I’d made. I’d started with Tig Simms, sending him a single text.
We missed our window. I love my husband, Tig. I’m not the kind who’ll ever leave him.
I’d hit send, and then I’d blocked his number and deleted our text history. I thought it would be enough. We hadn’t started anything. Not really. Not yet. We’d only heard the echoes of what might have been, the lives we could have owned if any of a thousand little moments had been different. Tig, with his love/cake tats and his easygoing smile, wouldn’t pursue me. If I wanted it to happen, I would have to move toward him, and I would not. I couldn’t keep Tig as an escape route. I couldn’t have a fallback plan. If I was going to fight to keep my family—and I was—I had to be all in.
“I want you to understand,” I told her, and my voice was very gentle. “I am a lot like you. I see myself pretty clearly right now. I could fight you, Roux. I could even win.”
The Polaroid I’d stolen was tucked away inside my purse. I took it out now and slid it across the table to her. She stared down at this version of herself, her mouth working.
“You’ve been busy.” I could hear the smallest tremble in her voice.
“I’ve been playing,” I told her. “You were right. I was in the game. Deep in. But I’m done now.”
She ran her fingers over the image of her own ruined face, and she must have been wondering what else I’d found. I could see wheels spinning behind her eyes, cataloging the secrets hidden in her house; I was under no illusions I’d found everything she had to hide.
“When?” she asked, tapping the photo.
I waved that away. “Doesn’t matter. I was there. And I saw what I saw.”
Her spine elongated. “Now you’re playing poker.”
I shook my head. “I’m not playing at all. I’m out,” I said. I meant it. “I found a lot of things. Your money, what’s left of it. Your fake IDs. Your pot. Your search history; I know you’re taking Luca to the Maldives. No extradition there, but I don’t think this is about avoiding a warrant. This is about custody. You’re going to the Maldives to keep your kid.” I was guessing, but I’d guessed right. She blinked in spite of herself, and I knew I’d scored a direct hit. “I could find the man that did this, Roux. Blackmail you back. If you told my secrets, I could tell him where to find you.” I touched the picture.
Roux’s gaze dropped to her hands, and that perfect stillness came into her body. She was utterly unreadable, but I knew she was afraid. I could practically smell it, a whiff of something acrid coming off her body. “I decided not to do that. I’m not even looking for him.”
She breathed out, like I’d tapped her hard in the stomach.
“I keep underestimating you.” Her voice was shaking with some emotion I couldn’t read on her carefully blank face.
“Thank Luca. I won’t put him in the path of the man who did this to you. And I didn’t loiter around waiting for you to die inside that wreck. I could have. I have it in me. You’re the one who taught me that. But I decided not to. I chose not to. I stand by that choice, no matter how hard it bounces back on me.” I paused, and Roux picked up my drink again. She drained what was left in two long swallows. I went on, “I also can’t give you the money. It’s not mine. You know that. Charlotte’s going to lose something here if you go forward. The money or my friendship. I’m not egotistical enough to think my friendship’s worth a quarter of a million. Especially since it is so weighted down with lies on my side. But the money . . . If, God forbid, there’s complications with the baby, or if her brother gets sick or in some trouble, the money has to be there.”
She started to speak, but I overrode her.
“Plus, Char is sweet, Roux. Sweeter than all the sugar that could be squeezed out of both of us. Even if you tell her the truth, we could end up friends. One day. Eventually. That will be up to her. She would get to decide, and that seems fair. As for Davis, we’re strong. I hope we can weather it.” I was all in