Infraction (6 page)

“We were married after we finished our undergrad. When I went to Harvard, she came
with me and got a job, working while I attended classes. It was a bit of a strain,
as I know you are aware law school is, but we made it through. After Harvard, we moved
to Indianapolis and found a house and talked about children. Grace always wanted a
big family,” he said, his shoulders slumping while he fingered through the box. “Four
miscarriages. She made it to the end of the first trimester only once, and it was
ripped away.”

Thoughts about having children had never crossed my mind before the dream, so to even
think about wanting them and then losing them was lost on me.

“When she finally made it to the second trimester with her fifth pregnancy, my trial
of Via Marconi ended. In all my bravado, I failed to recognize the danger I put my
family in. I managed a conviction of a Marconi family member, something that had never
happened before. Not only that, it was the daughter of the head member of the family.
All the time away from my wife and the nights without sleep, working eighty plus hour
weeks while I gathered as much information on them as I could, paid off in the end.”

I remembered that trial. Young, hotshot prosecutor had done the impossible, they said.
“Rising star,” they called him.

“Vincent Marconi wasn’t too pleased, and I gloated in his face,” he said through clenched
teeth. “Fucking stupid.”

I couldn’t think of anything to say, so I slipped my fingers in his, giving him any
comfort I could.

“It was about two weeks after my birthday that we went to Grace’s parents’ house for
a combination Father’s Day and my belated birthday celebration. Her whole family and
my parents were there. That was when she gave me this: the first glimpse of my son.”
With shaking hands he handed me a framed photo.

The frame was wracked; the corners loose and bent. Evidence of the glass could still
be seen in the powdery sand in the edges and the scratches on the picture in my hand.
The ultrasound picture was in such bad shape it was difficult to read the printed
words “I’m a boy!” I swallowed hard; he’d been so close to having a child.

“Not even that survived unscathed.”

My eyes looked up at him. “It happened that day,” I said, the answer coming to me,
filling in the gaps. Nathan hated it when I mentioned his birthday.

He nodded in response.
 
A sad smile formed and his arms raised, his hands making a circular form. “She had
a perfectly round stomach. We’d made it to the third trimester after so long.”

Grief was what overtook Nathan. I recounted the stages in my mind: denial, anger,
bargaining, depression, and acceptance. Nathan was still stuck on step four—depression—along
with his up and down visits with two: anger. It was obvious to me now he’d never moved
on from there. Even after four long years, step five, acceptance, remained out of
reach.

He sat there for a moment, and I could almost see the memories flickering behind his
eyes. His jaw clenched a couple times. “It was just after dark when we decided to
head home. It wasn’t too long a drive, about forty-five minutes, from their house
to ours. There was a two-lane road that was almost a straight shot and a nice drive.
We were about halfway home when this car came up behind us fast. We weren’t in any
hurry, so I pulled over to let him pass. But when I pulled over, so did he.”

My chest tightened. I knew what was coming. The end. I knew the outcome.

“That was when it was obvious something was wrong. I told Grace to hold on and gunned
it when I saw the driver’s side door start to open. We were up to seventy in no time…but
so were they.”

He tipped his head back, trying to keep the tears at bay. I squeezed his hand in mine,
my eyes beseeching him to continue.

“My mind was racing with what to do while I tried to stay ahead of them, but soon
we were passing eighty. By then we’d reached the point where the road ran parallel
to the interstate. They were separated by about forty feet of grass and a wire fence.
It was then the fight of our lives started. They caught up, going faster to catch
up in the oncoming traffic lane. I glanced over and the window was lowering. There
were two men; the one in the passenger seat was aiming a gun at us. I reacted on instinct
and steered the car into theirs. The motion caused them to lose some traction and
they ran off the road, but were soon gaining on us again.”

He paused, his gaze on the box, his hand absently moving the objects around. “I remember
telling her I loved her, but that’s where it gets foggy. An eye witness, who was silenced,
said that was when the struggle began. Our car and theirs battled back and forth to
stay on the road. With a powerful hit, they pushed us off the road and we went through
the grassy area and the wire fence into oncoming traffic on the interstate. We were
clipped by a semi, thrown into the median wall, bounced out, and hit a sedan before
a delivery truck mashed us into a bridge support.”

My whole body was frozen in shock, my hand covering my mouth.

“All my fault,” he whispered as he stared blankly into the box. “It was all my fault.”

“Why?”

He blinked up at me. “Because I baited them, flaunted my success in their face, gathered
enough information to begin bringing down their organization. Once I had one, the
others would be easier. People would see even they couldn’t get away with everything.”
He sighed. “In the end, they could. The eye witness’s testimony, the bullets they
found… all evidence disappeared under mysterious circumstances. It was labeled an
accident, and I ‘lost control’ of the vehicle.”

“Are they still…after you?”

His gaze met mine and he stared into my eyes, his hands bringing mine to his lips.
“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because of what I hold. The information I have on them. When I started poring over
all the evidence for the case, it became a rabbit hole and I was able to link it to
more and more cases.” He shook his head. “I wish I didn’t have it anymore so they
would leave me alone.”

“Why don’t you get rid of it?”

“Because it wouldn’t make a difference, and because they died for it.”

“Are you sure they’re still after you?”

He let out a huff. “It’s been a while; I think they like seeing me miserable. In a
way they think it’s better than being dead because I’ve suffered a worse fate than
his daughter. But, yes, they still keep tabs.”

My fingers shuffled through the items in the box: pictures of them in college, their
wedding day, their home. It was all he had left of her—a wooden box filled with paper
and faded memories.

I stared at one of the photos, and something Jack had said to me long ago came back.

You remind me of my daughter.

“I’m not her, you know.” His brows scrunch together in confusion at my words. “Jack
said…I reminded him of her.”

He thought about that for a moment, his head nodding a bit. “I’ll admit there are
a few similarities I noticed in you in the beginning, and it was one of the many things
that drew me to you. But then I saw you,
really
saw you, and it was then it hit me you weren’t her and the similarities were just
that. No different than how you are.”

“What do you mean by that?” I asked, the hackles on my neck standing up.

“I’ve been watching you for months. You shy away from bald men,” he said, ticking
off more subtleties I’d never noticed myself. “You cringe at men wearing combat boots.
Why?”

“Adam always wore them, especially when he kicked me. My dad went bald at an early
age.” My voice was mechanical as I answered, and my chest tightened, the walls reinforcing
themselves, so I redirected. “It’s the same with you, though. If I cringe from them,
you are drawn to me. These photos show our similarities. You can’t refute it.”

His lips formed a thin line. “When I first saw you at the office, the physical similarities,
your hair color and size, even some of your mannerisms were hard to distinguish. Over
time I saw the pain behind your eyes, the emptiness.” He paused and looked to me,
his fingers ghosting over my cheek. “I saw the mask you wore.”

He took a deep breath before continuing. “I resigned myself to a solitary existence.
Convinced myself I would never love again. And then you came crashing into my life.
You didn’t fawn over me like the others, and you saw through my façade into the man
hiding inside: destroyed and angry.”

“You slipped around me.”

“I did,” he agreed. “You do that to me. I tried to ignore you for weeks. I saw it
in you, the same pain and loneliness in myself. At first I thought it was because
you reminded me of Grace in some ways, but then, after the first few times I was with
you, I realized that, while it was something that drew me to you in the beginning,
it no longer applied. I wanted you, craved
you
. I struggled every day with that knowledge. You saw the evidence. I pushed you away,
along with the pull and feelings you were stirring within me. But when I took you,
I gave everything I could and it was raw and primal. I craved you to the point of
insanity.”

I pursed my lips, the war raging inside between wanting to believe him and wanting
to protect myself. “Are you sure? Are you sure that’s what you’re feeling? Are you
certain you aren’t using me as a replacement for her? If she was alive, you would
still be with her, not me. You don’t really feel about
me
the same way I feel about you.”

He stared at me for a moment, trying to form words for feelings. “I’m struggling with
the realization of my feelings for you. What it means for you and for me. I never
thought I’d fall in love again. Then I met you, and no matter how hard I pushed you
away or how much I tried to not feel anything, it didn’t do any good. If I believed
in fate, I would say I was destined to meet you; that I had to go through all this
so I would understand you and see you.”

I thought about it for a moment. The feeling I had was the same, like something tied
us together. “It’s a force, but is it love?”

“I loved Grace, very much, and I’m struggling with guilt over the fact I love another
and you could mean more to me than she did. That I want you more. That this connection
we have is greater. To be honest, it scares me, because I would be decimated if anything
were to happen to you, especially if it was because of me. Every time I said I didn’t
want you, it was me trying to convince myself.”

“What about your nightmares?” I asked, finally having an arena to ask a long wondered
upon thought.

“My nightmares?” He paused and looked deep into my eyes. He was gauging me for something,
but I couldn’t tell what. “They were about losing you, seeing you dead. The day of
your accident, I saw one of my nightmares come to life.”

My chest constricted, and I was on the verge of crying. “Why wouldn’t you tell me
any of this before?”

“Because I couldn’t admit it to myself, but your accident split me open and made me
look…at you, at us, at the feelings I was trying to disown. The thought that I lost
you…well, you saw.”

“You’ve had a session with Dr. Morg… with Darren, haven’t you?”

He nodded in response. “I refused to acknowledge how I felt about you. I thought if
I didn’t admit it to myself, then it wasn’t true and you would be safe from them.
That backfired and made you unsafe from me. Darren helped me to realize everything
I kept closed off. I was angry at myself and the situation I created. You didn’t deserve
to see that anger.” His hands fidgeted with the fabric of his shirt that lay over
his heart. “I want to live again…with you. You’ve changed my world. I’m altered, no
longer stuck in purgatory.”

Tears welled in my eyes before they began to slide unbidden down my cheeks, hot and
heavy. His hands moved to my face, thumbs gently wiping the small beads from my skin.

"After seeing and hearing all this, do you still want me? Do you want to try, really
try?"

I thought about it; my mouth opened to say yes when something nagged at me. That voice
I knew so well in my head.
You’ll
always be second best in his heart
.
 
I sat back and slumped against the pillows.

"No," I
 
replied in a whisper. I watched the hope drain from his face, his jaw clenched tight.
Tears welled in his eyes, and I took his hand in mine. "I can't be a replacement.
I won't be. You haven't had closure and until then…after all that has happened between
us, I need to matter more than a
memory. Not only that, I don’t know if I can let you back in. You hurt me more than
anyone else has in my life.”

He nodded. “I understand. A small part of me wants you to tell me to fuck off, because
I’m afraid. I’ve only ever loved my wife; this is all new to me. I don’t want you
to be hurt or killed because of me…because you’re with me. At the same time I don’t
want to let you go, I won’t. I need you, so bad. It’s your decision to give it a try
with me, to be in a real, healthy relationship. If I’m honest, that scares me almost
as much, but I promise to work at getting better, and I won’t push you away anymore.”