Page 37 of Dane

My phone buzzed. Dane’s name popped up on the screen with a text message. Where are you?

I typed back with thumbs that still shook slightly. Coming home. I’m OK.

The three dots appeared, vanished, appeared again. You better be.

Chapter Fifteen

Dane

The gate had been open since her text came through. I’d stood close enough to the road that Knuckles put a man on me -- Zero -- and told him to make sure I didn’t do anything stupid. The cold worked through my jacket, but I ignored it. All that mattered was getting Brielle back home to me. Safe and sound. She’d said as much, but I found I needed to see her with my own eyes.

Headlights cut through the lengthening shadows. The Bronco rolled through with Tiny at the wheel. I had the rear door open before he finished braking. Brielle met my gaze, a black box held tightly against her chest. I had her out of the seat and in my arms before the engine died. She wrapped herself around me, somehow managing not to drop the box she held. The hard corners of the thing dug against my ribs, but I didn’t give a flying fuck. Brielle was back. With me. And I was never letting her go ever again.

I carried her toward my building and the apartment we shared. I needed to hold her and look her over for myself to make sure she was unharmed.

“Dane!” Hannah called to me as she jogged in our direction. I turned to face her down, knowing my expression was anything but welcoming. Her eyes widened, and then she gave us a knowing look. “It can wait. Come down later if you feel like it.” I knew they all would want to debrief or whatever the fuck. But Hannah and the others could take care of that. At least for a little while, the questions could wait.

Brielle’s breath came fast against my neck as she clung to me. She hadn’t even tried to get down. Inside my apartment I sat with her in my lap on the couch. When she simply sat passively in my arms, I let her. The last thing she needed was to be rushed through this. I knew she was likely grieving the loss of her grandmother all over again.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered after a while. “I don’t mean to be so fragile.”

“You’re not, sweetheart. Not at all. Take your time with this.” I kissed her temple, curling my arm around her head to hold her to me.

After a while, she took a deep, shaky breath. Then she opened the box in her hands slowly, like she might open a treasure chest she knew contained the secrets of the universe and untold riches.

The rosary sat on top, wooden beads worn smooth, the cross dark with handling. She picked it up, let it pool in her palm. Her thumb found the crucifix and lingered. A photograph in a simple frame rested beneath the rosary, a young woman with Brielle’s eyes and stubborn chin, holding a baby on a front porch, golden summer light everywhere.

When Brielle picked up the frame, she found a small stack of envelopes, each addressed in a shaky hand to Brielle. Carefully, she lifted them and set them aside. The last item she pulled out before setting the box aside was a spiral notebook. Brielle opened the cover slowly, turning page after page.

“Oh, my God,” she breathed. I couldn’t read her emotions, but knew they were very big. As she continued to flip through the pages, her movements sped up. I noticed the trembling of her hands and held her closer and read the page she’d currently stopped on.

It looked like a diary of sorts. As Brielle continued to flip and skim pages as she went, I saw dates and times in the margins with brief notes on the events happening at the time of the entry.

“She knew,” Brielle whispered. “All along, she knew about Sutton and what he did.” She took in a shuddering breath that turned into a small sob. “She heard my phone conversations. Found emails I’d left up on my computer. She knew I was in trouble and didn’t know how to help me because she knew I wouldn’t let her.”

When she flipped the last page, she found a folded sheet of paper with a handwritten note. Picking up the note, Brielle closed the notebook before laying it aside. Then she unfolded the page. The handwriting was shaky, but no less impactful.

My Dearest Brielle,

I want you to know that I’ve always, always been so very proud of you. You are a rare treasure and I want you to always remember that.

I know you’ve been in trouble. And I know about what you had to do at the trial. I heard your conversations. The first time was by accident. After that, I listened deliberately when you thought I slept.

I don’t know if any of this diary of sorts will help you, but I documented everything I heard up until I got too ill to help anymore. I happened to meet Mr. Norris and his lovely wife by chance when she broke her hip and did her rehabilitation in the same hospital where I had been admitted. I got to know the couple and Mr. Norris agreed to help me.

In the sealed envelopes, you’ll find affidavits, documenting everything in my journal entries. None of this may be of use, but, as your grandfather always said…

“Better to have it and not need it, than to need it and not have it.” Brielle spoke like she could actually hear her grandmother speaking the words rather than Brielle reading them on the page.

Live your life, my lovely Brielle. Remember the roots of your name. God is my strength. But it can also mean God is my might. You, my child, are strong. You are mighty. And you will make your peace with Dane Rourke and forgive yourself. Who knows. You might find that boy forgives you right back.

I love you, Brielle. Always. And I’ll be watching over you until I see you again.

-- Gran

Brielle clutched the letter to her chest and silent tears tracked down her cheeks. I knew there was nothing I could do other than hold her, and let her accept everything she’d just found.

When she looked up at me helplessly, I decided it was time to give her the last piece of myself. She already had it, I just hadn’t confessed to her.