And I Love You the Most (This Love Hurts 3)

“I’m sorry about your mother,” I offer my condolences, wishing I’d spoken them sooner.

Her eyes glaze over and her shoulders hunch forward as she stifles a sob. “I’m sorry.” Her apology is barely heard as she reaches into her purse, pulling out tissues.

If I could comfort her, I would, but I don’t want to approach her. I’ve never been the best at soothing someone else’s pain. My uncle made a point to tell me that fact frequently.

“Let me get you a bottle of water,” I offer and stand, making my way to the room’s small fridge and pulling out one of three that remain. The whiskey on the laminate desk stares at me, the amber liquid sloshing as I close the fridge door.

“Thank you.” Her voice is weak, so much smaller than it was a moment ago.

She’s still sipping on it when I’ve retaken my seat.

“What questions do you have?” I ask her to move this along.

“Do you know who took her?”

“No.”

“What can you tell me?” My chest aches as she searches for any information at all.

“I wish I could give you answers. But I called you for them because I don’t have any.”

With trembling hands, her gaze moves to her lap and it’s quiet for far too long. More than a moment passes with Cadence visibly distraught and neither of us having any new information for the other.

Just when I think she’ll stand to leave, she leans forward with a look of uncertainty on her face. “There’s something I have to tell you.” Her tone is deadly serious. “I couldn’t tell the cops.”

“You can tell me anything.” Although it’s the truth, the statement comes out too eagerly and she hesitates, but gives in. More than likely due to having no other options.

“There is no man who killed my father. My mother killed him. So it couldn’t have been Marcus or whoever the police are claiming killed him.”

I already know. Delilah didn’t tell me, but Marcus did in so many words.

Debating whether or not I should feign ignorance doesn’t last long. Instead I lie. “I know. She told me.”

Shock lights her eyes and I can see it from across the room. “Did she tell you why?”

“No.” I haven’t the faintest idea why her mother did what she did. All Marcus hinted at was that it was deserved.

“My father wasn’t a good man.”

“Good men and bad men, it’s not quite as well defined of a line as I once thought it was.”

“What do you know about my father? Because there’s no gray about it. Only black and white.”

“Only what Delilah told me.”

She huffs sarcastically. “He was her hero, so I’m sure she didn’t tell you the truth.”

“And what’s the truth?”

“He was a liar.” She’s quick to answer. “I knew him to be a liar and a thief at times. I knew him to be … cruel.”

As I turn to glance at the clock, Cadence sees and her strength leaves her.

“Delilah never knew, but our mother had just cause for what she did as far as I’m concerned.”

“Delilah never knew what?”

“She never knew what kind of man he was.” She swallows thickly, the sound eating up the silence. “It’s strange how she doesn’t remember. How he was her hero, yet he was my villain, all in the same scene.”

“He hurt her?” I surmise. “He hurt your mother?” She only nods in answer and reaches again for the bottle of water.

“Did he ever hurt you?”

“Not directly, but that doesn’t mean it didn’t hurt me.”

“Whoever has your sister … I don’t think it has anything to do with your father or your mother,” I tell her honestly.

“I know … but why would anyone go after her? Is it the threat? This Marcus?” She doesn’t contain the exasperation clearly getting the best of her. She needs answers, but don’t we all? “Brass or whoever it was who left that note in her office? Who? Who!”

It takes great effort to keep my expression unmoving as she lists suspects and tells me her theories.

Neither of us make any progress. We can’t help each other, and that truth is evident to both of us before the hour is through.

“I came to tell you I don’t think it’s Marcus and to look somewhere else. The cops think it’s Marcus, which is ridiculous.”

“What do you mean? Who told you that?”

“That detective with the beard … Skov. I told him Marcus doesn’t exist, it’s just a name used as a cover,” she says incredulously and I can’t fix my expression fast enough. With a tilt of her head, I can tell she knows that I know something about Marcus.

I want to tell her; I want to confess everything. If for no other reason than to rid myself of the burden of these sins and lies. They’ve piled up and now they’re drowning me.