Page 32 of Mercy (The Sins Trilogy 3)
Chapter Twelve
Anthony
I pull Ivy closer, as our breathing settles. My heart is regaining its regular tempo, but it’s still too full, and emotion has wrapped itself around my throat like a fist, making it impossible to say anything.
She stirs in my arms, turning until she’s facing me. She blinks her eyes open, then rubs the spot between my eyebrows. “What’s going on in there?”
“Just some thoughts,” I say, my voice rough as the tightness around my neck eases a bit.
“About?”
“This. How fast it happened.”
Mild amusement lights her gorgeous gray eyes. “Was there an official timeline?”
“Not really. But I expected you to make me repent longer than this before finally letting it go. At least a few months. Maybe even a year.”
She shifts until she’s looking directly into my eyes. “You’re serious. Why would you think I’d drag it out for so long?”
“Just… That’s what people do.”
When I desperately needed forgiveness, I didn’t get it. I refused to believe Ivy would be that cruel, but that doesn’t mean I wasn’t bracing for a long, difficult time ahead. My experience taught me forgiveness isn’t something I can get simply because the other person loves me, or because I try really hard to earn it. And time does not heal all wounds.
Her face grows somber. “It wasn’t about punishing you, but overcoming my anger. I don’t deal with lying very well, especially since I don’t remember everything. It’s embarrassing to depend on other people for the truth. You don’t need to do that because you know who you are, what you did, who your friends are. I don’t. It’s terrifying to realize people could lie about something as basic as my name, and I wouldn’t know any better.”
Regret ripples through me. “I’ve been shortsighted. You couldn’t have lived as Iris Smith all your life, and I dragged people into it. Just so you know, Yuna was very reluctant to do it, and I twisted her arm by hinting that if she didn’t, she might get to see your cremation—a real one. I was so focused on keeping you alive that I never considered your emotional wellbeing or what it would mean to you that I kept up the lie Sam created. It’s not a mistake I’ll ever repeat.”
She places a hand over my heart. “I know you won’t.”
I raise the hand, kiss it, then put it back over my heart. I wish we could stay like this forever.
“Tony?”
“Hmm?”
“Why do you think the killer’s after me?” she asks, her voice small. “It’s been so long, and he has to know it isn’t likely that I’m going to alert the authorities or anything after all this time.”
“There’s no statute of limitation on murder.” I hesitate, unsure how much to tell her. Then I remember the promise to be completely honest. All I can do is let her know…and then stand with her. “I suspect the killer and Sam knew each other, and maybe Sam was blackmailing him until he decided he’d had enough.” Even as I say it, I’m still not sure exactly how her survival—or Sam’s knowing about it—could be used as blackmail. It’s a piece of the puzzle I can’t quite work out.
Her hand flexes over my chest. “For what?”
The familiar frustration wells up. “Money? Influence? Whatever he wanted. We’ll never know for sure, since he’s dead now. That ‘accident’ that killed him wasn’t an accident, either. It’s too much like how it happened in Tempérane—the storm, hit-and-run…everything. My guess—and it’s just a guess—the killer wanted to tie up a loose end.”
“Can’t we go to the police?”
“With what? There isn’t any concrete evidence. All I have is this gut feeling, and they’ve already decided what happened to Sam is a hit-and-run. They aren’t going to pursue it as a possible murder just on my say-so. The only thing I can hope for is that they view what happened last night as an attempted murder and investigate accordingly. I already spoke with the chief, so that should help, but…” I sigh, hating I can’t erase the shadow filling her eyes. “I’m sorry.”
She shakes her head. “It isn’t your fault. I’m not going to let this person ruin our lives and plans. Last night taught me life is too precious and fragile. If we hadn’t survived, my last thought wouldn’t have been ‘Gee, Tony lied to me.’ It would’ve been that we didn’t have enough time, we never got married, had kids…all the things committed couples do.”
I lay my hand over hers, intense emotion burning inside. She’s talking about my worst nightmare. The final thoughts she’s saying she would have are a mirror image of my own.
“Ivy—”
“Let me finish, Tony. When I woke up eight years ago, I should’ve learned the lesson about living every day as though it’s your last. But it never sank in very deeply because, I don’t know, I just didn’t feel it. Yesterday was different. I remember that feeling—the terror, the sudden hopeless regret. I never want to experience it again, but I’m not going to forget it either. I’m not going to hold on to my anger and ignore what we could have—the happiness we had together.”
I didn’t think I could love her more, but I was wrong. I feel like my heart is about to burst. It’s humbling—and touching how wise and strong she is to let go and give me another chance. And I vow I’ll never do anything—anything—to make her regret this decision.
