A grin bloomed over my lips. “I’ll tell him.”
Instead of turning away, I watched the elevator doors closing, inch by inch, obscuring Sterling Sparrow. It was clear that the mission he’d set out to accomplish was complete as he lifted his chin and inhaled. Stress still showed upon him—the clenching of his jaw, the tightening of his neck, and even in the stiffness of his stance. Perhaps it was because of what happened with Reid or the kidnapping or maybe about his future child. With a man like Sterling Sparrow, rarely did he share those thoughts or worries.
When night came and Sparrow finally closed his eyes, I doubted it was without contemplating the burdens of his reign. Yet the vastness of the Sparrow world was his doing. And I knew that he would continue doing whatever it took to maintain that status without complaint while occasionally allowing someone like me to catch a glimpse into the man under the king’s crown.
Once the elevator was fully closed, I made my way back to our apartment door as questions and thoughts swirled through my mind. Why would Reid be in Englewood? Did this have anything to do with our kidnapping?
I hoped that whatever took him to that part of the city was because of Sparrow business. I paused with my hand on the doorknob—if it was Sparrow business, the king himself wouldn’t have answered the way he did.
His answer meant one thing. Reid was there because of something other than Sparrow.
Was he there for me?
Turning the doorknob, I stepped inside our apartment. Reid’s eyes were open wide.
“Well, shit, what did Sparrow say?”
Lorna
I tried to read my husband’s expression as his question hung in the air.
“Sparrow said that if you enter 2 without Dr. Dixon’s permission, you’re in trouble.”
Seeing the anguish in his grimaced expression, I decided more questions could wait. “Let me help you.” I hurried over to him as he tried to sit up. After placing more pillows behind him, I reached for his large hand. “I want to know what happened, but even without details, I know that I almost lost you.” The tears came back.
My husband had been shot.
“You promised me you’d come home.”
Letting go of my hand, Reid palmed my cheeks and pulled me closer until our lips touched. Though I was worried my proximity would cause him more pain, his hold was unrelenting as our kiss deepened. In his grasp, warmth returned to my skin, and my body relaxed. When I finally pulled back, I stared into his eyes, our noses almost touching.
“I’m here.” His deep, comforting tenor settled over me, reassuring me that my fears hadn’t fully materialized. Yes, there was more that I wanted to understand. The concept of not telling me or any of the Sparrow women what went on would not suffice today. Something akin to anger bubbled within me. “But you almost weren’t. I don’t want to lose you.”
“I never want to leave you, Lorna, know that. Never doubt it.”
“Then tell me what happened.”
“What Renita said...there were two shots. One hit my arm” —he lifted his right arm— “and the other my chest.”
“I know that part. Tell me where you were and why you were there. Tell me who shot at you and why.” When he didn’t respond, I stood. Balling my fist, I brought it to my hip. “No, Reid. This isn’t one of those times when you don’t need to or can’t tell me. I demand to know why you were in Englewood.”
He grimaced as he took a deep breath. “How did you know that was where we were?”
“Sparrow let it slip, but he wouldn’t tell me anything else.”
Reid shook his head. “I don’t know how much to tell you.”
“All of the truth.” When he only stared my direction, I added, “I can handle it, damn it. I can. Don’t treat me like Mason does. I’m not twelve.”
At the jab, my husband visibly flinched. “I fucking know you’re not twelve. You were ten.”
“What?”
“Mason and I went to Englewood to visit someone from your mother’s past...someone from your past.”
My stomach twisted as I tried to connect the dots.
Englewood.
My past.
My mother’s past.
Ten years old.
I made a connection, but how could he? There was no way any of those dots should even be on my husband’s radar. “What are you talking about?”
“Come here,” he beckoned. As I neared, Reid reached for my hand. “Last night, do you remember what you said after you colored your hair?”
I didn’t. It was a bit of a fog, one I assumed I’d created with the sleeping pills. Although, I did recall our conversation this morning. “Something about you fucking a brunette?”
Reid sighed. “Sweetheart, last night you were upset and saying things that didn’t make complete sense. You talked about not looking like her and saying you weren’t her. Then you used the name Anna.”
Letting go of his hand, I stepped away. “I don’t recall that. You know that I took sleeping pills. I was probably delusional; besides, I don’t even know an Anna.”
Tilting his head, Reid stared for a minute, his dark, penetrating gaze searching beyond my surface, beyond my new darker hair. A chill scurried over my arms and legs as silently he stripped away my rebuttal.
“Reid, it must have been the sleeping pills.”
“You did know an Anna, Lorna. You worked with her.”
I shook my head and walked toward the kitchen. “Oh yeah.” My dismissive tone reflected my desire to end this conversation. “That was a long time ago and even so, I haven’t thought of her, well...since I left that fleabag hotel.”
My stomach twisted as memories returned, ones I’d cast aside when Mason moved me to this tower.
Inhaling, my husband’s wide chest inflated as his expression grimaced. “I’m not Laurel. I don’t understand how memories work or how they can be recalled. Last night, after you were asleep, I asked Mason about Anna.”
Spinning in place, I slapped my hands on the countertop of the breakfast bar and looked into the living room. “If you have questions about me, ask me. Again, I’m not made of glass. And I’ll answer. There’s nothing to recall. She was a bitch of a manager.”
“You said you remembered smells and being told you were pretty like your mother.”
Simply hearing his words caused my already-twisted stomach to drop and my skin to feel tight. “No, you’re wrong.”
“I know what I heard.”
“Maybe you were dreaming, or you’re delusional. Or maybe I was. I’m still fighting memories or the drug that’s blocking them. Those thoughts and confusion are caused from recent events, not twenty-five years ago.”
With concerted effort, my husband moved his feet from the sofa and slowly stood.
“Stop, you need to rest.”
I crossed my arms over my chest as he slowly came my way.
“Last night, you said that Nancy told you rape only involves intercourse.”
This wasn’t a conversation I wanted to have or thoughts I wanted to entertain. My mouth felt unusually dry. Spinning toward the sink, I reached for a glass from the cupboard above and after turning on the faucet, filled the glass, listening to the water instead of the man coming nearer. As I drank, my ears filled with the pounding of my pulse thundering in my ears.