Tangled Games (Dating Games #5) - T.K. Leigh Page 0,113
All that mattered was staying with those kids as long as possible, making them happy.”
“I remember seeing that on the news,” Carly says. “She certainly won over quite a few hearts with how she interacted with all those kids.”
His expression falls slightly, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down in a hard swallow, his facial muscles pinching. “And this is a woman who’s suffered an immeasurable loss. Who watched as the car holding the man she hoped to spend the rest of her life with went up in flames. Who was then told their baby no longer had a heartbeat. Who had to give birth knowing there would be no baby’s cries greeting her. There would be nothing but silence.”
I feel an arm wrap around me and glance at one of the women through my tears. She squeezes me, offering an empathetic look, making me think she’s no stranger to the pain of child loss.
“Despite all that,” Anderson continues through his own emotions, “despite enduring something I couldn’t even begin to fathom, she never lost hope. Never gave up. Which is why I’m not going to give up on her. I’m not—” He stops abruptly, lips parting as he stares at something over Carly’s shoulder.
I look away from the large screens and through the studio windows, wondering what caught his attention, our gazes locking.
He blinks, once, twice, as if worried he’s hallucinating. As if he’s been seeing me everywhere lately and wants to make sure I’m really here.
Suddenly, he shoots to his feet, ripping his microphone off his shirt as he darts from the studio. At first, Carly’s surprised. But when she peers out the windows, her eyes finding mine, she smiles. Then, being the opportunist she is, she waves a camera man over. After a brief conversation, he takes off running, a camera in his hand. Suddenly, the shot of Carly transitions to the backstage area, Anderson darting through the maze of a studio, people scrambling out of his way.
The crowd gets louder and louder as we watch him navigate through hallway after hallway, someone in a page’s jacket escorting him out of the stage door. Finally, he steps into an alley before turning onto the Plaza.
Knowing exactly where he is, I spin, the crowd parting so I can get through, my legs not carrying me nearly as quickly as I’d like.
After what feels like miles instead of mere yards, I turn the corner toward the Plaza and skid to a stop when my eyes fall on Anderson for the first time in two weeks. To most, it may not seem that long. To me, it was a lifetime.
His gaze focused on mine, he takes several slow steps toward me, chest rising and falling quickly, not a hint of the uneasiness he sometimes experiences when walking.
When he reaches me, he stops and smiles. “Hey.”
“Hey,” I manage to squeak out. An electricity buzzes in the air between us. But it’s even more poignant than it’s ever been. “I though you—”
“Nora, I—” he says at the same time, both of us laughing nervously.
He treats me to that sly smile of his that’s always been reserved just for me. “You first.”
“I thought you’d be arrested if you told the truth. That’s why I left. Didn’t want you to have to come forward and implicate yourself.”
His expression remains stoic. “I know. But I couldn’t let you take the blame anymore. Not for something I should have disclosed.” He licks his lips, still standing a foot away. “Do you want to know why I didn’t fight harder for you when this all went down?”
I nod. “Because of your MS.”
“Yes. But there’s a deeper reason.” He steps toward me, but still doesn’t touch me. “Because I thought by saving you from a lifetime of being with someone like me, it would keep my conscience clear. So instead, I broke my heart.” He averts his eyes as he draws in a deep breath. “But how could I have a clear conscience when I allowed them to throw you to the wolves?” He smiles sadly. “So I did what I felt necessary to finally clear my conscience, once and for all.”
“And what’s that?” I ask shakily.
“Went to the police. Told them the truth.”
My shoulders fall as I squeeze my eyes shut, swallowing hard past the lump in my throat. “You didn’t have to. You—”
“Yes, I did.”
“Will they be arresting you?” I ask, although I don’t want him to answer. Don’t think my heart can take it.