One Last Rainy Day: The Legacy of a Prince(75)
He gapes at me. “How long have you been planning this?”
“A while.” Since the fly vibrated on my web.
“Fuck!” Tyler slams his fist on his truck glaring at me, his request for Sean. “Get everyone to the garage. We’re going on a field trip. I’ll meet you there in fifteen minutes.”
I move to get into Sean’s Nova, and Tyler shakes his head. “Not you. Go to Denny’s and fucking stay there until I text you home.” He looks over to Sean. “He’s grounded.” Tyler snaps his gaze back to me, and I don’t bother to object. He’s the only one who can veto me, and there’s no fucking way around it. “This is what it is, or I bring France home. Don’t fucking test me on this, Dom.”
Exhausted, I give him a sharp dip of my chin as he climbs into his truck and speeds off. Sean sparks up a cigarette, and I give him the words I know he needs. “I’m okay.”
Denny pulls up, and I round the car as Sean remains idle, studying me intently for the same cracks Tyler sought. Opening Denny’s passenger door, I jerk my chin. “Go. I’m all right, brother.”
Seconds later, Sean’s speeding off in his Nova. Denny remains wordless as I stare through the trees blurring out of his passenger window. On that drive, I realize I’ve finally reached the place I’ve been searching for. A state not quite as blissful as the peaceful place I’ve come to rely on but strong enough to recognize—numb.
I’ve bore witness to two prime examples that there are good men left in the world. Loyal men. Faithful men. Though thieves they may be because they’ve stolen my heart.—Cecelia, Flock
Two days later, I stare up at my ceiling in the same position I’ve been in since Denny dropped me off hours ago—boots crossed, back on my mattress, palms on my stomach. The heavy repeat of his Nova jars me from the backdoors of my mind, and not a minute later, Sean’s silhouette appears at my door—partially lit by the streetlights. He stands in wait, none of his typical ‘little spoon’ quips coming while the aftermath of the last forty-eight hours emanates from him.
“You’ve been busy,” I say, knowing Tyler proceeded with our plans—along with improvisations—in an effort to sweep up after me. While I was on lockdown at Denny’s, Layla paced next to me as reports flooded their TV screen of the statewide manhunt for the second suspected gunman, me, who’s still at large. Hours after I fled, Tyler utilized the birds he trusted to divide and conquer. They made good use of the guns we lifted from the warehouse in a free for all of victimless gunfire—shooting up abandoned buildings and closed businesses. Starting in Charlotte, they webbed out in all directions—from the edge of the Tennessee border all the way to Nags Head Beach, leading those investigating on a wild-goose chase.
Sean palms my doorframe. “Stroke of genius to put those prints on some of the bullets.”
We’d already devised the plan to put partial and full prints that we extracted from Spencer and the dirty military on his payroll on some of the shell casings so the guns would be traced back to them. The tactic is meant to keep all government alphabet agencies and military investigators as far as possible from our county line while searching for the guns now in our possession. After the evidence was not so subtly planted, Tyler flagged one of our feather feds as to which locations to look for those prints to get them all investigated and possibly indicted. Convicted is another story. In that, I have zero faith.
“They’ll get off,” I state, toeing my boots off before nudging them off my bed.
“Worth trying, right?”
“Where is he?” My question regarding Tyler’s whereabouts and the status of the grudge he may still be harboring against me.
“Not coming back tonight,” Sean relays, “but he has his ringer on.”
For me.
I don’t ask about Cecelia, but I can sense what’s coming as he takes a seat at the edge of my bed. “She’s wondering where you are.”
“Let her,” I snap in warning, looking over to him as he casts his gaze my way and swallows.
“You know she asked me not too long ago who my hero was—”
“Don’t,” I warn, throat burning.
“That answer changed two days ago,” he relays without hesitation.
“I killed a twenty-year-old kid,” the confession feels ripped from me as I say it out loud for the first time.
“You stopped an imminent mass murder,” he insists, tone unwavering. “Denny unloaded his backpack, and it was fucking horrifying . . . he was going to open fire on families watching fireworks. There’s no telling how many lives you saved. Your hands were tied. Tyler knows that—we all do. I know you couldn’t or wouldn’t have done it if you thought there was any other way, and you didn’t take him down until you were sure.”
Quiet seconds pass as the burn circulating through my chest keeps me silent.
“Please don’t torture yourself,” he says on a long exhale. “I can guarantee that you need something or someone right about now, and maybe you can’t put your finger on it. Or maybe you can—”
“She doesn’t need to be anywhere near us, Sean. It’s only going to get more fucking dangerous for all of us.”
“I tried,” he cups the back of his neck. “That night, I tried to break it off with her . . . and I failed. I couldn’t do it. But I heard you,” he hangs his head. “I heard you, Dom, and I’ll respect whatever decision you make. But,” he swallows, “please know I’m sorry, truly, for everything,” He runs a hand through his matted hair, no doubt due to the ski mask he’s been wearing for days to help cover my tracks. “I’ll never bring this secret up again, but I wish you could have trusted me.”