Page 114 of The Locksmith's Promise
“I’ve got to see Miller about a few things. Can I call you later when I’m done?”
“Sure,” she replied easily, not knowing her whole world was about to implode.
“Thanks,” I rasped and pulled the phone away before slapping it back up to my ear and desperately adding, “Maggie, I love you.”
I shoved it back in my pocket and strove to control my breathing.
Bent over, I braced my palms on my thighs and forced myself to inhale deeply.
Ten years.
Jenny.
Maggie.
Cor.
I dropped to my haunches. That fucker brought me to my knees. “Fuck!”
Breathing heavily, I stood and turned to Jenny, blurting, “I’m sorry. I know it’s not enough, but I’m sorry.”
She shook her head.
My stomach clenched and soured.
I didn’t deserve her forgiveness.
“Bax, it’s not your shame.” Rising from the bench, she took a step back. “It never was,” she assured me. “But it wasn’t mine either and I couldn’t carry it any longer.”
Blowing out a harsh breath, she shook her head and actually smiled. “Thanks for listening.” Offering a final nod, she walked away along the path edging the water.
Locked on her retreating back, I turned her words over in my head.
Not your shame.
Walking out onto the dock, I stared unseeing out over the icy water.
Jenny had spread the past out in front of me like a rotting banquet, and it was worse than I feared.
How did I move on from this?
Maggie.
I sucked in a breath through my nose, expanding my chest with air before blowing it back out again as I jogged back up the hill with my cell phone pressed to my ear.
I needed to make sure before I dropped this bomb on her.
“Miller?”
“Bax.”
“Can you meet me at the station?”
“I’ll be there.”
A squat, red-brick building, the station housed both police and fire and it was exactly what you might expect. Grey walls surrounded pock-ridden desks tucked behind a Formica counter and buffered by a tiny vestibule.
Miller was already there by the time I picked up my truck and drove over.
