10. Confession

EVANGELINE

It's still dark out, and when I look at the alarm clock on the bedside table, morning is still a long way off. I turn slowly so as not to wake Darren and burrow myself against his warm chest.

The cold, antique couch in the front room must be lonely tonight without him draped across its uncomfortable cushions.

He moans deeply, and I feel the vibration against my cheek. His arms tighten around me, but he doesn't say anything. Only the slow, lazy circles he draws on my back let me know he's awake. We're a tangle of arms and legs under the blankets. Even with the heater on, the house is still drafty and cold.

His fingers dance up my back and push the hair off my shoulder so he can lean down to press a kiss on the top of my shoulder, and his lips linger as if he's fallen back asleep.

We came home from the museum, went to bed, and never came out.

He may pretend not to care about anything, but deep below the murky golds and greens of his eyes lies a man with a deep passion for history with a poet"s heart, even if he doesn't think so himself.

Perhaps I find it hard to sleep because my conscience is weighing heavily upon me. I don't want there to be anymore secrets between us, and Darren deserves to know the truth.

I dig my fingers into his chest and feel his body wake up in response. The admission is on my tongue like sour candy, and if I don't say it now, I don't think I'll have the courage later.

"My mother's alive," I whisper, and feel the playful circles falter against my back like the skipping of a record.

All I hear is his breathing and the soft patter of rain against the windowpane. I'd give anything to know what he's thinking, and every second of silence is killing me because Darren isn't one to usually hold his tongue.

"I know."

I push away from him enough so that I can see his face. He stares at me, but there's no anger in his eyes.

Of course he knew. A man with resources such as Darren's would definitely have looked into my past, especially before he married me. I can hardly be mad about it. "You let me lie."

He sighs, his voice still heavy with sleep. "I figured you had a good reason."

I stare at the fine hairs that dust his chest and count the freckles caused by too many lazy days spent in the sun.

When I venture to look at his face again. His eyes are closed, but I know he hasn't fallen back asleep. He cups the back of my head and pulls me closer to him, his body curling around mine.

"You're not upset with me?" I ask into his chest.

"Aren't we done being angry with each other?" His voice is quiet and hoarse like the sound of kindling firewood.

"That's not good enough, Darren."

"Lies aren't equal, Evan. There's no one keeping score. And when it comes to parents, I have enough understanding – especially when it's about your parents – not mine."

The heaviness in my chest only expands, and his words threaten to unravel me. "I said she was dead because it was easier than admitting she knew what I did for a living."

"I don't want you to feel like you have to hide from me anymore."

I take a deep breath, inhaling the familiar scent of his cologne.

"I don't remember my father," I admit. "I was really young when he died."

Darren tucks my head further into the crook of his neck, resting his chin against me.

"His death changed my mother, but I didn't notice until there was no going back and I didn't recognize her anymore."

Darren remains quiet. The pattern he draws along my shoulder blade is the only thing grounding me.

"We lived with my grandparents, and after my grandpa died, my mother remarried." I can feel my voice start to waver, but I press on. "I was a teenager by then." I have to take a deep breath.

"My grandmother had already been diagnosed with MS and she was deteriorating swiftly," I explain.

What I have to say next… I'm glad that I don't have to look at him because I'm already on the verge of letting my emotions get the better of me. I've been so good at hiding things that I didn't know if I could find them again.

"I didn't like the way he looked at me, and my grandmother must have sensed it too, because I would sometimes find her in the morning still asleep in her recliner just off the hallway to my bedroom."

Darren's body stiffens, his fingers pausing the lazy circles on my back.

"Hmm," his chest rumbles against my ear. "You shouldn't tell me things like that," he rasps.

I tilt my head to finally look at him. His lips part, but his eyes remain closed.

"Why?"

His hand moves from my back to run the pad of his thumb over my cheek without even looking at me.

"I am not a violent man," he says with a voice that is rough and deep. Then he opens his eyes and tips his chin down to level his gaze upon me. "But I would do unspeakable things for you."

* * *

Ipull the refrigerator door open and peer inside, trying to decide if I'm hungry or not. I grab a yogurt when I hear the doorbell ring.

When I open the door, Rausch is standing on the front porch. The look on his face tells me he was expecting Darren, not me. This time I'm wearing Darren's Georgetown t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants. Maybe he thought Darren sent me packing, accomplished what he set out to do with those photos –- get rid of me.

My emotions are still raw, and seeing him is like scratching at an exposed nerve. Everything I thought I had made peace with seems to come back to the surface. Without saying a word, I step onto the porch and slap him.

The sound cuts through the silence of the early morning sleepy neighborhood like a whip. The indignant look on Rausch's face should cause me to take a step back, but I don't. Whatever he has to give, I can take it.

"What did you think you would accomplish by giving Darren those photos?" I raise my voice.

Rausch's gaze settles back on me, his steely blue eyes narrowed.

"I gather Darren didn't take it well?" he asks with an expectant expression.

"You humiliated me."

"I don't know you," he states bluntly, "and I don't owe you anything, so your feelings are not my concern."

He's right, he doesn't owe me anything. We only know each other because of circumstance. I study his large form that takes up the bulk of the doorway, impeccably dressed even in this early hour of the day.

I'm good at judging character – a skill acquired because of my profession – but Rausch has always been a difficult read. "You knew nothing happened between us." I narrow my eyes and search his face for any indication that I'm right, and the tick in his jaw confirms it. "You just wanted him to think it did."

"I have known this family for longer than you have been alive, and you've been here, what," he looks at his gold watch to make his point, "five minutes?"

"You didn't have to go about it the way you did." I allow my outrage to seep into my tone.

"Young lady," Rausch responds condescendingly, "there is no room for consideration of feelings in politics. You're lucky I was the one to give the photos to Darren, because if I hadn't, they would have ended up in the paper under much different circumstances," he admits.

He acts like I should be grateful for his intervention.

"You got them from Langley. Kerry died, and the pictures became irrelevant, until Darren punched Langley at the charity event." Which I'm sure wasn't good for his ego.

Rausch doesn't confirm my suspicion, and his face remains as stoic as ever. Regardless, I'm sure he knows what kind of man Langley is without me having to tell him. The fact that Langley had those photos all this time makes my skin crawl, even more than when his hands were on me.

"You have no idea how many fires I've had to put out because of her," Rausch states, looking next to me as I feel Darren's arm wrap around my waist.

"I didn't ask you to protect me," Darren expresses.

Rausch laughs. "It's not you I'm protecting."

I can feel Darren's fingers dig into my side as if he's trying to stop himself from lunging at Rausch. I could tell him it's not worth it, but slapping him felt better than I expected.

His expression softens infinitesimally. "I would never let Kerry's reputation be tarnished," he admits.

"While I don't doubt that, I think you also didn't want to miss the opportunity to prove me wrong and try to put a wedge between me and Evangeline."

Rausch's eyes travel down to where Darren's hand rests at my waist.

I can tell it bothers him, and I delight in the fact that it does.

"I'm good at my job, Darren, especially the ugly parts," he explains. "Politics is a dirty game, and anyone who says otherwise is a fool. Your father knew that best."

"I know you didn't come for a social call, so tell me, to what do we owe this pleasure?" Darren inquires through pressed lips.

"Well, Darren, there was never a question about your intelligence." Rausch reaches into his jacket and pulls out an envelope.

"Last time you gave me an envelope, it wasn't so pleasant."

"And what did you do with the other information I gave you?" he asks rather sheepishly, which is uncommon for Rausch.

"I think you like riddles, but I have better things to do than play games."

I can see the amusement in Rausch's eyes, but whatever he's thinking, he doesn't give it away. Instead, he hands Darren the envelope.

"This is the report for the investigation into your parents helicopter crash," Rausch announces solemnly. "I wanted you to be the first to know because The Post will be printing an article tomorrow."

He takes it with trepidation.

"I also wanted to let you know that Georgetown would like to name their new non-profit law clinic after your parents," he declares. "They would like you to attend."

Darren looks uncomfortable, and I know speaking in public is not his favorite thing.

"You mean Walker," he confirms with disdain.

"When the University President first approached me, I made it clear that it should be both your parents."

Darren's eyes widen, and he nods before closing the door.