Young Truths (Young Series) (25 page)

My heart sinks. So many thoughts are running through my mind—what was he doing at her apartment; if he hadn’t been there, why were his fingerprints; do I really believe he was seeing his ex-girlfriend behind my back. And why does it always seem to come back to this?

There is more discussion about what the police asked Matthew and how Danny and Marcus are going to do everything they can to clear his name, but exhaustion is hitting me suddenly. At some point, Claire and Danny stand up, declaring they need to get home. Danny’s mother is staying with them this week and she’s watching the kids. Not long after, Marcus leaves as well, and I’m left standing in the middle of the apartment, staring at my husband as though I’ve never seen him before.

“Are you okay?” he asks quietly, keeping his distance.

“I don’t know,” I respond. “Every time I think our life is calming down finally, something comes along and crushes it.”

He nods minutely. “I know,” he whispers. “I’m so sorry.”

I want to tell him it’s not his fault and I’m sick of hearing him apologize for other people’s actions, but I can’t quite manage it. “I need you to be absolutely honest with me when I ask you this question, Matt. Don’t even think about lying.” He looks vaguely afraid. Good. “Were you at Lucy’s apartment?”

Disappointment crosses his face, though I don’t know if it’s because I’m asking him the question or if he was hoping he wouldn’t have to answer. “No,” he says softly, closing the distance between us. “Samantha, no. I was
never
at her apartment. And I know you’re going to ask me how my prints got there. I don’t have an answer for that, but I swear to you, I had nothing to do with this.”

That’s good enough for me right now. I let him pull me into another hug and we stand there for what could be hours, not speaking, barely moving, until Olivia’s cries bring us back to reality. “Go to bed,” he tells me when we reach the upstairs. “I’ll take this.”

Too tired to argue, I head into our bedroom and collapse into the blankets. I’m fast asleep long before Matthew joins me.

Today is Lucy’s wake. I hadn’t intended to attend, but my mother called last night and asked me to be here for my father. He’s taking her death pretty hard and he needs all the support he can get. Even Samantha urged me to go. I’m barely in the church and I already can’t wait to leave. I find my father with my older sisters—Holly gently rubbing his back while Elizabeth dabs at her eyes. I roll my own, unable to remember the last time she actually shed a genuine tear for anyone but herself. I’m pretty sure both my older sisters had their tear ducts surgically removed at birth.

“Hey, Dad,” I say quietly, joining them.

“Well, this is a surprise,” Holly comments, smirking at Elizabeth; I ignore them both, shaking my father’s hand.

I can’t imagine it will be long before he has to start telling people that he’s ill; he’s frail-looking, exhausted, gray, and the thought that the next funeral I attend will be his niggles at the back of my mind. I swat it away. “How are you holding up?” I ask him.

“I’m all right,” he says gruffly. “Just can’t believe this. I mean, who would want to murder Lucy?”

I shake my head. I’ve been wondering the same thing. “I don’t know,” I answer him.

Lucy’s parents spot me from the front of the church and I spend the next several minutes giving them my condolences. I’ve always liked the Boyds; they’ve never been anything but absolutely kind to me, even after I dumped their daughter. I always had the impression they preferred me to Lucy, which was fitting since my father and older sisters seemed to prefer Lucy to me...

Throughout the next hour or so, I speak with several people I haven’t seen in years, mutual friends Lucy and I once had. One of these people includes Rory Evans, the guy I once caught in bed with my college girlfriend. The moment he sees me coming, though, he disappears from the room. I try to stifle my amusement; my desire to beat him to a pulp faded almost ten years ago, though he’s still clearly afraid of me. Just as I’m considering leaving, I spot Holly standing in a corner of the room on her cell phone, talking quietly. I edge closer; as her younger brother, it’s in my programming that I eavesdrop on every conversation whenever possible.

“No, of course nobody knows,” she whispers into the phone while I lean casually against a pillar between us. “I’ve already told you I covered our tracks; Joe didn’t even realize I was gone.” My brow furrows in confusion as I wonder what she’s hiding from her husband. “I really don’t recommend coming in here. My brother actually showed up and you know what he’s like.” I think I should probably be offended.

Movement out of the corner of my eye catches my attention. My gaze drifts around the church until they land on one of the stained-glass windows where I see a shadow looking in. I can’t make out details, but I think it might be a man judging by the height and build. The shadow remains there for nearly half an hour before walking away. A small, clear window panel allows me a very brief glimpse at him and my heart stops beating for a moment. I look around, wondering if anyone else has seen him, but I seem to be the only one.

I cross the church to where my father is sitting in a pew with my sisters. “Dad,” I whisper, leaning forward. “I’m really sorry, but I need to go. Samantha hasn’t been feeling well and I don’t want to leave her alone with the kids for too long.”

Holly snorts softly. “Can’t even take care of her children on her own for a couple hours,” she mutters.

I close my eyes, fighting back my temper and stifling the urge to ask her who she’s fucking behind her husband’s back. “I’ll give you a call tonight.”

Slipping out of the church as quickly as I can without drawing attention, my eyes scan the parking lot for the man I saw through the window. I know who I saw; I just don’t understand why he’s here of all places. Still searching, I blindly take my phone from my pocket, dialing Marcus’s number. “Hey, it’s me,” I say when he answers, making my way to my car. “I need you to look into something for me. Frank Marone was at Lucy’s wake.”

“You’re sure it was him?” Marcus asks again the moment I open the apartment door for him. “It was Marone?”

“Yes, I’m sure,” I reply, ushering him into the living room where Samantha and Olivia are curled up on the couch. The moment I left the church, I rushed home, half-expecting to find my family missing again. I know I scared my wife, hugging her so tightly she complained she was unable to breathe, but the moment I explained what had happened at the church, she was with me on high alert. “I only got a brief glimpse of him, but I know it was him.”

Marcus sighs and sits down. “I’ve got my team searching now,” he says in a low voice. “If he’s still in the area, we’ll find him.”

“Why would he show up at Lucy’s funeral?” Samantha asks. “Do they even know each other?”

I shrug, putting my arm around her. “Who knows at this point,” I say tiredly. “People I believed to have never met are all plotting against me.”

“I’d say don’t be so dramatic,” Marcus begins, “but having seen your life, that’s a pretty accurate assessment.”

“Not comforting,” Samantha informs us.

I give her an apologetic kiss on the head. “Anyway, if Frank is showing up now, what are the chances that he was the one who killed Lucy?”

“High,” Marcus says, rubbing his jaw. “There wasn’t any indication that he was at her apartment before she disappeared. The only fingerprints were—”

I glare at him, reminding him that my wife is present and though we still haven’t figured out how my fingerprints showed up at Lucy’s place, it’s not a conversation I relish having right now or anytime in the near future. Honestly, I’ve been hoping Samantha might forget about it. The look on her face now suggests she hasn’t; she just doesn’t want to explore the possibilities anymore than I do. “So if Frank is back, what does that mean for us?” I ask the question rhetorically, which was probably a good choice, since Marcus doesn’t seem to have an answer for me.

“Let me see that little one,” Marcus says after several minutes of uncomfortable silence. Samantha smiles, handing Olivia over to him before snuggling into my arms again. It’s interesting to see big bad Marcus West of the FBI holding my daughter and looking completely at home doing it. And it occurs to me that there aren’t a lot of people in my life that I would trust to hold her at all. That says a lot about the turn my life has taken recently and I can’t help but wonder how many more people I’m going to lose trust for before this is over.

“Staying for dinner, Marcus?” Samantha asks, pushing herself away from me and standing.

Marcus shoots me a glance and I nod. “Sure,” he says happily. “I’d love to, Samantha. Thank you.”

She heads into the kitchen and we wait until she’s busy before talking again. “Any luck with the fingerprint thing?” I ask quietly.

“Still working on it,” he says, “but I’ve got an idea about what might have happened. And you’re not going to like it.”

“I don’t like any of this,” I remind him. “I don’t suppose you’re going to share right now?”

He shakes his head. “Definitely not something I want to share until I know for certain,” he says.

“Don’t think I like the sound of that,” I sigh, standing. “Come on; let’s go help my beautiful wife with dinner.”

Marcus chuckles as he climbs to his feet with Olivia. “This is a side of you I never thought I’d see,” he comments. “I think when we met you were going between three different women and—”

I stop and turn towards him, looking nervously over my shoulder. “Yeah, let’s keep that to ourselves, shall we?” I say almost desperately.

Smirking, Marcus walks past me into the kitchen and I’m starting to wonder if it was a good idea to invite him to stay after all.

Despite the renewed drama in our lives and so many more unanswered questions to add to the pile, dinner tonight is a wonderful, enjoyable, relaxing reprieve from all of that. Matthew is leaned back in his chair while he and Marcus tell stories from some of the things they’ve done together, all carefully tailored for Tyler’s ears of course. I’m sure most of it is embellished—I don’t remember the last time I heard about anybody jumping from a plane onto a school bus full of children to diffuse a bomb, let alone my husband being the one to do it. It served as a distraction, though, not just for Tyler, but for Matthew as well. Sitting back in my chair with Olivia, I suddenly wonder when I last saw him smiling and laughing like he is right now. I don’t know if he’s doing this for my benefit, to convince me he really is okay, but it’s such a relief to see him actually acting his age rather than stressing out about every last problem around us.

After dinner, Matthew and Marcus take on clean-up, leaving me to the daunting task of sitting on the floor with my children. I’ve been so pleased with how well Tyler has taken on the role of big brother. Even though Olivia doesn’t do much aside from eat, sleep, and poop, he takes every opportunity to hold her. I’m still waiting for the typical reaction for older siblings—acting out for the attention of their parents—but I think Matthew and I are prepared for that and I think we’ve done a decent job splitting our time equally between each of our children.

My biggest concern is that my husband is spending all his time focusing on us and none at all on himself. Not that that is anything new for him; he’s well-known for putting himself at the bottom of the totem pole. It scares me, though, thinking about what might happen to him if he doesn’t slow down once in a while and take care of himself. I’m still waiting for the inevitable emotional crash that’s going to hit him once things finally catch up and unfortunately, I know it’s going to come soon.

Marcus hangs around until it’s time for Tyler to go to bed. I’m not sure if this is because Matthew is enjoying having him here or for extra protection, and I don’t intend to question it. Once both children are quiet—at least for the moment—Matthew sends me to bed while he locks up. It takes him longer than normal. I assume he’s walking around to all the windows and peeking out to see if anybody is hiding in the bushes or if any strange cars are parked near the apartment. Again, I’m trying not to think about it. When he finally joins me, he silently goes about changing into his pajama pants, not bothering with a shirt before climbing into bed beside me. Immediately, he pulls me into his arms.

“How are you, Sam?” he whispers into my hair. I raise an eyebrow, though I know he can’t see it since I’m facing away from him. He doesn’t give me a chance to question. “I just feel like so much has happened and I haven’t stopped to find out how you’re handling it.”

I sigh. Once again, he’s putting me before himself. The irony that most wives have the opposite problem in their marriage doesn’t escape me. “I’m fine,” I tell him, not bothering to acknowledge that we both know it’s a lie. I’ve barely had time to process anything myself, let alone deal with how I feel about it.

“Are you?” he asks skeptically, rolling me over so he can look at me. Again, he doesn’t give me a chance to answer his question. “In the span of less than two weeks, you’ve given birth to a beautiful baby girl, become the owner of a bookstore, lost a very dear friend, and watched your husband being hauled in by the police for questioning in a murder investigation. And now this whole thing with Frank...” He shakes his head, looking at me in wonder. “I’m barely keeping it together; how the hell are you doing it?”

I curl further into his chest, relieved that he’s admitting that he’s having trouble coping. “Maybe I’m just stronger than you,” I whisper back, biting my lip against a grin.