Other than me. But I’m not a good example. I’m bruised. Dented. Broken. I had my chance at a happily ever after and it ended up being anything but that. I lost everything important to me. I don’t have it in me to go through that again. I don’t have it in me to risk losing another child.
“Have fun with Nova, and I’ll be waiting for you once you’ve finished making her day.” I kiss him lightly on the lips. “Okay?”
“Alright. That doesn’t mean I like this. Once things die down with the protesters and reporters, I’ll talk to Olivia and get her to change her mind.”
I nod, unable to voice the truth—that her mind will never change.
* * *
The protestersand reporters are blocking my driveway when Troy pulls up to it. He honks and advances forward. Some of the protesters scatter to the side. The rest of them hold up their signs and continue chanting. “Protect our children! Convicts not welcome!”
Troy advances another few inches. “Christ, what’s their fucking problem?”
“They’re hoping I’ll just give up and move away.”
“They can hope all they want. That’s not gonna happen. Not unless you’re planning to move in with me.” There’s a smile in his tone that isn’t mirrored in his expression. He scowls at the people outside the truck.
The volume of the chanting increases, but most of the protesters do step aside, allowing Troy to get through.
He pulls up the driveway and parks closer to the rear of my house. Troy, Bailey, and I get out of the truck. Troy opens the back door for Butterscotch to jump down.
Reporters shout questions at me. I can barely make out what they’re asking. The clash of questions yelled at the same time and the chanting creates one big noise, making it easier for me to ignore them.
We hurry past the wooden gate. The chanting pursues us into the garden, the distance and hedge barely dulling the volume.
“I need some sort of magical dome over my garden, then I can enjoy sitting outside without having to hear the protesters.” I unlock the door and open it.
The dogs rush past us and go into the house. I follow them, toe off my sandals by the door, and enter the code for the security system.
“I’ll be back in a few hours.” Troy lifts his phone, finger poised above the screen. “I’ll call one of my brothers to come over and keep an eye on things while I’m gone.”
“Don’t worry about it. I’ll be fine. Will the protesters be annoying? Absolutely. But I bet I’m not the only one who’s fed up with them. If they irritate my neighbors, someone’s bound to complain to the police.”Please, someone, file a complaint.As long as they’re not the ones doing the protesting, of course.
“And you think that will make a difference?” Troy’s tone says he believes the opposite.
“They’re the definition of disturbing the peace.” That’s got to count for something. The cops might not do anything to help me, but they can’t ignore my neighbors’ complaints. I’m the one who’s been branded a cop killer and a dangerous offender—not the other residents on my street.
“I’m gonna call Kellan.”
I touch Troy’s arm, his well-developed biceps firm beneath my fingertips. “No, you’re not. He’s probably busy with work. And I’m going to use the time while you’re gone to figure out the historical novel I plan to write.”
“You can still do that with him here.” Troy folds his arms, and I let my hand drop to my side, barely refraining from rolling my eyes at his protectiveness. It can be sweet at times. Other times it’s damn frustrating. He’s not trying to control me. That I do know. It’s just part of who he is. He protects those he loves. He protects those who need protecting.
“No, I can’t. He’ll be too much of a distraction.” I lightly press my lips to Troy’s mouth, the touch brief. “You should go now. Nova’s waiting.” I don’t need to give Olivia another reason not to like me or to make things difficult for Troy.
“Okay. I’ll be back in a few hours. Text me if you need anything.”
“I will.” The lie slips awkwardly from between my lips, but I don’t think Troy notices. I have no intention of taking him away from his time with Nova. The little girl is missing out on having a father due to the cruelty of PTSD. I won’t be responsible for taking away the main father figure who’s now in her life.
I put my palm on Troy’s chest and give him a nudge outside. “Go. Nova’s waiting for you.”
He and Butterscotch leave, and I go upstairs to my bedroom. Bailey walks alongside me. I retrieve Angelique’s journal from the bottom dresser drawer and return downstairs.
The living room is dark, the curtains closed. I spent five years existing without much privacy. I’m not giving up what little I have now by letting the protesters and reporters see into my living room.
I get comfy on the couch and disappear into Angelique’s world. The chanting outside the window becomes a ghost of a noise as I focus on her words. Words I attempt to decipher. Words that have become the casualty of shaky handwriting and faded ink.
But now I know why her handwriting is so difficult to read, why she struggled with arthritis and the use of her right hand. An SOE agent who was supposed to be on her side, who was supposed to help France and Britain win the war, became a double agent.
