The Truth About Love

by Sheila Athens

  Was that what she heard in Landon’s voice? Was he giving up? Was she the one responsible for driving that passion from his eyes?

  She busied herself straightening the apartment, glancing every few seconds out the front window to see if his truck had pulled up out front. Finally, he arrived.

  She greeted him on the stoop at the top of her stairs.

  “Hi,” she said, trying to study the expression on his face. “Come in.”

  He glanced back to the road before he entered. She flinched inwardly. She was responsible for his concern. Her interview with Donna Crocker had made his life worse than it had to be.

  She stood aside and he stepped into her living room. He looked more rugged today than usual, which was a hard thing to do. His dark khaki cargo shorts were wrinkled. His black T-shirt looked custom-made to perfectly encase those round, hard biceps.

  “I went to see my father a couple of days ago,” he said.

  “And hello to you, too.” She wished he hadn’t gotten down to business so quickly. Wished he’d . . . what did she wish for? That he’d come to visit her on a social call? That he came to her apartment for a reason that wasn’t related to the case or the task force or the senator’s reprimand? That they had a relationship beyond Cyrus Alexander? A pang of regret sliced through her.

  “I want to be quick. I don’t want your neighbors seeing my truck out there.”

  She wished for the Landon who’d invited her for a beer after their meeting in the senator’s office. “My neighbors have an average age of about eighty-seven and a half years old.”

  “So they’ve got nothing better to do than to peer out their windows.”

  “Good point.” She shrugged. “So what did you and your dad talk about?”

  He squared to face her, as if he wanted her full attention. “I want my DNA tested.” His gaze bored into her. Resolute. Defiant.

  His words drove into her like a gust of strong winter wind. “What? Why?”

  “I don’t trust him. He’s too evasive.”

  “And what does that have to do with you?”

  “My DNA would show we’re relatives, right?”

  She nodded, hesitant. Unsure of where he was headed.

  “Then the DNA on my mom’s clothes would say whether or not a relative of mine was the murderer.”

  A cold chill sliced down Gina’s back. This was the first time Landon had confided this to her. “You think your dad might have done it?” Her words came out in a whisper.

  He slumped against the door frame leading into her kitchen. “I think he’s a son of a bitch.” He scrubbed his hand down his face. “But I don’t know if he’s a murderer.”

  She reached out and took his other hand before she realized what she was doing. “But you want to find out.” It wasn’t a question as much as it was a statement.

  “Yeah.” He drew in a long breath and heaved it out. “I want to find out.”

  Her thumb caressed his hand where she held it. They stood there for several seconds, their eyes locked as both contemplated the weight of his decision.

  “I can help you do that,” she finally said.

  “Any way to keep it confidential? I don’t want the media to find out.”

  “Can I ask Suzanne about that?” Her boss would know her way around these things more than Gina would. “This must have been done before, and I bet she’ll know how not to mark the specimen before it goes to the lab.”

  He nodded slowly.

  “This must have been a tough decision to come to.” She stepped closer and slid her arm up his back, offering comfort.

  He stepped away, out of her reach. “You’ll let me know what Suzanne says?” His retreat stung. All she’d wanted to do was comfort him. He was alone. He’d just taken the first step toward perhaps believing his father had committed murder, despite the alibi. He’d opened his heart to the possibility that his father might have killed his mother.

  This was big stuff.

  Huge.

  And yet he’d stepped away from her.

  He hadn’t wanted her to comfort him.

  He’d rather be alone than with her.

  She pressed her lips together to hide her emotion and moved to open the door for him. Maybe the whole “I don’t want your neighbors to see my truck” had been a setup for a quick departure.

  “Let me know what you find out from your boss,” he said.

  She nodded. “I will.” Her voice squeaked out. She wished he would leave before he realized how his retreat had hurt her.

  Before he realized that he could get to her like that.

  Before he realized this was about much more than the Cyrus Alexander case.

  Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

  Landon slammed an open palm against the steering wheel as he gunned his truck away from the curb in front of Gina’s apartment.

  Why the hell had he stepped away when she’d tried to console him? Why did he always act like he had something to prove whenever he was around her?

  He should dig his phone out of his pocket and apologize to her. He needed her help. She was the only one he knew who was plugged into people who might be able to have his DNA tested privately. The only one he felt comfortable going to about it. Sure, he could call that DA from Pascaloosa County. The guy who’d first told him that Morgan’s Ladder was working on Cyrus Alexander’s case. But—despite how he and Gina had started out against each other—he trusted that she wanted the same thing he did: to know who had murdered Mama.

  So why had he pulled away? After all her talk about not wanting to risk her job, she’d reached out to him. She’d touched him in a way that wasn’t businesslike.

  Why hadn’t he let her console him when every part of him had wanted to receive her comfort? He’d seen the hurt in her eyes when he’d stepped away. Knew that his action had hurt her.

  And yet he’d done nothing to mend it.

  He pulled his phone from his pocket and scrolled to her number. Should he call her to apologize? What would he say? What if he’d read her actions wrong and she really didn’t care about him?

  He set the phone on the seat beside him, not sure what he should do. He picked it up again, thought about it, then stuffed it back into his pocket.

  He turned onto Apalachee Parkway, toward Boomer’s house. He could go there and watch a little ESPN. They could shoot some shit and he could pretend none of this was going on.

  There, he could forget what an ass he’d been to Gina. He could forget about her and the DNA and the media and the senator and all the other crap having to do with the case.

  But was that really what he wanted? He pulled into the parking lot of a fast-food restaurant, not sure if going to Boomer’s was what he needed right now.

  Sure, he’d like to forget about the case. Would like—for one night—to forget that he might have put an innocent guy in prison and that his own father might be a murderer. But he didn’t want to forget about Gina. He didn’t want to forget her soft skin or her determined eyes or the way she made him think that maybe—just maybe—she understood what he was going through.

  He watched as a couple of college students got out of a beat-up Chevy and walked, arm in arm, toward the restaurant. The girl laughed at something the guy said. He pecked her cheek as they stepped onto the curb, then held the door open for her.

  An unexpected jealousy welled inside Landon’s chest at the sight of them. He wondered if he and Gina could ever be that close. That carefree.

  And then it hit him. These were the thoughts that scared him. This is why he had pulled away from her. Because he wanted to have a real relationship with the woman who was causing such chaos in his life.

  And that terrified the hell out of him.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Landon told himself he was here on Gina’s doorstep to apologize for pulling away
from her last night. That, and to return the terrible sweatpants he’d worn home after breakfast at her house a few mornings ago. He’d done laundry last night when he’d gotten home and figured tonight was as good as any to return them.

  The door to her upstairs apartment swung open. An older man with salt-and-pepper hair and a middle-aged paunch stood where Landon had expected Gina. The man stepped closer and cocked his head in Landon’s direction, scrutinizing him.

  A smile spread across the man’s face. “Hey, hey. Landon Vista. Come on in.” The man grasped his elbow and tugged him inside. “Look, Terri, it’s Landon Vista.”

  A delicious smell filled the apartment—something with tomato sauce and garlic. Something that made it smell like a home.

  A tall woman with the same strawberry-blonde hair as Gina’s rushed from the kitchen. Laugh lines in the shape of parentheses framed her mouth, the only visible wrinkles on her otherwise flawless skin.

  “The football player you told me about?” She grasped his hand in both of hers. “And such a handsome man.”

  “Nice to meet you, ma’am.” He dipped his head toward her, then scanned the apartment. Where the hell was Gina?

  The man stuck out his hand. “Ted Blanchard. Gina’s father.”

  “She should be home any minute.” Her mom leaned closer, as if she didn’t want anyone to hear. “They had to go to the prison today,” she whispered.

  Landon froze. Was Gina visiting Cyrus Alexander? Last Landon knew, Cyrus was at the state prison in Starke, a couple of hours away. Were they there swabbing his mouth, testing for DNA that might exonerate him?

  Landon had gone through the same humiliating test the day before. Yet another time his dad’s actions had made Landon feel low-class. Like in fifth grade when Martin had shown up drunk at Landon’s school. Or in ninth grade when Matthew Cunningham had shown everyone Martin’s drunken mug shot in the local newspaper.

  Yes, all the unpleasant memories had come flooding back, all because of a swab in his mouth and what it might prove about his father.

  “Have a seat.” Ted stood aside and motioned toward the couch. “I can’t believe I’m in the same room as the guy I used to curse at on TV.”

  “He doesn’t really need to know that, Ted,” Gina’s mom said.

  The older man gestured toward the couch. “Terri promised Gina she’d make her favorite meal while we were in town. Homemade lasagna. You can stay, can’t you?”

  “It makes enough to feed half of Tallahassee,” her mom said. “I’ll get you two a glass of sweet tea. You can sit down and relax while I make the salad.”

  Ted raised his eyebrows as if seeking Landon’s response to their invitation.

  “I guess I can stay a minute,” Landon said. Stick around long enough to see if Gina learned anything new about the case.

  Terri headed for the kitchen with that same self-assured gait her daughter had.

  “Gina told me you two had met,” Ted said.

  Landon nodded. “There’s a volleyball league for people who work near the capitol. She’s on one of the opposing teams.” Her dad didn’t need to know that she’d blocked all his shots that first night they’d met.

  “No rec football?”

  “I play that in the fall.”

  Ted’s eyebrow crooked up. “Tackle?”

  “Flag. Fewer injuries that way.” He hoped Gina’s father didn’t ask him about the NFL. Most people did when they talked sports with him—wanted his take on why he hadn’t gone on to the next level, even though the local media had analyzed the hell out of it a couple of years ago. “He doesn’t play an offense that works well in the NFL” or “Too slow off the line” were the usual culprits.

  He looked around the room, grasping for another topic. “I didn’t realize Gina had company.” Where was it she’d said she’d been raised before heading off to college? Georgia somewhere? Maybe Savannah?

  Ted grinned as his wife returned with two glasses. “We’re on our way to St. Pete Beach. The Don CeSar.”

  “That’s where we went on our honeymoon.” She smiled as she handed Landon one of the drinks.

  Landon tried to smile, but it felt fake. He wasn’t good at sharing in other people’s happiness, especially when it came to happy couples. But he was pretty sure the Don CeSar was that pink beachfront hotel where the senator had held a fundraiser the year before. At least he knew that much.

  Gina’s mom returned to the kitchen. Her dad sat on the edge of the chair opposite him, leaning toward him. Landon felt like a teenager about to be quizzed by the father of a girl he was taking to prom.

  “Gina told me you still live in Tallahassee.” Ted said. “Work at the capitol? You write speeches or something?”

  “I work for a state senator.” So, Gina’d been talking to her dad about him. He wasn’t sure if that was good or bad. “Research mainly. Statistical analysis. Put data together for hearings. That sort of thing.”

  “Like how taxes are going to be spent? How much money’s going toward education?”

  Landon shot him a sideways glance, trying to figure out if the man knew where the conversation was headed. “Crime related, mostly. Tougher sentencing guidelines. Harsher sentences for repeat offenders.”

  Ted nodded. “I understand you and Gina”—the slow pace of her dad’s words told Landon he was choosing his words carefully—“may be on opposite sides of the crime issues.”

  He swallowed. “Yes, sir.” Good. A short answer with no implications. No voice inflection.

  Ted’s eyes bored into his. “I admire a man who stands for something.”

  “Yes, sir.” So what was the guy trying to tell him?

  “A man who’s had a tough life”—he tapped Landon’s knee where it jutted into the space between them—“is a man with a lot of character.”

  So he did know Landon’s story, either from Gina or from having heard it on TV during his playing days.

  “My Gina’s a stubborn one.” A look of pride warmed the man’s face. “I wouldn’t want her on the opposite side of anything. Gets that from her mama.”

  Landon’s stomach muscles tensed as footsteps sounded on the stairs that hugged the side of the detached garage leading to Gina’s apartment. His mind raced. What would he say to Gina when she found him all chummy with her dad, chatting over glasses of sweet tea like they were old friends?

  The door opened.

  “Landon?” A confused look crossed her face. “What are you doing here?”

  Gina had noticed a truck like Landon’s in front of the house next door, but this was the South. Lots of guys drive trucks like that, she’d reassured herself. All she wanted to do was to go inside and rid herself of all the remnants of the prison she’d visited today. The lonely sound of the prison doors closing still hung in her clothes. She wanted to change into a pair of sweats and sit down at the table, to enjoy her mom’s homemade lasagna. To forget about the wasted years and wasted lives she’d seen today.

  What she didn’t want—and hadn’t prepared for—was to see Landon. What she didn’t expect was him sitting in her living room, drinking iced tea with her dad. Not today. Probably not any day.

  “Is that any kind of way to treat your dinner guest?” her dad said, rising to greet her.

  Landon hustled off the couch. “I’m not staying.” His gaze met hers, as if trying to convince her he didn’t want to be here with her family any more than she wanted him to be here.

  “Oh, come on,” her dad said. “You’ve got to try Terri’s lasagna. Best pasta I’ve had since I went to Little Italy in New York.”

  “Is that Gina?” Her mom came around the corner from the kitchen. “How was your day, honey?”

  “We”—her gaze slid to Landon—“should probably talk about that later, Mom.”

  His eyes searched hers, as if asking if she’d found out anything new about the
case today. She hadn’t learned anything, but this wasn’t the time to talk about that. Her parents already hated what she was doing this summer. They wanted her to go into real estate law or tax law. Something without prisons and rapists and murders.

  “We’ll talk football.” Her dad slapped Landon on the back. “Remember that game against Auburn? Must have been your sophomore, maybe junior, year?”

  “I’m going to change clothes,” Gina said as she set her briefcase down and headed for her bedroom. Her dad could talk to anyone. Make anyone feel like a long-lost buddy, no matter how short a time he’d known them. She knew Landon would soon be seated at their dinner table, eating her mother’s lasagna like he belonged there. Like it was the most natural thing in the world for him to share a meal with them.

  Her dad would want to talk football, but her mom might ask about her job or her day at the prison or—God forbid—how long Gina and Landon had been dating.

  Gina stripped her suit off and pulled on the first pair of shorts and T-shirt that she ran across. She’d done enough damage to Landon on her own. She didn’t need her mother causing more.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Landon had offered twice to help with the dishes, but her mom had refused.

  “You two go sit in the living room,” Terri said as she shooed Landon and Ted out of the kitchen. “We’ll have pie and ice cream as soon as we get this mess cleaned up.”

  Landon tried to figure out if now was an appropriate time for him to make his exit. He glanced toward Gina as he left the kitchen, but she seemed more interested in checking for his reaction than in revealing her own.

  “You see what we brought for Gina?” Her dad pulled a picture frame off the bookshelf as the two men entered the living room. “Has one of those little memory cards in back. Keeps rotating the pictures.”

  In the frame, one digital family photo dissolved while another one took its place. Landon chuckled at the strawberry-blonde little girl who stood in a leotard, her arms proudly stretched over her head, marking the end of her gymnastics routine.