Chapter 34

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

ZAIN

"You're spending the evening with her again?" Mom hands me a cup of coffee.

I stare down at it. I lost the taste for coffee when I was inside, preferring to stick to water, instead of the cheap, bitter instant mix available there. But before that I loved coffee, specifically a Brazilian roast my mom drinks. I can tell just from the smell that it's not the cheap stuff.

Lifting it to my lips, I take a cautious sip, and almost moan with delight.

This is how coffee should taste.

I look up just in time to catch the tail end of a smile, quickly hidden when Mom realizes I'm looking at her.

"All I've seen you drink since you came home is water. I wasn't sure if you still drank coffee." She sits opposite me and reaches out to cover my hand with hers. "I'm so glad to have you home again."

"I'm glad to be home." I am. More than she will ever know. Yet the words sound hollow to my ears.

"So, tell me what's going on with you and Ashley Trumont. You took her out for dinner last night, and I heard you leave the house early this morning. Where did you go?"

"We had a lot to talk about last night, and wanted to carry on, so we met for breakfast."

"And now you're going for dinner again tonight?"

I give a half shrug. "I enjoyed her company. It's a nice change from the dining companions I've had for the last few years."

"Honey, I'm sure there are lots of people who would love to catch up with you." Her unspoken question hangs in the air between us.

Why her? Why the girl who was responsible for taking you from us?

"Let's not pretend I was the most popular guy in town, Mom. I wasn't. My two closest friends are the ones who died. Anyone who wants to speak to me now is doing it out of curiosity, nothing more. Ashley is different."

"Different how?"

I slip my hand out from beneath hers.

This is it. The start of the narrative I need to build.

"We both went through something that night." I raise a hand to stop her from speaking. "I know she accused me of murdering them, but I get it. Who wouldn't jump to that conclusion if they walked in on what she witnessed? I understand why. We spent hours talking last night, and again this morning. And …" I shrug again. "We have a lot in common. She's easy to talk to. She doesn't look at me with pity in her eyes. I like that."

The ironic part is everything I'm saying is the truth on some level. And if she was someone else, things might be different. She's smart. She has a mouth on her that catches me off guard at times. She's pretty.

Mom stares at me for a second or two, and I can see the battle waging in her eyes. Ashley is responsible for taking her son away. But that same son is willing to forgive her.

"Just be careful, honey," she says finally. "I know you don't want to hear it, but you're vulnerable right now."

" Vulnerable? " I swallow a laugh. "How do you figure that?"

"I'm your mother." Her voice is quiet. "I know who you are. And this …" She waves a hand toward me. "This hard shell isn't you. Not really."

"I'm not the same boy you saw being taken away, Mom. I had to grow up fast."

"But you're still my son, and I need you to be careful. You've been in a controlled environment for a long time. Coming out into the world, you're the perfect target for someone to get under your skin. To take advantage of you."

"You think Ashley has an ulterior motive for agreeing to talk to me?"

"No. No, honey. I think you've been starved of normal human interaction. You wouldn't allow any of us to visit you in prison. All you had were other inmates. And I doubt you formed any lasting friendships with them . Coming out and being met with something as simple as a pretty girl giving you attention?—"

"She's not playing with my emotions, and it has nothing to do with how she looks." Whether she's pretty or not has no relevance to what I want from her .

She is pretty, though .

I stifle the little voice pointing out the obvious.

"She might not mean to, but?—"

"Mom." My voice is firm. This isn't going the way I'd planned, and I need to get it back on track. "It's been my choice to spend time with her, to talk to her. We're working through what happened that night."

Her lips tremble. "Zain, she was the one who said she saw you kill Jason and Louisa."

"I know. I thought you were okay with me talking to her."

"For one dinner. But now you're seeing her again."

"I am." I set my coffee cup down and stand. "You don't have to like it, but it's something you're going to have to get used to." I walk out before she can respond.

I understand her concern, and I know that she's not going to be happy when I tell her I'm marrying Ashley. Secrets have a way of getting out, and I have to keep the real story known to as few people as possible. Me, Ashley, and my lawyer.

I know Peter won't say anything. And I'm confident I've covered everything so that Ashley will stay quiet as well.

But if she does slip?

What if she does reach out and tell someone what I'm doing?

Well, I've already made plans for that as well.

If she runs, or breaks her silence, or refuses to comply, an email will be sent to the police with an attachment full of evidence that could potentially be used to point at Esme Trumont as the real murderer of her stepson and his girlfriend. At the very least, it will give sufficient reason for her to be taken to the station for questioning.

Do I really think that Esme Trumont murdered Jason and Louisa? No, I don't.

Do I think she will really go to prison based on the evidence I can supply? Also no.

What I have is barely even circumstantial, and only works as a reason when taken out of context. Once the police look at the information around what I have, they'll see that she's innocent. But all I need is the initial response—her being taken in for questioning—which will scare Ashley, and send the message that everything I threaten her with will come true if she doesn't do what I want.