Almost Innocent

by Carina Adams

  Dec’s coming to talk was the last thought I had before I drifted into oblivion.

  Zahira moved next to me, shoving my legs over. I groaned, refusing to open my eyes yet. The damn bed hog—it wasn’t as though she didn’t already take up more than half. I pushed back, but the bundle of muscle that was my boxer didn’t budge.

  I growled at her, hoping that maybe she’d understand my frustration. Then again, I wasn’t fluent in canine, so I’d probably said something equivalent to, “Sure, take up all the room, I love to snuggle!” I laughed at myself, shaking my head.

  Grady had asked me just a few weeks ago if anyone could speak dog. Because, he reasoned, with all the technological advances, we should have the ability to connect a dog to a computer in order to monitor brain waves and create a translator between canine and human. I’d laughed and told him that if there wasn’t, he should try to create one. He assured me that he was going to do it for the science fair.

  The boy probably would too. He’d spent so much time with Fi that anything scientific fascinated him. And he picked up languages relatively quickly. I’d laughed when he asked me to teach him how to speak Latin. The only thing I remembered was “semper ubi sub ubi,” a little quip I’d been telling him since he was little.

  That was the only phrase I’d managed to retain. That, and how to decline puella. Puella, puellae, puellarum, puellis… I could go on and on. Declan had made sure I had that drilled into my head because everyone going to college “needed to know Latin.”

  Declan!

  I sat up so fast I pushed poor Zahira off the bed. My room was dark, but I saw a splinter of light through the small gap between the shade and the window frame. It wasn’t dark yet, but it was late. Usually the afternoon sun would have woken me, but someone had come in and closed my shades.

  I should have been scared. The idea that someone had been in my room while I was sleeping should have made the hair on the back of my neck stand up. Surprisingly, it didn’t. Zahira hadn’t growled, or it would have woken me, which meant that it was either Grady or Fi.

  I hadn’t woken up when Declan came by earlier. Well, shit. Maybe he was still at Fi’s and I could call him to come have dinner. Except that I didn’t have his phone number.

  Disappointment flooded my body, and I wished I hadn’t taken the damn nap. Sighing, I slid out of bed, adjusted my ponytail, and headed for the stairs. The smell of coffee invaded my nose as soon as I opened my bedroom door. God bless Fi!

  I plodded down the steps almost lazily, stifling a yawn. I half expected Zahira to follow me, but the silly girl had probably decided that since we’d slept most of the day away, she was going to declare it a lazy day and not move until she had to. It sounded like a good plan. Maybe I’d join her. After coffee.

  My feet hit the cool hardwood at the bottom of the stairs, and I rounded the newel post and headed down the little walkway into the kitchen. Then my feet stopped moving, and my heart jumped into my throat. Declan was leaning on my kitchen table, his chin in his hands, a cup of forgotten coffee in front of him, as he gazed out the window. He was so lost in his thoughts that he didn’t hear me creep into the room, mesmerized by the sight.

  He sighed, sitting back a little, and his eyes moved my way. They widened when he saw me, and he jerked a bit in surprise. After a moment, he recovered and sent me a breathtaking smile. “You’re awake.”

  I leaned against the doorframe, suddenly self-conscious in my leggings and oversized T-shirt. “You let me sleep late,” I accused, watching his fingers trace the edge of the mug.

  Declan only shrugged. “You needed it, Little G. I came up to check on you, and you were dead to the world. I figured you’d wake up on your own.” His lips turned into a sheepish smile. “I used your hide-a-key to let myself in. You didn’t answer the door, and I…” He returned his attention to the ceramic likeness of Grumpy that was Grady’s favorite mug. “I hope you don’t mind.”

  “You found my hide-a-key?” I crossed my arms. I should be mad at him, but I was more amazed that he’d found the damn spare key. I’d somehow managed to forget where I’d hidden it years ago.

  Blue eyes sparkled in amusement as they met mine. “You lost it, didn’t you?”

  “No!” I shot back, a little too quickly and a little too defensively.

  Warm laughter erupted from his lips, and he shook his head. “Let me guess—you put it in a safe place.”

  I scowled, trying not to laugh. “Well, yes.”

  I didn’t have a chance to say anything else, and even if I had, he wouldn’t have heard me over his howls of laughter. I gave into the urge and smiled, shaking my head as I poured myself a cup of joe, added cream and sugar, and joined him at the table. The brat was still chuckling.

  “It’s not that funny,” I argued, not sure why he thought it was so hilarious. “Where’d you find it?”

  “Under the mailbox.”

  “That’s right.” I nodded, remembering how I’d searched for days to find the perfect spot where no one would find it. But when I needed it, I couldn’t remember the spot I’d settled on. Me and my damn “safe places.” So I had the tendency to put things in a safe place, somewhere I would never forget where I put it, and forget it. Most people did that, right?

  A comfortable silence settled around us as we sipped our coffee.

  After a few minutes, Dec cleared his throat. “I don’t know where to start.”

  I nodded slowly, twisting my lips because I didn’t know where to begin either.

  “There’s so much I want to say, shit we need to talk about, but all I want to do is sit here, with you, and just be us.”

  I wanted that too. I swallowed, racking my brain for the right words to say. Part of me wanted to push all the history to the back burner and just forget it for a night. But the other part of me wanted it to be over so we could move on.

  Dec sighed and adjusted in his seat. “I don’t blame you.” He turned to me, looking over my face before letting his eyes bore into mine. “In every letter, every single one, you apologized. I don’t hate you. I never did.” He scowled, his features reflecting the sadness he must be feeling. “It’s time you stopped blaming yourself.”

  “Wow, starting with the heavy stuff, huh?” I scoffed, shaking my head. I thought we’d ease into it, but I guess not. I drummed my fingers on the table, nervous energy forcing me to move.

  One of his hands shot out and covered mine, holding my fingers down as his entwined with them. “It seemed like everything else was minor compared to that.”

  “Then why?” I snatched my fingers away from his as unease flittered through my belly. “If you don’t blame me for Dustin’s death, why wouldn’t you see me? Why not write me back?”

  Declan took a deep, shaky breath. “There’s a simple answer. And a not-so-simple answer. Which one do you want?”

  “Both.”

  He nodded, smirking a little. “I knew you were going to say that.” He stood, grabbing his cup. “You need a refill?”

  I nodded, letting him distract himself for a few minutes while knowing that he was avoiding giving me the answers to questions that used to keep me up at night. When he brought back two steaming mugs, slid one in front of me, and sat back down, he stared into the swirling creamy mix. I didn’t rush him. I’d waited years; a few more minutes wouldn’t hurt.

  When he finally started talking, I watched him closely, hanging on to every word, afraid I’d miss something.

  “I surrendered myself that night fully intending to be home in a week. I thought that Greenwood would have me out on some technicality before they could even process my fingerprints. I planned on being back with you before you could miss me.”

  I nodded, already knowing that much. It was what we had all thought would happen. Jonathan Greenwood Esq. was the best criminal attorney in New England. He hadn’t lost a single case in all the years he’d been practicing. Plus, he was an old friend of Colin’s. The lawyer was sure Declan wouldn’t spend more than a few nights
locked away.

  “It should have been a cut-and-dried case. Dustin was dirty, we could prove that. As much as my dad didn’t want to admit it, let alone show the world that we had proof he was dealing, and doing everything that came with being a dealer, and that he’d been using Callaghan Industries to hide his blood money.”

  The disgust in his voice didn’t surprise me. The Callaghans were always in the dark side of the gray when it came to being law-abiding citizens, and most of Colin’s business deals were barely legal, but they weren’t drug dealers. Colin hated drugs and had no tolerance for anyone who abused substances.

  “We had the fucking proof, Gabs. It was self-defense. He pulled a gun on me after I confronted him, and I did what I thought I had to do.”

  Hearing him say it, as if he had convinced himself that was what had really happened, made my breath catch.

  “They had all the evidence they needed, and we were cooperating fully. We thought the best-case scenario was the whole case would get thrown out. Worst was a manslaughter charge that we’d take to jury trial, and I’d beat it. Either way, I’d say what I could, do whatever they needed short of signing a confession, and I’d ignore any plea they sent my way.”

  Again, I knew all that. We’d spent hours listening to Mr. Greenwood and Colin talk about the pros and cons. But that wasn’t what had happened at all. Somewhere along the line, someone threw a game changer, and I was shut out. “Then why the change? What happened?”

  “The chief of Watertown PD brought in a fresh set of eyes. Borrowed detectives from different districts and had the staties come in. People he could prove weren’t on my dad’s payroll. He had his eye set on Augusta, making the switch from law enforcement to lawmaker, and a big conviction like me would get him noticed. He thought I’d cave and hand over family secrets in order to plea down. He was wrong.”

  Of course he was. Declan Callaghan was the most loyal person I’d ever met. He wouldn’t tell them anything about his family’s business, not even if it meant he would face life behind bars.

  “The new detectives started asking different questions. Looking at the evidence and noticing it didn’t add up. They wanted to know things I couldn’t answer, things I couldn’t bullshit my way through.” He gripped his mug so tight I thought it might shatter. “They started asking about you.”

  That was no surprise. Colin and Moira had tried to keep me so far off the radar that there shouldn’t have been any question about me. Yet I’d been interviewed more than once, asked about my bruises, and drilled about my relationship with both brothers for hours. Nothing had ever come from those interviews, but I’d always felt as though they had something to do with Declan’s sudden one-eighty.

  “At first, it was simple questions—how long had you two been dating? What was your relationship like? Did you know about his side business?” Those were the same questions they’d asked me. “All things I could answer because I knew they were trying to build character. They were trying to make Dustin look like a model citizen, a good brother, son, and boyfriend. They wanted to use you and your pregnancy to say I’d deprived a child of a loving father. When that didn’t work, they took on a new angle.”

  He took another deep breath. “One detective developed quite an interest in you. One afternoon she sat me down and told me that she knew I hadn’t murdered my brother. I laughed and told her she was right—I hadn’t killed my brother, I’d shot someone I didn’t know anymore in self-defense.” He shook his head, sighing. “Jesus, I was so cocky, thinking they couldn’t touch you. Then she asked me what I thought prison would be like for a pregnant woman. She made some pretty convincing arguments, Gabs. She got under my skin and terrified me.”

  No. My skin prickled with worry. If he’d just stuck to the plan, we could have gotten him out. “We had a plan.”

  “We did. And I called an audible.”

  “That wasn’t your choice to make!” I snapped, frustrated with the man I used to know.

  “The fuck it wasn’t!” he growled. “I had all the facts, I saw the obstacles popping up, and I did what I had to do to make sure the cops stayed as far away from you as fucking possible.”

  My heart sank, yet my anger flared. How dare he have such a disregard for his own safety. “That was stupid! You should have just told the truth.”

  “The truth?” He scoffed. “You keep talking about the truth.”

  “It sets you free, Declan.”

  He laughed bitterly. “The truth sets you free? Not if you’re in a goddamn police station. Not if you’re in court. Then you should probably just keep your fucking mouth shut and keep your truth to yourself. No one gives two shits.”

  “They would have let you go, and you never would have signed that plea deal. You could have finished school and made all your dreams come true.”

  “And let an innocent woman go to jail for life?” He blanched, obviously appalled at the suggestion.

  “Yeah, Dec. ‘Cause I’m almost innocent.”

  “You are!” he roared, standing so fast his chair scraped as it skidded backward across the floor. “None of what happened was your fault!”

  “Dec.” I forced my voice to be soft but authoritative, the same tone I’d use to comfort a scared child. “I’ve had years to process this shit, read every book on the subject, and spend hundreds of hours in therapy, so I could eventually move on. I minored in the goddamn field. You know what I learned? That I had to take responsibility for my actions, and mine alone. Dustin was a miserable dick. Nothing that happened to me was my fault. You’re right. But the things I did? Those were my fault.”

  He shook his head wildly, raising both arms and running a hand through his hair, gripping it tightly and leaving his bent arms in the air. “When an abused dog mauls its owner, do we blame the dog or the prick who taught him to fear? When a cornered animal attacks, do we feel bad for the people who trapped it, or do we say they had it coming?”

  “Exactly!” I shouted. “Exactly, Dec. There wasn’t a single spot on my body that wasn’t bruised or bandaged. There was no way in hell anyone could look at the pictures and say that I wasn’t acting in self-defense. Everyone would know that I did what I had to do in order to survive, that it was me—and my baby—or him. Greenwood would have helped me paint the picture, and I would have gotten probation or been acquitted altogether. Either way, I would have taken responsibility for what I’d done.”

  “What about Grady? Did you think about your son’s future at all when you were crafting this perfect plan of yours?” He crossed his arms and narrowed his eyes at me, his tone angry. “They don’t let women keep babies in prison, Gabby.”

  “You’re not listening.” I shook my head, trying to keep my voice level. “The truth would have come out—”

  Declan laughed bitterly. “Because the truth always sets us free, right?” He shook his head “You overlooked one major detail. What did you think Moira was going to do when she heard your version of what happened to her beloved son? Do you think she’d willingly help you just because you were carrying her grandchild? Or that she’d feel guilty because she’d birthed and raised such a spectacular prick? No, that woman would be out for revenge, pure and simple. She would not have stopped until she had your blood.

  “The thousand-dollar-an-hour attorney with the brilliant ideas would have disappeared, replaced by a public defender. If you lucked out, you would have gotten one who wanted to save the world. But in that town, nothing is about luck. Strings would have been pulled, leaving you with the one who barely graduated from a state school and didn’t know his ass from his elbow.

  “He would have convinced you that a jury trial was the way to go, telling you it was a sure bet because your story would tug at the heartstrings. He wouldn’t have any way to know that Moira had hand-picked the entire panel, or that the majority of them suddenly had off-shore retirement funds large enough to make their every dream come true, as long as they cast a guilty vote your way.

  “Your moronic attorney would
have been shocked at the verdict and would promise to file an appeal, but your sentencing would have been tough, designed to make an example. Again, courtesy of Moira and the judge’s wife, who came to our house for Sunday brunch every week.

  “Prison would have been bearable until your water broke. You would have gone into labor alone and scared, and the second Grady was born, he would have been ripped from you, before you could hold him, before you could get one look at his beautiful face. He would have been handed off to Moira. The woman who stole your child because you stole hers.

  “The women who had protected you from the beginning, the ones you had started to believe were your friends, would have suddenly turned on you. The daily beatings you would have received would make the days with Dustin seem like a picnic, and even when you were screaming for help, the guards would have pretended they didn’t hear you. Your days would have been spent cowering and hiding away, and you would have spent your nights praying that time would move quicker, or that the next day would be easier.

  “Then finally, the day would come when Moira would decide your debt had been paid. You’d get a picture of Grady in the mail, with a note telling you that he was happy, that he had a mom and would never know you even existed. That night, while showering, you’d break down, knowing you’d lost your son. Your cries would be so loud, you’d never hear your cellmate coming.

  “The quick slice on your femoral wouldn’t hurt as much as your broken heart, but as you clutched your leg, watching your life swirl down the drain with the water, you’d wish that you could have seen your baby just once, that you could have kissed his chubby little cheeks and told him how much you loved him.

  “Is that the life you saw, Gabby? Is that the way you wished things had gone down? Because that is the only alternative to what actually happened. Your last few years would have been pure misery. You would never have made it out alive.”