs. Davis reached around Adam’s arm and gave him the handkerchief. He’d stopped shaking and turned to look at her, his expression as if he’d been soundly beaten.
“Alienating your sister the way you have…” Her words were soft and tender. Ethan could feel the pain from twenty feet away. “Has that made you feel any better?” The woman’s quiet question was perfectly clear in the chilly breeze.
It took a long time for Adam to respond, but he finally shook his head. Not only could the man listen, but the depth of sincerity was ocean deep. This man’s need for self-preservation had ruined him for the last decade.
Thank God for the Davises. Why hadn’t they done this years ago?
By now, the cuffs were cutting into Ethan’s wrists. But the guilt of knowing the pain he caused these families with the wrong article was worse. What would they think of him if they read the real article? The one he wanted the paper to publish. Would they help him then?
It still wouldn’t be enough. You need something more drastic to prove you’re worthy.
The little voice of conscience grew more annoying every day, and Ethan wasn’t used to demanding more of himself to please others.
“Adam,” his voice croaked as he shifted his weight. The trio turned to look at him, though Adam’s glare still made his feet itch. “The fundraiser for Audrey’s Crisis Center is tonight. To get this thing off the ground, she needs to rock the house. She could use every ounce of support from her family.”
The gravel crunched with every determined step Adam took toward Ethan. He stopped a foot away and bore a hole into Ethan. He removed his sunglasses from his pocket, the best frames impossible to wear.
“You broke my sunglasses.”
“I’ll buy you a new pair.”
They stared each other down. Ethan refused to even blink, let alone look away. If this was the price of winning Audrey back, he’d take it. A night in jail, a criminal record, a pair of sunglasses and braving her brother’s fury.
Could be a credit card ad.
Ten agonizing seconds later, Adam pulled the keys from his belt and un-cuffed Ethan, who gripped his wrists in relief. But he never got a chance to say “thanks.”
Adam clocked him in the face.
“We’re even.”
Chapter Thirty-Five
Audrey Allen was a walking hypocrisy.
Ten minutes before the Crisis Center Fundraiser, she sat in a back office of the hotel’s ballroom letting the words of her speech blend into the white note cards. Canyon, her speech writer, argued with Miranda over a few semantics behind her, but their words also faded over her head.
Tonight was supposed to be about hope. Optimism and a fresh start for her life’s dream and hundreds of women who desperately needed help.
Ironic when she felt completely dead inside. Hopeless.
The fabric of her black lace evening gown felt like silk under her fingers. The scattered jewels and beads gave the frock a touch of glamour that Miranda loved. They’d sparkle on stage under the bright spotlights, just as she herself was supposed to symbolize as a senator.
The boat neckline was her favorite feature, revealing her collarbone and a touch of cleavage. Reminiscent of fashion pioneer Princess Catherine, Duchess of Cambridge. But also stopping at the edge of her shoulder just before her scars. Not that covering them mattered anymore. The whole world knew of the accident now, thanks to Ethan. No doubt everyone would be staring at her left side waiting for any shift in material to see the atrocity up close.
“Audrey, we’ve got five minutes,” Miranda rushed. “The part on overcoming obstacles that Canyon added will be the most poignant, so you need to be a touch slower there.”
“A few places people may clap or cheer, so be prepared to stop. Don’t feel like you have to rush through it.” Canyon stretched over her shoulder and highlighted the section in yellow. The mid-twenty phenom was one of the best additions to her campaign, and definitely the best dressed. His tux with black on black tie was slightly more formal than his daily crisp suit and perfectly gelled dark hair. She’d hoped to have him with her on future campaigns. But just like herself, he’d be looking for another job after Tuesday’s runoff vote, along with Miranda. All thanks to Ethan.
“Canyon.” She stopped him. His hazel eyes, lightly emphasized with liner, looked back into hers expectantly, but so full of promise and determination. Just like hers used to be. “Did you always want to be a speech writer?”
He cocked his head and sat in an empty chair. “Yeah,” he replied as he crossed his legs. “Brenner always said that I had a gift with words, but I hate the spotlight. So when he asked me to write a few of his conference speeches, I jumped on it. Loved it so much, and he had such a great response, I knew this was my niche.”
“How long have you two been together?”
“Since college.” He laughed to himself. “I was a fresh-out-of-the-closet freshman still wearing docks and baggy polos when Brenner saw me walking through the commons. I looked so lost, he told me. Hard to believe it’s been seven years.”
“What will you do after Tuesday?” Her question was honest, concerned, much like she expected her face to mirror.
“Audrey, you can’t think like that. It’s not over yet.”
“Canyon…level with me.”
He pursed his thin lips and rested his hand on her knee. “Your campaign has been the most fun I’ve ever had as a speech writer. Mostly because of you and Miranda. I’d love to stay right by your side, no matter what you do. As long as you’ll have me.”
She leaned forward, resting her hand over his. “Your talents are too impressive to be lost in tiny campaigns like mine. When this is done, you need to go where yours can make a bigger difference. Like gubernatorial races, or even presidential elections. You’re that good.”
“You know I love the flattery.” He smiled. “But your campaign is only as small as you want it to be. I’m thinking much bigger.”
Audrey smiled, then wiped under her eye, careful not to smudge the make-up that Canyon had done for her only an hour before.
“They haven’t answered, have they?” he asked softly.
Audrey shook her head and took a deep breath. She’d tried to call the Davises all day, wishing she could have at least softened the blow before they read the article themselves. But it was a constant busy signal on the other end. No doubt they were reliving the torment at this very moment.
“Well, from what you said they told you, this article won’t deter them much. Keep your chin up, girl.”
Audrey’s cell vibrated on the desk. Canyon picked it up for her and read the caller ID. “Damn, that’s eight the past hour. That boy doesn’t quit, does he?”
Audrey opened the phone and slammed it shut. Two-dozen phone calls to say “I’m sorry” wouldn’t fix the damage he’d done to her election. The pain he’d caused Jack’s family and her shattered heart would take more than that to heal.