“What the hell was that?” Easton demands.
That was Dinah O’Halloran, I realize when I peer over the balcony railing. Steve’s wife is standing in the middle of the parlor below us, her face whiter than a sheet, one hand raised in the air as she gapes at her not-dead husband.
“What’s going on here?” she’s shouting in horror. “How are you here?!”
My father’s mild voice wafts up the stairs. “Hello to you, too, Dinah. It’s wonderful to see you.”
“You’re…you’re…” She’s stuttering. “You’re dead! You died!”
“Sorry to disappoint, but no, I’m very much alive.”
Footsteps echo, and then Callum appears beside Steve. “Dinah,” he says tightly. “I was going to call you.”
“Then why didn’t you?” she roars, teetering on her five-inch heels. “You didn’t think to pick up the phone sooner to let me know that my husband is alive?”
As much as I dislike Dinah, I kind of feel bad for her. She’s so obviously stunned and confused by this, and I don’t blame her. She just walked in and saw a ghost.
“What are you doing here?” Steve asks his wife, and something about his blasé tone rubs me the wrong way.
I get that Dinah is a bitch, but can’t he at least hug her or something? She’s his wife.
“I came to see Callum.” Dinah won’t stop blinking, as if she can’t figure out if Steve is actually there or if she’s hallucinating. “The police…they left a message on my phone. They said my penthouse—” She hastily corrects herself, “Our penthouse…they said it’s a crime scene.”
I wish I could see Steve’s expression, but his back is to the stairs. I only have Dinah’s expressions to gauge his, and it’s clear that whatever she’s seeing on his face is making her extremely uneasy.
“They told me Brooke is dead.”
“That seems to be the case,” Callum confirms.
“How?” Dinah wails, her voice shaking wildly. “What happened to her?”
“We don’t know yet—”
“Bullshit! The detective said they detained a suspect for questioning.”
Reed and I slowly edge away from the railing, but it’s too late. Dinah has spotted us. Sharp green eyes laser into us, and she releases a cry of outrage.
“It’s him, isn’t it! Reed did this to her!”
Callum steps forward, entering my line of sight. His shoulders are like two granite slabs, rigid and unyielding. “Reed had nothing to do with it.”
“She was having his baby! He had everything to do with it!”
I flinch.
“C’mon,” Reed mutters, reaching for my hand. “We don’t need to listen to this.”
But we do. That’s all we’re going to be listening to once the news of Brooke’s death gets out. Soon everyone is going to know about Reed and Brooke’s affair. Everyone’s going to know that she was pregnant, that he went over to the penthouse that night, that he was interrogated and charged with her murder.
Once the story breaks, the vultures are going to circle. The pitchforks will come out, and Dinah O’Halloran will be leading the charge.
I suck air into my lungs, hoping to calm myself, but it doesn’t work. My hands are shaking. My heart is beating too fast, each thump-thump vibrating with fear that I feel straight to my bones.
“I can’t lose you,” I whisper.
“You won’t.”
He pulls me away from the landing and draws me into his arms. Easton disappears into his room as I press my face tight against Reed’s muscled chest.
“Everything will be okay,” he says gruffly, his fingers sliding through my hair.
I feel his heartbeat against my cheek, and it’s steadier than mine. Strong and even. He’s not afraid.
And if Reed, the guy who was just arrested, isn’t afraid, then I need to take his lead. I need to borrow his strength and conviction, and allow myself to believe that maybe, for the first time in my screwed up life, everything will be okay.
5
Reed
“Think word’s already spread, bro,” Easton mutters under his breath.
I shove my shit into my locker before surveying the room. Usually chatter and jokes are tossed around the locker room during our early morning practice, but everyone is quiet today. A number of eyes slide away, not willing to meet mine. My gaze ends on Wade, who winks and gives me the thumbs up. I’m not sure what that means, but I appreciate the support. I return the gesture with a brief nod.
Beside him, our left tackle, Liam Hunter, stares at me. I give him a nod of acknowledgement, too, just to piss him off. Maybe he’ll come at me and we can work out some of our aggression on the tile floor. I lift my hands to motion for him to come forward, but then the lawyer’s admonition rings in my ears.