Somebody to Hold (Tyler Jamison #2) - April Wilson Page 0,49

bullshit. You’re not telling me everything.” Then he shoves his chair back from the table and stalks out of the kitchen.

And there he goes.

* * *

I find Ian up on the roof, seated on the bench in the greenhouse. It’s an overcast, rainy day, the sky gray like my mood and his. It’s quite windy, and blowing rain lashes against the glass panes, making them rattle.

As I stare down at Ian, I notice his hair is sticking up in places, probably from running his fingers through it. My chest constricts. I’m doing my best to protect him, but I’m failing miserably. No matter what I do, Ian’s going to get hurt.

I sit beside him on the bench. “I know this is difficult.”

He stares out at the lake in the distance. “You can’t plead guilty, Tyler.”

“Ian.” I let out a heavy breath as I slide my arm around him. “I promised your dad you wouldn’t have to testify.”

Furious, Ian turns to me. “But I want to testify. I’ll do anything to help you. This is about your freedom, Tyler. It’s about your future. It’s not about me. And leave my parents out of it. This is between you and me.”

He’s angry, his chest rising and falling as tears well up in his eyes. And he’s so damn beautiful I could cry. He’s like a magnet, drawing me to him, and I’m unable to resist the pull.

I cup one side of his face and brush his cheek with my thumb. “Ian, you have to trust me.”

He shakes his head, tears spilling. “Not if you’re just going to roll over without a fight. Don’t you dare sacrifice your freedom for me. Don’t you dare let Brad win.”

I hate this tension between us. Impulsively, I lean in and kiss him, and the feel of his lips trembling against mine is enough to do me in.

But he pulls back, clearly not ready to be distracted. “And what about your sister? She’s having a baby soon. And your mom—it would kill her if you went to prison. If you won’t fight this for me, fight it for them, Tyler. Please. You can’t just abandon us.”

Abandonment.

His greatest fear.

His birth mother abandoned him, time after time, because of her drug addiction. It left a wound on his soul that has never fully healed.

As I pull him into my arms, he resists at first, angry and hurt. “Shh,” I tell him, holding on tightly. “I’ll never abandon you, Ian. If I have to go away for a while, it’ll only be temporary. I promise I’ll come back. You’ll be okay, I—”

He starts sobbing then, his hot tears soaking my T-shirt.

My breath catches as I struggle to maintain my composure. “You have to trust me, Ian. Please.”

* * *

Right on time, Troy Spencer arrives, accompanied by my brother-in-law.

Dressed in a dark suit and tie, briefcase in hand, Troy looks ready to storm the Cook County courthouse. Shane is dressed more casually.

“Hello, Tyler,” Troy says. When we hear Ian slamming pots and pans in the kitchen, Troy lowers his voice and asks, “Is there somewhere private we can talk?”

I nod toward the parlor. “Let’s sit in there.”

I follow them into the room and close the door behind us. The less Ian hears, the better.

The two men take their seats at the bar, while I stand across from them. “Can I get you guys anything?”

Troy shakes his head. “No, thank you.”

“Nothing for me, thanks,” Shane says. “How is Ian holding up?”

“Not very well,” I say, remembering how he cried in my arms. I would give anything for this fucking nightmare to be over.

Troy gets right to the point. “At today’s arraignment, after the charges are read, you’ll be asked to enter a plea. You’ll plead not guilty. It’s a quick procedure, very routine. We should be in and out in less than fifteen minutes.”

“You didn’t come over here just to tell me that.”

Troy purses his lips. “No. I came over here to talk some sense into you.”

I shake my head. “My mind’s made up. I’m pleading guilty.”

“Don’t be an idiot, Tyler,” Troy says. “You’re being charged with a class three felony. As long as you’re facing a mandatory sentence, I won’t be able to get you probation.”

“I don’t want Ian testifying, so that means no trial. I have to plead guilty.”

“Out of the question, unless I can talk Lydia Franklin into reducing the charge. We can try for a plea deal. If she lowers the charge to simple battery, then we’re looking