Our son.
What would Shane say if he knew the truth? If he knew that a few weeks after that awful night, I started throwing up in the toilet. I had hoped it was a stomach bug, but when it didn’t get better, I caved and bought a pregnancy test. And when I saw the two blue lines on the test strip, my entire world shattered into pieces.
I had to tell my parents. They leaned on me hard to get an abortion, but I wouldn’t do it. But one thing we all agreed on was that Shane could never know. We carefully picked out the outfit I wore to Shane’s trial so that nobody would see my growing baby bump. And after the trial was over, I left Raker and didn’t return.
Until now.
Shane is looking at me curiously. I need to say something to fix this. So I smile and shrug. “Kids are tougher than they used to be.”
“Guess so.”
I snip the next few stitches in silence. When I lean over him to get out the last one, I notice his gaze lowering. I glance down to see where he’s looking and…
Oh God.
My shirt is hanging open just enough to give him a fantastic view of my cleavage. And boy, is he taking advantage. I clear my throat loudly.
Shane rips his gaze away from my boobs. “Shit. I’m sorry.”
He’s not the first prisoner to look at me that way, although he is the first to apologize. “Don’t ever let it happen again,” I say sharply.
“It’s just…” He scratches his neck which is turning red. “There aren’t a lot of, uh, you know, women here. And I don’t ever…”
The last stitch comes free and I straighten up. I realize what he is saying. He’ll never be with another woman again. Ever. For the rest of his life.
“I’m really sorry,” he says again. “That was incredibly rude, and… I should have controlled myself.”
No, he should have controlled himself eleven years ago. If he had, he might not be here right now. I ignore his second apology as I run one of my gloved fingers over the laceration. “Looks pretty good. There will be a scar, but hopefully not too bad.”
“I don’t care, but thanks.” He hesitates. “And I’m sorry about what I said last time. About that night…”
I put my hands on my hips. “So you admit what you did.”
“No, I didn’t kill anyone. But I understand you don’t want to hear that you got it wrong.”
He is so full of it. He’s not apologizing for the sake of apologizing. He’s apologizing because he wants to talk about it more. I remember the word Elise underlined in his chart:
Manipulative.
“I was there, Shane.” I toss the tray with the stitches in the garbage, and I put the scissors and the forceps in the sharps container. “I know what happened.”
“Obviously not. You said yourself you couldn’t see anything.”
I remove my gloves with a loud snap. “So if you didn’t do it, who did?”
“You know who it was, Brooke.”
I shake my head.
“It was Reese.” His eyes are like saucers, now that he has my attention. “It had to be. He’s the only one who—”
This isn’t the first time he has accused Tim. That was the crux of his defense all those years ago. But he couldn’t convince a jury, and he sure won’t convince me now. Does he think I’m stupid?
“Shane, stop it,” I growl.
“No, please, Brooke. You have to believe that I—”
“Stop it!”