Page 73 of Savage Heart

He whistles. “She won’t believe I just happened on one that new.”

“Make it believable.”

He sighs. “And let me guess, you’re gonna cover it.”

“You planning on telling her?” I ask.

“No. I know the drill.” He sighs.

“I don’t want her knowing. Ever.”

“She hasn’t ever known yet, has she?”

“No,” I say reluctantly.

I press my fingers to my eyes and exhale.

“For someone who doesn’t have anything to do with Iris, you still seem to care an awful lot,” he says.

I feel my jaw tighten. “Linc needs reliable transportation.”

“Uh-huh,” he says.

I grind my teeth together.

“You know. You could just admit that you still care about her,” he says.

“Just get the damn car.”

Otis chuckles softly. “All right. I should be able to find one in the next day or two.”

I grit my teeth. “Thanks, Otis.”

Then his voice shifts, losing the humor. “You know . . . since this is the longest we’ve ever had a conversation without you hanging up, I’d like to say something.”

I don’t like his tone and am tempted to hang up, but he keeps going.

“It never did sit right with me, the way that whole accident went down. With Iris and Lincoln . . .”

My stomach drops.

“She swears up and down that she was driving, always has, even with me. But . . . there was no alcohol testing . . . and it was Brandon who came on the scene first,” Otis continues. “And a healthy baby boy is born seven months later. Iris has always claimed she wasn’t drinking. What if she really wasn’t? Wouldn’t you feel bad for how long you’ve carried this hatred for her?”

The fence post creaks under my grip.

“And there’s the seat. Lincoln was a lot taller than Iris. If she’d been driving, the seat would’ve been pushed up. I took a good look at the totaled car when it showed up in my junkyard, and . . . well, the seat was stuck . . . as far back as it could go.”

My breathing shallows.

“And let’s talk about Lincoln’s family. Brandon, in particular. I’ll give Jennifer a pass since I’ve never known what it’s like to lose a child. I have lost a brother, though, and any man who doesn’t want any part of his nephew’s life is not a man in my book.”

Silence stretches between us, thick and uncomfortable.

“Why haven’t I heard all this before now?”

“Iris worked hard to maintain her story. I’ve tried to respect that, but . . . I’m so tired of her being mistreated. Whether she did it or not, it’s not right, what she’s gone through.”

“Just find a car,” I say flatly.