CHAPTER SEVENTY-ONE

I stood at the wall-sized window in Gabriel’s fifty-fifth-floor condo and fought the urge to press my nose against the glass. The night view was amazing. I swore I could see the entire city, lit up.

Gabriel poured drinks behind me. Two, judging by the tinkle of glasses. I suspected he might need one, and not because he could have died in a fiery crash tonight. That was, I think, easier than bringing me up here. But he’d survived both. So far.

He had suggested I stay at his place. He needed someone to check him in the night, and he’d already imposed on Rose with my fever last night. If I was willing to help him with that, he’d be happy to share his apartment for a few days.

I’m sure “happy” wasn’t quite the right word, but even as my gut had seized up, everything in me saying, “Hell, no, I won’t go through that again,” I’d seen in his expression that he was genuinely offering. More than that, he wanted me there. Which didn’t mean that I thought I’d actually make it through the door before he changed his mind. But as he’d waited for my answer, I realized it didn’t matter if he went through with it or not. This was about him, not me. I couldn’t make it about me. He wanted it. He was trying. That was enough.

So I’d agreed. I’d packed a bag while he went over to ask Rose if she’d keep TC for a few days. Gabriel drove my car so I could call Ricky, on the chance he’d hear about the crash and the shooting before I talked to him tomorrow. Then we’d arrived at Gabriel’s condo, came up the elevator, through the door, and . . . I was here. Looking at this amazing view while Gabriel fixed me a drink.

When he went quiet behind me, that sinking feeling started again. He was having second thoughts. Trying to think of a way to get me out, as politely as possible. I took a deep breath and lifted my gaze. I could see his reflection in the glass. He was just standing there, holding the glasses, watching me.

“Earlier,” he said as I turned. “At the crash site. You did know I was awake. That I had the gun.”

“Hmm?”

I took my drink from him. Scotch. Hard stuff, but I’d earned it.

“When you agreed to crawl back into the car. You knew I’d get the jump on her.”

It wasn’t a statement but a question, even if he didn’t phrase it that way.

“Mmm, not exactly. But I had a plan.”

A lousy plan. One that almost certainly wouldn’t have worked in my favor. But I didn’t say that because I could tell it wasn’t what he wanted to hear.

“Good,” he said on a breath of relief, before taking a sip of his whiskey. Then he lowered the glass and caught my gaze. “Don’t put yourself at risk for anyone, Olivia. Ever. It isn’t worth it.”

That’s what he said, and while he meant it, what he was really saying was, “Don’t put yourself at risk for me.” I remembered when we’d faced Chandler’s goons, and Gabriel had wanted me to get to safety. Don’t stay for me, he’d said. I wouldn’t do it for you.

I’d believed him. And I hadn’t cared. Whether or not he’d have stayed, he’d put himself at risk for me many times since. Yet he didn’t want me doing it for him.

I’d said to myself once that Gabriel preferred a life where he felt as little responsibility for others as possible. That was true. But even more true is the fact that he preferred a life where others felt no responsibility for him.

“Quid pro quo,” Patrick had said when I first met him. You scratch my back and I scratch yours. Gabriel might have inherited that sense of fairness, of balance, but it went further with him. You stay away from me, and I’ll stay away from you. Do nothing for me, and I’ll do nothing for you. A clean slate was easier to balance than any accumulation of debts.

How do you have a personal relationship with someone who thinks that way? You just do. You accept it, and you understand it, and you don’t take offense, because none is intended. You read actions and ignore words.

Gabriel said he wouldn’t have stayed for me. But he did, and he didn’t just stay, he came running whenever I needed him. Same as I’d do for him, and as long as we both pretended otherwise, he could accept that.

“There’s still Tristan to worry about.” I walked to the sofa and sat at one end. “He wanted me to know about the changeling switch and about Cainsville. Now that I do, there must be some response he’s expecting. I’ll have to deal with that.”

“We’ll deal with that,” he said, sitting at the opposite end.

I nodded and twisted, sitting sideways, knees pulled up, glass resting on them.

“I also had a call from the state attorney’s office this evening,” he said. “About your parents’ case. Things are finally moving on that. They want to speak to us.”

“Lots to do, then.”

“Yes, lots to do. Lots to talk about.”

“Should we start now?”

“In a few minutes,” he said as he eased back onto the sofa. “No rush.”

I smiled, curled up, sipped my drink, and relaxed. Plenty to do another day. For now, we had this, and it was enough.

—

After Gabriel went to bed, I lay on the sofa, lost in a warm fog of Scotch and happiness. I shouldn’t be happy. I had a hundred reasons not to be happy, and maybe it was fifty percent Scotch and fifty percent ebbing adrenaline from the evening’s events, but damn it, I was happy. And that’s when I remembered Todd’s letter. That’s when I decided to read it. Yes, it would ruin this fuzzy-headed bliss, but this was the right time—when I was alone, feeling good and feeling safe and feeling a little tipsy. When whatever that letter brought might not hurt me as much.

I took it from my purse. Then, not wanting to turn on a light in case Gabriel saw it under his door, I walked to the window, sat with my back to it, and opened the letter by moonlight.

It was a single sheet, written in that familiar hand, a little blocky, a little oversized, as if by someone without much experience putting words on paper. Or perhaps by someone whose only experience writing to me had come at a time when I needed those big, blocky letters.

OLIVIA.

That’s how it started. Not to Eden, but to Olivia. Not to a child, then, but to a woman. I relaxed a little and leaned back against the cool glass before continuing.

I’m sorry.

There’s no way to start except with an apology, though I suspect it’s not what you want to hear. You know I’m sorry. I’d be a monster if I wasn’t. But I still need to say it. I’m sorry for so many things, and I won’t list them here or this letter will go on so long that you’ll crumple it and toss it aside. So I will say only that I am sorry.

I’d like to see you. I know you’ve been to see Pamela, and maybe you’ve gotten whatever you need from her. I have to presume that you don’t want to see me. That you don’t need to, and maybe it’s easier, just facing one of us, and she is your mother, so I understand that. But I would like to see you. I would very much like to see you.

I’ve hesitated to write and say that because I know you’re going through so much, and you don’t need this on top of it, and if you’ve decided not to see me, that’s your choice and I will respect it, but I know Pamela made her plea in the papers, and so there is the chance that you haven’t come because you aren’t sure I want to see you, so I have to speak up and say yes. Unreservedly yes. I want to see you.

I promise I will make this visit as easy on you as possible. It can be as short as you need it to be, and if it is not repeated, I’ll understand that. I just want to see you.

I know I said I wouldn’t list all the things I’m sorry for, but I need to say one, before I sign off. The one thing I am most sorry for.

I am sorry for leaving you. I told you so many times that I never would, and then I did, and whether it was by choice or not doesn’t matter. I made a promise and I broke it, and I am so, so sorry.

Love always,
Todd

Todd. Not “your father.” Not Dad. Like the opening, so careful and so respectful. It didn’t matter. I read that letter and I heard his voice and I didn’t see “Todd” at the end. I saw the first words I’d ever learned to read, on a surprise gift he’d given me. To Eden. Love always, Daddy.

I folded the letter and started to cry.