“Cocaine?”

I shake my head.

“Alcohol?”

Another head shake.

“Have you fucked anyone but your wife in the past twenty-four hours?”

“No.” Lifting my head from my hands, I watch Grady sit in the chair opposite of me. “How much did you know?”

Grady rubs the back of his neck and sighs. I’ve always known that Grady knew more than he was telling me, but in spite of the fact that he was driving the car that caused my memory loss, in a weird way I’ve felt like he saved me by not telling me everything and getting me the hell out of New York. I trust Grady; he’s protected me. Until last night, I had no idea to the extent that he’s had to go to protect me.

“I knew you were with Mayor Bailey’s wife the night she died. There was a message on your phone from her earlier that evening.”

I nod, rubbing my hands over my face. “She wanted to come over.”

“Yes.”

“Where did you get my phone? We couldn’t find it after the accident.”

“You couldn’t find it. I took it from your belongings at the hospital. I was looking for family … clues to what had happened. The morning after the accident all the headlines were about the tragic death of Paula Bailey. Mayor Bailey arrived home late and discovered that his wife had OD’d.”

I stare at my hands. My whole fucking body feels numb.

“Someone moved the body, but I’m quite certain it wasn’t you. However, when I had someone check into your phone records you made a call to a private number about fifteen minutes before you ran into the street. Do you remember who you called?”

I press my fingers to my temples. “The strongest memory I have is just how fucked up my memory was back then from the drugs.” I look up. “Rachel Hart is the only person I would have called.” I shake my head. “I think I called her … I don’t know. I came out of the bathroom and Paula was …”

“Jesus, Trick … it was her, Rachel?”

I nod, eyes slipping to my hands as I clench my fists in front of me. “Why didn’t you tell me when I sent you the picture of the drawing?”

Grady sighs. “For the same reason I didn’t tell you years ago. Without your memory you wouldn’t know what to do with the information. What was I supposed to say? ‘Yep, that’s Paula Bailey, the mayor’s wife whom I imagine you snorted cocaine off her tits, then fucked her right before she died of an overdose.’ What were you going to do with that little nugget of information? Tell Darby? Call the mayor and apologize?”

“And I know now?” I yell, not really meaning to lash out at Grady.

“At least now you can own it … make sense of why you did it.” Grady shakes his head. “If you tell Darby, it will destroy her. It will destroy everything you have.”

I grunt. “If. You can’t be serious. There is no if. I have to tell her.”

“She’ll leave you and no one would blame her.”

I feel so fucking dead inside, like she’s already left me. “I’d rather lose her to the truth, than keep her because of a lie.”

“I’m sorry.” Grady scrubs his face with his hands. “Maybe I should have told you.”

I shake my head. “No, you were right. It had to be all or nothing.” I laugh, but it’s devoid of humor. “I wish I didn’t know.”

Grady winces. “I knew it had to be quite the scandal, and that things were covered up. It’s how I felt certain that no one would be looking for you, but … I never imagined Rachel Hart. How the hell did a homeless kid from Queens get involved with a married, millionaire fashion designer?”

I laugh through the sympathy I know he’s feeling for me.

“And for the love of God, what are the odds that you end up marrying her stepdaughter?”

I let go of a heavy sigh and proceed to tell him everything, starting with the necklace that belonged to Darby’s mom. The one that Rachel used to wear to remind me that her heart belonged to someone else. Impossible, considering the fucking bitch doesn’t have a heart.