Page 109 of Into These Eyes
He takes a seat next to me, holds my hand and squeezes. “What do you mean?”
“I’ll tell her Dad left her half and, once probate goes through, I’ll transfer half the house into her name. The stamp duty will be a bitch, but she’ll never know. Shecan’tknow. It’ll hurt her too much.”
“You’re a good person, Jamie.”
I shake my head. “I’m only doing what’s right.”
“I don’t think you understand how many peopledon’tdo what’s right.”
“You can’t work in criminal law and not know that. It’s just, you don’t expect it from the people closest to you. That’s when it hurts. And I refuse to let him wound Anika ever again.”
Taking a deep breath, I squeeze his hand, telling him without words that I appreciate his comfort.
Then I fold the will and slide it back inside the packet. Only it stops halfway. Withdrawing it, I squeeze the edges of the packet until it yawns open. Inside, there’s another, smaller envelope. Shaking the packet upside down, the envelope drops to the counter. When I pick it up, it appears to be empty.
I quick glance at Gavin confirms he’s as curious as I am. It’s not uncommon for people to leave personal notes or letters for loved ones with their will, but as I turn it over in my hand, it has no thickness, no weight to it.
Until I feel a small, hard object in the corner of the envelope.
Tearing it open, I upend it.
A micro-SD card bounces on the stone counter.
“What the hell?” I mutter, picking it up and turning it over between my thumb and forefinger.
Heart thudding in my chest, my eyes meet Gavin’s.
He looks from me to the SD card and back again. “What do you think’s on it?”
“Maybe his reason for not including Anika? Let’s find out.”
I grab my laptop, bring it over to the breakfast bar and start it up. After inserting the SD card in the slot, Gavin rises.
“I should give you some privacy.”
As he takes a step away, I grab his arm. “Stay. Please.”
Slowly, he sits back down.
On the screen, the contents of the SD card pop up. A single video file. That’s not what I’d been expecting. A Word document or a PDF would have been my guess. The only name assigned to the video is a date. A week after my father’s cancer diagnosis.
Positioning the curser over the file, I double click.
Footage of the empty barstool I’m currently sitting on fills the screen. After a moment, a hand comes into view and swivels the chair to the side.
My father sits down and stares into the camera.
I gasp and hit the spacebar, pausing it.
Seeing him again stirs up completely different emotions compared to watching the family videos. Those were memories. This most certainly isn’t. Fear grips me. I’m not sure I can handle yet another shock. Not tonight.
“Jamie,” Gavin says beside me, “this is private. I should—”
I grab his hand, my eyes locking with his. “Don’t you dare go anywhere. I can’t watch this alone. I need you.”
He swallows hard as his grip on my hand loosens. For a terrifying moment, I think he’s going to leave anyway. Then his fingers slip between mine and hold on tight. Profound relief sweeps through me. Having him here, having his support right now, makes me feel fiercely cared for.
“Whenever you’re ready. I’m not going anywhere,” he assures me, his thumb softly stroking over mine. “Not unless you want me to. Okay?”
