Atonement: An Interracial Romance (Possession Duet Book 2)

by T. K. Leigh

  “I up-cycle furniture.” I remove my safety glasses and work gloves. “It started as a hobby, but eventually turned into my own business.”

  “Impressive. I can’t even pick out paint colors for my bathroom, so this just boggles my mind.”

  “I’ve always loved art. Designing furniture is just another form of art.”

  “I can see that.” She brings her blue eyes back to mine.

  “Is there something I can help you with?” I ask when she doesn’t immediately say anything further.

  She clears her throat. “I’m sorry for bothering you at home. I just wanted to talk to you face-to-face.”

  “Should I have my lawyer here?”

  “No. I’m not here to ask you any questions. I felt I should come and tell you myself.”

  “Tell me what?” I ask cautiously.

  She chews on her bottom lip, then pushes out a long breath. “I tried. I really did. But the DA and captain had already made up their minds before I even interviewed you this morning.”

  I close my eyes, swallowing through the frustration building in my throat. I doubt she’s about to tell me the police and prosecutor had their minds made up that Nick was the one at fault. Detective Trager’s expression wouldn’t be so morose if that were the case.

  “They’re filing formal charges against me,” I say, more resigned than anything.

  “I’m sorry. I truly am. I thought they’d see that it was a losing case, but they disagree.”

  I knew this would probably happen. While Sophia had told me that there was a chance they would decide not to prosecute once I made my statement, luck has never exactly been on my side.

  “And my complaint against Mr. Jaskulski?” I ask, almost hesitant to hear her response.

  She sighs, then subtly shakes her head. She doesn’t need to say anything. That one gesture alone tells me everything I need to know. No charges will be filed against him.

  History repeating itself.

  “I’m so sorry, Londyn,” she says, stepping toward me. “I tried to tell them there was a strong case against him. But I don’t get to make that call. Only the DA does.”

  “I should have expected this,” I remark dejectedly, not sure if I’m talking to her or simply berating myself for being foolish enough to have hope.

  “No, you shouldn’t have,” she insists. “It shouldn’t be this way. No woman should have to go through what you did only to be told it doesn’t matter.”

  “But it doesn’t. Nothing will ever change. And men like Nick will keep doing it because no one tells them they can’t.”

  “I’m sorry I couldn’t do more, Londyn.”

  I smile, but it wavers. “You did more than any other police officer ever has.”

  “And for that, I’m sorry.” She holds my gaze another moment, then steps back. “I won’t intrude on your evening any further. I just felt you deserved to hear the truth from me, not learn about it on the news tomorrow.”

  I nod. “Thank you.”

  “Of course.”

  I stare into space as she makes her way out of the garage and into her sedan, not snapping out of my trance until her car disappears from view. When it does, I exhale and head back toward my project, hoping it will help take my mind off everything.

  Looking at my phone, I’m about to restart my music app when I spy the Facebook icon in the bottom left corner. I shouldn’t do this, should avoid all social media, as Sophia recommended. But my curiosity gets the better of me. I click on the app, navigating to the page for the local network that aired the press conference earlier.

  As expected, the video is pinned to the top of their page, having generated tens of thousands of views and comments in just a few hours. I should close out of the app right now, but I can’t help myself, scrolling through comment after comment, each one causing my stomach to churn. I almost can’t believe some of these are real, that someone could be so cruel.

  But I know they can be. I’ve endured some sort of cruelty and hate most of my life.

  Just not like this.

  Another example of the mainstream media trying to interfere with justice being served.

  Londyn Bennett is just another lowlife trying to escape responsibility. She’s ruining this man’s life with this false accusation.

  She needs to be locked up and held accountable for her false accusations. She can’t get away with this.

  I do my best to steady my hands, becoming increasingly despondent with every comment. This isn’t boosting my drive to fight. All it does is make me want to give up.

  “Honeybee?”.

  Quickly clicking off the screen, I whirl around to see Wes lingering at the entrance to the garage.

  “I’m glad to see you’re back in your workshop. Doing something that brings you joy.”

  I glance at my half-finished project. A few minutes ago, it did bring me joy.

  I’m not sure anything can anymore.

  When I don’t say anything, he runs his hands through his dark, disheveled hair and takes a few steps toward me. “Did you happen to see—”

  “Your mother’s press conference?” I interject. “Sure did.”

  He hangs his head, shaking it. Then he grabs my hands, running his fingers over my knuckles. “I’m so sorry. I had no idea she was going to do something like that. It was just a publicity stunt. Nothing she said meant anything. Nothing she said changes anything.”

  I inwardly laugh at the irony. “It changes everything, Wes.”

  He tilts his head, brows scrunched. “What do you mean?”

  “Exactly what I said.” I pull my hands from his, increasing the distance between us. “I thought things would be different this time. Thought someone might finally believe me. Thought someone would finally fight for me. But I was wrong. It doesn’t matter how hard I fight. There will always be someone who wants to keep me down. It’s useless to keep trying.” I start to turn from him, but his voice stops me.

  “Do you remember what I told you right before we made love the first time?”

  I close my eyes, my chest tightening. I can’t bear to say the words. But I don’t have to.

  “That I wouldn’t let you push me away,” Wes states, advancing toward me and clutching my cheeks in his hands. The feel of his flesh on mine is familiar, yet heartbreaking at the same time. “That I’d fight for you. That I wouldn’t let you fall. Those words were true then. And they remain true today. I won’t abandon you when you need me the most. I hate that you have to go through this. I’d give anything to be in your shoes. To be the one with his freedom on the line.”

  “But you’re not, Wes!” I pull away from him, tears spilling over my eyelids and down my cheeks. “I’m the one he attacked.” I point to my chest, my voice echoing against the cement floor. “I’m the one who defended myself. Because of that, I could go to prison. And not just for a month or two. With all the charges they can file against me, I could be looking at twenty years!”

  “But you gave your statement this morning. And it was leaked to the media. I’m sure it’s only a matter of time—”

  I burst out laughing, the sound borderline maniacal. “Do you hear yourself, Wes? So what if I gave my statement? So what if the media knows? The media isn’t the DA! The media isn’t the judge! My statement won’t change anything. The DA already made up his mind the second I was booked. Nothing I say, nothing I do, nothing anyone does will make a fucking speck of difference. Do you want to know the only thing that does matter?”

  “What’s that?” he asks cautiously.

  “This, Wes.” I extend my arm, pointing to my flesh. “This is the only thing that matters. That I’m a black woman who made the mistake of carrying a gun to protect herself and dared to fucking use it against a white man!”

  “Londyn…” He advances toward me once more, anguish covering his expression. And I hate that. Hate that this is hurting him.

  And it will only get worse.

  What will it take for him to see reality? That
I’m facing an uphill battle I most likely won’t win?

  I hold up my hand, preventing him from taking another step. “Do you remember telling me that story about Eli? How Gampy fought until his dying day to get him justice for a crime he didn’t commit? And he couldn’t.”

  “Your case is different than Eli’s,” Wes urges.

  I smile sadly. “You’re right. It is. Because I did commit this crime. I did shoot Nick. And I’m going to have to live with that for the rest of my life.” I pause, my throat closing up, as if not wanting to play any part in my next statement. “I can’t let you do that, too.”

  I manage to look into his eyes, the blue that was once piercing and vibrant now dull, all the life slowly leaving them. I hate that I’m the cause of it, but it has to be this way. If I’m going down, I can’t bring him down with me.

  Lowering my head, I scurry away in a desperate attempt to put as much distance between us as possible.

  “So that’s it?” he thunders, his voice rattling the furniture. I’d never heard him speak with such passion and fury before. It causes me to stop in my tracks. “You’re just going to give up? You’re going to let him win?”

  I face him, my eyes flaming. “I’m not letting him do anything. But I can’t fight against a system that was put in place to keep someone like me down. Do you think this is what I want? Because this is killing me.”

  “Then don’t give up! Fight! Don’t become another statistic! Be the strong Medusa I know you are.”

  “Even Medusa lost in the end, Wes. You weren’t there this morning. You didn’t have to sit in a room with a pompous detective and listen to him poke holes in your story and justify Nick’s actions. I had so much hope, ya know?” My fingers instinctively go to the pendant around my neck. “After you gave me this necklace, I really thought things would be different. That someone would listen.” I drop my hold on the medallion and wrap my arms around my stomach, fighting against the sudden chill enveloping me. “But they never will. I’m exhausted from trying to fight for justice in a system that will never care about me. That still treats people who look like me like property, not a person.” I draw in a deep breath, the atmosphere in the room shifting. “I’m just…” I shake my head. “I’m just too tired, Wes.”

  An exhaustion unlike any I’ve felt before washes over me. It’s not physical exhaustion, although that certainly comes into play, too. It’s mental and emotional exhaustion.

  For over five years, I’ve held onto hope that karma would eventually come to get Nick. It was the only thing that kept me going. Now, I’m forced to admit the truth I refused to for so long.

  That he’s won.

  That he’ll always win.

  With slow movements, I turn from Wes again, each step taking more and more out of me. More of my fight. More of my faith. More of my hope. Until all that’s left is a shell of the person I once was.

  “You may have given up, but I haven’t,” Wes states when I reach the top of the stairs leading into my condo.

  I stop, but don’t look back at him.

  “Do you want to know what keeps me going?”

  “What’s that?” I ask in a soft voice.

  “This, Londyn.”

  I slowly look at him, my breath catching when I see he’s holding a small, black box, a gorgeous diamond solitaire displayed prominently, the overhead lights reflecting in it.

  “This is what keeps me going. The idea that, once this is all over, I’ll be able to get down on one knee and ask you to be my wife.”

  I squeeze my eyes shut, my heart physically aching. If he thought this would make me reconsider, he’s wrong. It only makes this even more painful than it already is.

  “I planned to ask you New Year’s Day. I was so fucking excited to see this ring on your finger, Lo.”

  “Wes, please…,” I beg, each word he says like another knife in my heart.

  “We may have gotten off course. You may think things have changed, but they haven’t. I still want to get down on one knee and ask you to be my wife. I still want to see this ring on your finger. And I still want to stand before God and all the important people in our lives as we become one.”

  I swipe at the tears falling steadily down my cheeks, wanting to run, but at the same time clinging to every word he says.

  “I won’t stand here and tell you everything will be okay. I don’t know if it will. It kills me to see you hurting like this and not being able to do anything to fix it, except love you with every beat of my heart. Except stand by your side, even when you push me away. Except fight for you, even when you don’t think it’s worth it. Because let me tell you something, Londyn…”

  I shift my gaze back to his, swallowing hard.

  “You are worth it. And nothing you say will make me think otherwise. Nothing will break this tether binding me to you. You for me, Lo. For the rest of our lives. Even if we’re apart, you will still own me. Own my body. My mind. My heart. And I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

  I part my lips, his passionate plea rendering me speechless. It would be so easy to get swept up in his words, to believe that things will work out. But we’ve lived in the clouds most of our relationship. We can’t afford to do that anymore.

  I can’t afford to do that anymore.

  “I’m sorry, Wes,” I squeak out, the pain in my throat excruciating. I part my lips, attempting to find the words I need to tell him it’s not worth it. But my brain physically won’t allow me to say them.

  Instead, I continue up the stairs, slamming the door behind me.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Weston

  “Londyn!” I bellow, frustration washing over me. Feeling like nothing I say or do will get through to her, I punch the wall. “Goddammit!”

  Pain pulses through me, my hand throbbing. I shake it out, hoping I didn’t break a bone. Even if I did, I’d welcome the agony. It takes my mind off the anguish in my heart.

  “If you need something to hit, I’ve got a gym next door with all the punching bags you could ask for.”

  At the sound of the thick Brooklyn accent, I spin, Diego standing in the open door to Londyn’s garage, arms crossed.

  “Might not be a bad idea after today,” I admit, attempting to compose myself.

  “Figured. Or maybe I could offer you a beer instead.”

  I glance up at the staircase to Londyn’s condo, hating to walk away with things unresolved.

  At least unresolved in my head.

  “Give her some space,” he encourages me. “She’ll come around.”

  “I hope you’re right.” I exhale a long breath, shaking my head as I shove the ring back into the inside pocket of my jacket. I don’t even know why I brought it with me today. It’s almost like some higher power thought it might come in useful.

  They were wrong.

  “Trust me,” Diego says as I walk toward him. “I’ve been in your shoes.”

  I stop, furrowing my brow. “You have?”

  “Sure have. Come on.” He slaps my back. “I’ll tell you all about it over a beer.”

  He steers me out of the garage and up the walkway toward his condo.

  “Make yourself at home,” he instructs once we enter, gesturing toward a couch against the far wall.

  I continue into the open living area, feeling like I’m in Londyn’s condo, except in reverse. Even the décor seems to be in her style. Comfortable and homey with a modern flair. I stop by a display of photos hanging over the couch, chronicling Hazel and Diego throughout the years. A few wedding photos. Some of Diego at one of his fights. Of him in his firefighter gear.

  As I reach the last few photos, I stop, staring at an image of two young boys.

  “That’s Evan and Benjamin,” Diego explains, handing me a beer.

  “Hazel’s kids?”

  “Yes,” he states, then slowly brings his beer to his mouth before adding, “And my nephews.” He takes a swig.

  I dart my wide eyes to his, taken aback by this.

&n
bsp; “Did Londyn ever mention what happened to Hazel?” He lowers himself to the couch, and I join him, more than intrigued by this revelation.

  “She mentioned she was in an abusive relationship. That she tried to leave, but her husband shot her and her sons before he turned the gun on himself. Hazel was the lone survivor.”

  “Her husband, Carlos, was my brother.”

  My heart drops. “I had no idea.”

  “Suffice it to say, things weren’t always great between Hazel and me, especially after everything that happened.” His Adam’s apple bobs up and down, sadness washing over his expression. “Hell, for the longest time, she couldn’t even stand the sight of me. She refused to spend time with anyone who had any connection to Carlos or the life she had before that day.”

  He rests his forearms on his knees as his lips curve up in the corners, a nostalgic gleam filling his eyes. “I’d always had a thing for Hazel. We grew up in the same neighborhood in Brooklyn. Went to the same high school. But I was more reserved than my brother. More focused on my training.”

  “For MMA?”

  He nods. “I’d hoped to fight professionally. Had a manager and everything. He told me I showed more promise than any of the other guys he’d managed. That seeing my name in lights wasn’t a pipe dream.”

  “What changed?”

  “With what? My fighting? Or Hazel?”

  I shrug. “Both, I suppose.”

  “My priorities changed. When Carlos did what he did, when I got that phone call…” His strained voice trails off as he swallows. “I was beside myself. And torn. I knew I should mourn my brother, despite his horrible decision. But he wasn’t my focus. Hazel was. It was my attempt at cleaning up my brother’s mess, as I’d done most of my life. At the beginning, that’s what Hazel was to me. One last mess to clean up. Then my conscience would be clear and I could stop feeling guilty about what Carlos had done.”