Page 128 of Let It Breathe
“I’ll ignore it,” she decided.
Axl scowled and nudged the phone with the toe of his Doc Marten. “Ain’t you gonna see who it is?”
Reese picked up the phone and flipped it over. Her stomach flipped, too. “Clay.
Her grandfather nodded. “Answer it.”
“I don’t think?—”
“Answer the fucking thing,” he barked. “Haven’t you heard a word I’ve been saying, girlie?”
“Axl, I’m not ready?—”
“Answer the goddamn phone!”
Reese hesitated, her hand shaking a little. She hit the button and held the phone to her ear. “Clay, I’m sorry, now isn’t a good time to discuss?—”
“Reese, stop talking,” he said. “Right now, I have something to tell you.”
Chapter 20
Considering how much effort he’d invested in walking the straight and narrow, Clay was surprised to realize it was the second time in a week he’d found himself at the police station in the presence of a scowling detective.
He felt a certain sense of pride that neither visit had added to his rap sheet. For the first time in his life, Clay was innocent.
Well, pretty much.
The same could not be said for Sheila.
“So let me make sure I’ve got all this.” Detective Austin Evans tapped his pen against the desk. He’d agreed to meet with them an hour ago after Sheila insisted she wanted to talk to the police immediately. Clay had tried to talk her out of it, but Sheila was adamant.
“I just want this over with,” she said for the hundredth time as she mopped her eyes with a tissue.
“We’re working on that, ma’am,” said Detective Evans. He flipped back a few pages of his notebook and frowned. “You’re confessing to destroying a wine barrel and its contents, setting a trash can on fire in a winery barn, stealing all the corkscrews, and deliberately failing to correct a typo on a wine label?”
“I also ran a red light on the way here,” Sheila sniffed. “I was nervous.”
Clay squeezed her hand, not sure whether to hate her for what she’d done or admire her for trying to do the right thing now. Though he’d tried to convince her to wait until Eric and a lawyer could be present, she hadn’t been willing. Once she decided to confess, there was no stopping her.
Beside him, Sheila looked up and sniffed. “When does it get easier, Clay?”
“When does what get easier?”
“This screwing up so badly and trying to make it right—how long will I feel like hell?”
Clay shook his head, not sure how to answer. “I’ll let you know when I get there.”
The detective cleared his throat. “So, ma’am, as I told you before, you’re welcome to have an attorney present?—”
“No,” Sheila said. “I did this, I want to face the consequences.”
Clay tightened his grip on her hand. “I wish you’d let me call someone—Eric or a lawyer or?—”
“I let you call Reese,” Sheila interrupted. “That’s who I want to talk to first. I need to apologize, to try to make this right. Until I’ve talked to her, I don’t want anyone else hearing about it.”
Clay nodded. The whole story would get out soon enough, probably before the day was over. For a few hours at least, he could let her feel like she had some control.
When she’d started confessing at the bar, he’d known right away it was bad. She wasn’t drinking anything stronger than root beer, but the words still came flooding out of her. He’d wanted to call Eric, to ask her to wait until she was calm before rushing to the police.
