Chapter 20

CHAPTER TWENTY

ZAIN

The front door is open, and Sondra is standing on the steps talking to my mom when I return to my parents' house. Both of them turn to watch as I park the car and climb out, but neither of them speak until I'm up the steps and in front of them.

"Have you actually stopped and taken a breath since you were released?" Sondra asks.

"What do you mean?"

"It's barely been twenty-four hours since you walked out of court a free man. You've been back in town less than six hours, and you've been out doing who knows what for half of them. Don't you think you should take a couple of days just to relax and spend time with your family?"

My first instinct is to snap at her and remind her about life in prison, but logic prevails. She's only expressing concern and trying to help. I count to five in my head before I reply.

"There are things I need to do that can't wait. Once it's all done, then I'll take time to enjoy my freedom." I lean past her to kiss my mom's cheek. "I'm going out for dinner tonight. Do you have any suggestions on somewhere to go? "

"Oh?" A frown creases my mom's brow. "Wouldn't you rather stay at home and let me cook for you?"

I hesitate. I'm not sure how she'll react, but at the same time, I have no interest in lying about it. "I'm taking Ashley Trumont to dinner."

" What? " Sondra screeches before my mom can say anything. "I saw that smug bitch yesterday."

"Did you?"

"She was outside her mother's house. Why the hell would you spend any time with her?"

I arch an eyebrow. "What did you say to her?"

Sondra's cheeks turn pink. "I just told her the truth."

"The truth," I repeat softly. "You know, everyone keeps talking about the truth of what happened, but you all have a different version to tell. So, what is your truth?"

"What do you mean?"

"Ashley's truth is that she saw me kill Jason. My truth is that I didn't kill him. What about you?"

"Well, obviously you're the one who's been right all along, or you wouldn't be standing here right now."

"That's not what I mean."

She frowns at me. "Don't speak in riddles, Zain."

"Everyone's truth is based upon their perception of things. Ashley absolutely believed every word she said, based upon what she thought she saw."

"Why are you defending her?"

"I'm not. Maybe I just want to move on with my life? And to do that I need to make peace with the people who destroyed so much of it." It sounds good in principle, but the reality is that I need to see her suffer the way I have.

"Are you planning on having dinner with everyone who said you were guilty?"

"Probably not." I turn back to my mom. "Mom?"

"There's a nice little Italian place near the seafront. It's perfect for private conversations. They have it set up so each table is sheltered and separate from the rest. Would that suit?"

"It'd be perfect."

"Would you like me to book a table for you?"

"If you wouldn't mind, thank you. Can you make it for seven-thirty?" I walk past them both and into the house. "I need to give Peter his keys back. I don't suppose there's a car I can use?"

"Speak to your father. There's something in the garage that I'm sure he'll want to show you."

"Thanks, Mom."

I find Peter and my dad in his office. Their conversation cuts off when I enter. I don't ask what they're talking about. Unless it involves me, they're not going to share. I hand Peter the keys.

"Mom said to talk to you about a car." I sit in the empty seat in front of Dad's desk.

"I was just telling Peter how much I appreciate the work he did to get you home." My dad pulls open a drawer and takes out a set of keys, then sets them on the desk. "What's the next step?"

"Next step? "

"Surely, we're not going to leave it at you being released. Whoever did it needs to pay."

"It's been a long time. I'm not sure we'll ever find out who did it. If they didn't commit another similar crime afterward, I doubt they'll suddenly appear to commit one now."

"We're currently working on compensation for wrongful incarceration," Peter says. "I've also spoken to the police, who have confirmed that they'll look back into the case."

"I've hired someone to do a private investigation. I doubt there's anything to find, but I don't trust the police to get it right," I add.

Dad doesn't seem shocked by that. He just nods.

"That's a good idea. I was going to suggest we do that, but wanted to give you some time to get settled first."

"I've wasted enough time."

"Son, you were barely an adult when you were taken from us." His voice is gentle. "You became a man in an environment that required a way of life you should never have needed to experience. It's going to take more than a couple of hours to adjust."

"I'm fine." This isn't a conversation I want to have. I don't even want to think about it. "I just came in to see if I can borrow a car for the evening."

"Where are you going?"

"Dinner."

"Are you sure that's wise?" Peter twists on his seat to face me.

"Very wise." I lean back on the seat. "It's all part of my plan."

"Plan?" Dad's eyes move from me to Peter and back again.

Peter sighs .

"Attorney/client privilege," I remind him before he says anything.

He almost rolls his eyes. "I'm aware. But as your attorney, I want to go on record as saying that I still think it's a bad idea."

"I'll keep that in mind." I shift my attention back to my dad. "Car?"

He hands me the keys. "Take the Mercedes, but you might want to check out the car at the very back of the garage."

"Thanks." I stand, walk to the door, then pause. "You should know, before Mom comes in to tell you, that my date tonight is Ashley Trumont."

I walk out before he can respond.

The garage's overhead lights flicker on automatically when I walk in, and I press the button on the keys so I don't have to hunt around for where the Mercedes is parked. Lights flash near the back and I move between the cars parked to either side until I reach the black car that belongs to the key fob.

Beyond that is one more car. This one is covered by a sheet. Thinking about my dad's instructions, I pass the Mercedes and stop in front of it. I have a feeling I know what's hiding beneath. Dragging off the sheet, I step back, and for the first time since being released, a genuine smile pulls my lips up.

A 1969 Ford Mustang Boss 429, in candy apple red. My Mustang. A car I found rotting inside a barn when I was fifteen, and spent the next five years restoring with Jason. The car I convinced myself would have been towed away and destroyed long ago.

"Hey, baby." I stroke my hand over the hood. "I missed you."