#nashton

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Thursday, January 24th, 2013

The next morning found Edward groaning as he rolled over in bed, a familiar ache settling deep in his neck. He felt the crick there, stubborn and sharp, a reminder of the hours he spent hunched over his desk, poring over his work. Despite his age, despite being in his prime—the youthful, strong age of 30—he had noticed the toll: the stiffness creeping up his spine, the subtle pressure building in his neck and shoulders. Maybe I do need to start taking breaks, he thought, reluctant as the idea was. He frowned, thinking of how Romy would likely have told him, “I told you so.” He had spent so long in his routine that he hardly knew what “rest” felt like, but now, he couldn’t ignore the persistent ache.

With a sigh, he pushed himself up, shifting his shoulders before giving his neck a slow roll. A satisfying pop echoed through the quiet room, easing some of the tension, and he sat there for a moment, letting the relief settle. Twisting, he swung his legs over the side of the bed, his feet meeting the floor. The wood was cold beneath his skin, a chill that bit just enough to remind him of the season. He had always liked the winter, found a strange comfort in the coolth of it, the way the air had a clarity, a bite that kept him sharp.

If he was being honest with himself, it was more than preference. It was just what he was used to. Memories tugged at the edges of his mind once more—the years he spent with his family, bundled in layers as the cold seeped into their apartment, their power cut off more times than he could count. The electricity bill had always been the last priority—his parents too poor, too careless, always managing to let things fall just out of reach, whether by accident or by sheer idiocy. Back then, he had learned how to build up a tolerance, how to sit through the biting cold of winter and the sweltering heat of summer with little complaint. It was a resilience born of necessity, a quiet survival skill that he barely thought about anymore.

But here he was, on a winter morning, feeling the familiar bite of the cold seep into his bones. This time, though, there was no resentment, no bitterness over the chill that greeted him. Instead, there was something unexpectedly comforting about it.

He lifted his gaze to the window above his desk, where soft snow flurries drifted down, silent and steady against the gray morning. From this angle, he could see out to the bay, the water choppy and dark, capped with thin ice at the edges. The view was striking, even to him—someone who rarely let himself pause long enough to appreciate such things.

His apartment was clean, minimalist to the point of sterility, each item in its place, each surface unadorned and bare. Nothing there held any warmth, no remnants of the past, no hints of sentimentality. His life, he realized, was like this space—carefully curated, almost devoid of personality, as if to remind him that he wasn’t meant to indulge in attachments or comforts. They complicated things, created unnecessary distractions.

He exhaled, the sound breaking the quiet, a mist of his own breath lingering faintly in the cool air of his room. Pushing himself up, he shuffled toward the bathroom, his bare feet padding across the cold wood floor. There was a heaviness to his thoughts that morning, a certain stillness in the quiet apartment that felt thicker than usual. He couldn’t quite shake it—the sensation of something unsettled, a small but growing awareness of the life he had built around him: precise, controlled, solitary.

Reaching the bathroom, he caught sight of his reflection and was struck by the faint lines beginning to form around his eyes, shadows of weariness etched into his face. He stared at himself for a moment, feeling an emptiness echo back at him from the silence surrounding him. This was it. The realization settled heavy and cold in his chest. This was why he kept himself busy, why he constantly occupied his mind, filling every quiet space with puzzles and calculations. It was a distraction, a way to keep the loneliness at bay, to avoid confronting the hollow stillness that sat at the edges of his life.

Edward soon stepped into the shower, turning the knob until the water hit him with a near-scalding heat. The sharp sting was comforting, and he let it burn against his skin, as if the intense warmth could somehow wash away the solitude that lingered beneath the surface, giving him a warm embrace he had so long lacked. But as he stood there, the steam rising around him, he became aware of the strange pattern that had emerged in his life—how everything he surrounded himself with was extreme. It was as though he was perpetually swinging from one end of the spectrum to the other, from searing heat to biting cold, from poverty to relative wealth, from isolation to… well, he was still isolated, wasn’t he?

He let the hot water run over his face and body, eyes closed, as he realized there had never been a middle ground for him. There was no balance, no calm, only these opposites he used to fill the spaces of his life. He lived within these small, intense comforts because they were all he had, all he had ever had.

Stepping out, he dried off with a towel that was as crisp and bare as the white walls of his apartment—blank and unadorned, devoid of any mark of who he was. No pictures on the walls, no memories captured in frames, no face to greet him on his phone’s background, no voice on the other end of a call to look forward to. There was no one to share his thoughts with, no one to even ask how his day was.

And that thought, more than anything, felt like a weight settling into his chest. He took a breath, forcing it down, trying to shake off the feeling as he wrapped himself in his towel and headed to the kitchen to start his coffee. As the machine gurgled, filling the space with the aroma of dark roast, he found a bitter comfort in the routine. This was why he worked so much, why he surrounded himself with tasks. It kept him from facing the reality that his life, for all its complexities and achievements, was an empty one.

He returned to his room to dress while the dark liquid brewed. 

Edward Nashton didn’t need anyone—never had. It had always been him against the world, a carefully constructed solitude he had come to rely on. People were distractions, unnecessary variables in his life that only complicated things, that clouded his vision. He had always thrived on his own, depended on his own mind, his own abilities. There was a certain pride in that, a satisfaction in knowing he had kept himself self-contained, untethered by anyone else’s presence.

What about her…?

The thought slipped in uninvited, pulling Edward from his hard-earned sense of control as he made his way to the kitchen to pour himself a cup. With a scowl, he gripped his coffee mug tighter, his fingers digging into the ceramic as he glared at the blank, impersonal wall of his kitchen. The question lingered, taunting him. He didn’t need anyone—he’d made that abundantly clear to himself a thousand times over. But somehow, there Romy was, edging into his mind again, sidling into his stream of consciousness with maddening ease. It was infuriating, the way her face, her voice, the faint scent of her perfume seemed to haunt him, returning in stray, unexpected moments even when she wasn’t present.

Then, completely unbidden, his mind drifted to yesterday… to what he did to thoughts of her... The memory struck him, sharp and electric, leaving a dull, persistent hum in its wake. A stirring began in his pants, unwelcome and maddening, a betrayal of everything he told himself he was. Any other man might revel in the thought, indulging in a moment of foolish, self-serving fantasy. But Edward Nashton was not any other man. His teeth gritted, his jaw tightening as he sucked in a sharp breath through clenched teeth, his expression hardening beneath his glasses.

We’re not doing this again today. His internal voice lashed like a whip, but the command felt weak against the memory that lingered, stubborn and unyielding. He’d addressed it—resolved it yesterday. He’d allowed himself that fleeting lapse in judgment, that indulgence, under the guise of catharsis. But now it was back, vivid and all-consuming, taunting him with its refusal to fade into the recesses of his mind.

If she found out what he did to thoughts of her… He’d die. Edward Nashton would rather die than let her discover the truth.

But the bitter chuckle that echoed in his thoughts felt like mockery. His memory, the one gift he’d always relied on, betrayed him now. It was as if it was laughing at his pathetic attempts to erase her.

Edward gritted his teeth, squeezed his eyes shut, and rubbed the bridge of his nose with a sharp sigh. The image persisted, dancing at the edge of his thoughts, taunting him with its vividness. And for the first time, he found himself hating the way his mind worked.

Because no matter how much he told himself to forget, he knew this would stay with him.

Forever…

The stirring in his pants intensified for the briefest moment before his disdain overtook it, the anger bubbling up to burn through the unwelcome heat. His lips curled into a sneer, more directed at himself than anything else.

Pathetic.

Edward exhaled sharply, the sound harsh in the quiet room, and adjusted his glasses with a deliberate motion. His hands flexed, clenching and unclenching as if to wring out the irritation coursing through him.

Let it go, he told himself again, though the words felt hollow, insubstantial against the vividness of the memory. He knew better than to dwell. He forced his focus to shift, his eyes narrowing at the off-white wall in front of him. Still, the thought remained, buried but alive, simmering beneath the surface of his mind—a constant, uncomfortable reminder of something he wished he could unsee.

And yet… he knew he wouldn’t forget.

Edward hated it. Hated how the idea of Romy, just the mere presence of her, slipped past his walls, threading itself into his routines, clouding his focus. She was an intruder in his solitude, a disruption he didn’t ask for and didn’t want. Or at least, that’s what he told himself as he stared into his coffee, watching the steam rise, willing it to settle his thoughts. She was just another distraction, he insisted, another unnecessary complication in a life he’d already perfected without anyone else’s interference.

Yes, a distraction, with her stupid, pretty face and irritating self-confident indifference, and enchanting essence.

Edward needed to keep Romy at a distance. He needed to ensure the boundaries they had remained opaque and sturdy.

Today, he would make sure she knew her place in his life, knew her place in his world. She was a silly little girl. She really didn’t deserve his attention.

The entire walk to work was a mental exercise in convincing himself that her presence was nothing but an inconvenience. Each step brought a new reminder of the countless ways she had disrupted his life, how she had twisted his once orderly routines into a chaotic mess. How could one person cause so much disorder? he wondered, jaw clenched as he mentally tallied each offense.

She had brought him nothing but complications and distractions—her involvement with the case had likely ruined his chances with Loeb. If only he had handled the data alone without her meddling interference. Yes, this had to be her fault. And now, thanks to her presence, he had even found himself the target of more of Hartley’s crude remarks, lowering him to the level of common gossip, a situation he found downright humiliating.

As he marched up the precinct steps that Thursday morning, a cold resolve settled over him. This is exactly why I work better alone, he reminded himself. His best work, his most brilliant moments, had always come when there was no one to consider but himself—no other human factors to calculate, no voices other than his own to muddle the clarity of his thoughts. He had built a life of control and solitude, and her presence, her opinions, and especially her allure, were an intrusion on that carefully curated existence. He needed no reminders of how much simpler his work became when he was the only one he had to manage.

He threw his office door open, his irritation mounting as he found her already there—early, again —occupying his space like it was her own. It was as if she were completely oblivious to the disruption she caused, sitting there so casually, her presence infiltrating every part of his office. He could barely stomach the sight of his coat hung next to hers on the rack. The scent of her gentle perfume permeated the air, light and alluring, an irritating contrast to the musty calm he once found here. He clenched his teeth as he stepped inside, determined to ignore her.

But as he walked to his desk, Romy leaned back in her chair with that easy, effortless grace, her gaze tracking his every movement with that calm indifference she so coolly exuded. Then she greeted him, her voice smooth and lilting, like she was trying to disarm him.

“Good morning, Mr. Nashton, sir,” she lilted—as if he were Charlie and she his Angel.

Edward frowned.

How could she sit there so easily, as if she were perfectly at home in his office, in his presence, as though none of this was a disruption to her at all? It infuriated him that she was so comfortable here, so at ease, while he was left with nothing but the seething frustration of her intrusion.

Everything about her pissed him off.

And why are her mornings always good?!

Edward dropped his messenger bag to the floor, near tossing it from his hand before setting his coffee tumbler down with a hard clack . He didn’t return her sentiment. Instead, he sat down, his chair squeaking as he adjusted himself and turned his computer on. He didn’t look at her; he didn’t grace her with his attention. She would be blessed to have his acknowledgment. But she wasn’t that blessed.

He told himself he wasn’t going to indulge her with more attention than necessary. She was pretty, yes, but that was about it. Her looks, while perhaps captivating to others, did nothing for him. He told himself they were superficial, inconsequential, and her charm was little more than a facade. So, he remained silent all morning, focused on his work, determined to keep her in her place as an occasional assistant, nothing more.

When she invited him to lunch, he declined without a second thought, his tone clipped. And, in her time gone, she seemed to take the hint, returning from lunch without a word, settling back into her work without further interruptions. He would admit, if only to himself, that she was perceptive; she knew when to stay quiet, when to be unobtrusive.

Maybe she finally knows her place.

“Mr. Nashton, sir…?”

Or perhaps not. He felt the tension creep back into his jaw, a subtle irritation at her voice breaking his carefully built silence. “What?” he snapped.

“Did you talk to Commissioner Loeb yesterday?”

He kept typing, continuing his work in silence, until he finally uttered a tight “Yes.”

There was another pause, and then she pressed on. “Well?”

Edward’s eye twitched. “Well, what?”

“Well… what did he say?”

“He said he would look into it.” 

“‘Look into it’?” she repeated, disbelief lacing her tone.

“Yes.”

“Like, what does that mean?”

He gritted his teeth. “‘ Like ’, it means what I said. He will look into it.”

“And you’re content with that answer?”

His fingers stilled on his keys, his gaze narrowing. Aren’t you? Finally, he glanced at her from the side, catching the determined set of her jaw as she turned in her seat to face him. Her arms were crossed over her chest, and he registered this in his periphery, but he didn’t focus on it. Instead, he tried to hold onto his waning patience.

He rolled his eyes. “Maybe you need to learn some patience.”

“Maybe,” she replied, unperturbed. “But maybe we deserve better. We’ve worked too hard. Built an undeniable case and—”

“ We? ” He scoffed. “Listen, princess, I won’t deny that you’ve provided some modicum of assistance in menial organization, but there is no ‘we.’ ” He gestured between the two of them, making his point clear. “‘We’ are not a thing, you stupid girl.”

“Okay—”

“What happened to being quiet?”

“I—”

“No.”

“But—”

“Uh-uh.”

“Sir—”

“Jesus Christ!” Edward gritted his teeth and slapped his hand on the desk. He looked her dead in the eyes. “ Shut. Up. ”

He took note that she didn’t seem startled by his demeanor or harsh treatment; however, she did quiet down. Silence finally filled the space between them, and he let out a sigh of relief he didn’t realize he was holding.

At last, he thought, some peace.

Edward really couldn’t wait for the end of the semester, and it was only the end of January... This was going to be a long, long semester.

“Mr. Nashton, I’m sorry, but I disagree with all of this. Something isn’t right… Like, I don’t know. I just don’t understand why the Commissioner didn’t accept the case as you presented it. It was airtight.”

His shoulders stiffened. Romy’s words rang in his ears, striking a nerve. “Something isn’t right.” The case was airtight. Every piece of data, every statistic, every trend was undeniable. He knew that—he had checked it himself—and somewhere deep down, he sensed her frustration was valid. But now he couldn’t help but feel like she was questioning him. Questioning his resolve to watch and wait.

He narrowed his gaze, a lick of anger flaring within him. “And who are you to question the situation?”

“Someone who knows what it’s like to have to prove oneself,” Romy snapped, meeting his narrowed gaze with her own.

A sly, calculating expression crossed Edward’s face as he considered her words. “Interesting choice of phrase…. When have you ever had to prove yourself worthy or right of anything?”

She frowned. “…You’ve seen my records.”

Oh. How could he have forgotten?

“Ah yes, those ‘records’ of yours. I’m glad you brought it up.” His mouth curled into a smirk. He turned in his chair, finally facing her with his full attention. “I’m honestly surprised it took us this long to breach your shady academic history.”

Her eyes narrowed, a flicker of irritation passing over her face. “Shady?”

He leaned back in his chair, fingers laced together on his abdomen. “Well, you can’t expect me not to be curious. I believe any respectable boss would… So tell me, did you cheat? Likely cheated all the way up until that point, and you finally got caught, yes?”

Something unreadable shaded her usually cool gaze. “...I didn’t cheat.”

Edward cocked a brow. “The records say otherwise. D to an A?” He tilted his head, his lips pulling to the side in amusement. “Couldn’t you have chosen something more humble like a B? Maybe then you wouldn’t have gotten caught.” He snapped his fingers, pointing at her with assurance. “That’s it… You got greedy, didn’t you?”

Her nostrils flared with the deep inhale she took. Her tone was calm, but he did not mistake the grit of her teeth and the subtle tightening of her lips and jaw. This was the widest range of emotions he had seen on her yet. “You don’t know what you’re talking about...”

“Don’t I?”

“I deserved that grade, asshole.”

“Don’t they all?” His smirk didn’t slip. “I don’t particularly care for cheaters or liars, girl.”

“ Liar ?” To his surprise, she raised her voice. “For your information, that teacher failed me even after he—” But her mouth snapped shut, and her nose scrunched up in disgust as if the words were sour. She clicked her tongue, blinked, and then relaxed her face into that cool, neutral expression, donning her mask with ease. “You know what? You wanna to know why I changed the grade? Look up case number: GC:08SA207. It will tell you all you need to know and then some.”

Taking him completely by surprise, she stood up suddenly, her chair rocking back, precariously close to tipping over. With more spice than he anticipated, she slammed her laptop shut and shoved it into her bag. Following close behind, and with more force than he had ever seen from her, she shoved that ridiculous fuzzy notebook, her coffee tumbler, and water bottle away.

His brows knitted together. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“Home.” She didn’t even cast him another glance when she turned on her heel and strode away, her boots clacking against the linoleum.

Edward narrowed his gaze, feeling quite perturbed by the attitude. He glanced at the clock: 12:47 PM. “You won’t get your hours.”

She tore her coat from the old wooden hanger, raking it and his coat to the floor in the process. “I don’t fucking care.” 

As a final insult, she slammed the door on her way out.

Honestly, he was surprised by her out-of-character, volatile outburst. But this was the moment he had been waiting for. The moment she would break. The moment she would quit. He had known it was coming. All he needed to do was wait.

But Edward Nashton was not one to let someone have the last word, especially when it was something so disrespectful. He was fine being petty if it meant he won. So, he slammed his hands on the desk and shoved himself to a standing position, quickly making strides to follow her out, to give her a piece of his mind, to put her in her place, and to tell her to never come back. He yanked the door open.

But she was already too far away.

Heat simmered in Edward’s chest as he watched from a distance, crossing his arms and leaning against the frame of his office door. His gaze remained locked on Romy as she stormed out with quick, furious strides, the anger radiating off her in waves. Even in her irritation, there was a grace to the way she moved, each step assertive, her hips swaying just enough to draw the attention of the nearby officers. He frowned, feeling an odd prick of annoyance as a few of them straightened up, sharing amused glances and nudging one another with smirks.

Then, as if on cue, Officer Hartley stepped forward, the same charming, smarmy smile plastered on his face—one that Edward recognized. He narrowed his eyes, watching Hartley intercept Romy, his posture relaxed but his gaze predatory.

Edward’s fingers curled into fists against his tucked arms, the sharpness of his nails digging into his gloves as he watched the exchange unfold. He couldn’t hear the words being spoken, but her body language was clear. Her face was set in a hard line, an annoyed look in her half-lidded gaze as she responded to Hartley, clearly disinterested in whatever he was trying to say. She made a move to walk past him, but Hartley snapped his hand around her wrist to pull her back.

The sight of it—Hartley’s hand gripping her, forcing her to stumble—sent a surge of something volatile rushing through Edward, a dark, hot feeling that bubbled up before he could temper it. His teeth gritted, jaw clenching as he uncrossed his arms, taking a step forward with every intention of intervening and putting Hartley in his place.

Just because he was angry with Romy, irked, irritated, did not mean she deserved to be subjected to Jack Hartley’s idiocy. No one did.

But he stopped as he watched her jerk her hand away, the movement defiant, recoiling to clutch her appendage to her chest.

“Don’t touch me!” Her voice screeched through the bullpen, loud and clear enough for even Edward to hear. The tone was sharp, biting, and left no room for interpretation. She looked at Hartley with wide eyes, her teeth bared in a manner that almost made her look like a caged animal. 

Is—is she scared…?

The precinct seemed to freeze, all eyes turning to her. Edward watched as a flush spread across her cheeks, and for a moment, he was taken aback. He had never seen her embarrassed before, never seen that hint of vulnerability in her expression. The sight unsettled him, a pang of unease twisting in his chest as he realized she was genuinely distressed. It was a side of her he hadn’t anticipated.

Maybe she isn’t as Teflon as she presents…

As if sensing his gaze, her eyes met Edward’s, glassy and raw in a way that felt like a punch to the solar plexus. For the briefest moment, she held his stare, and he grimaced, feeling something stir beneath his irritation. There was a shade of shame in her look, something unspoken but undeniably there, and he didn’t like the way it affected him, the tightness that crept into his chest at the sight of her discomfort.

Then, with a final, frustrated shake of her head, Romy turned back to Hartley, glaring with an intensity that Edward recognized as pure, unfiltered disgust. He watched, surprised but grudgingly impressed, as she held her ground, a flicker of admiration stirring within him as she made it abundantly clear that she wouldn’t tolerate Hartley’s advances—in fact, she seemed repulsed by them—frightened by them even. She said something, gritting her teeth, jabbing her finger in the officer's chest.

When she shoved past Hartley, heading for the precinct doors with purposeful strides, Edward found himself rooted in place, stalled in the doorway.

The still-silent precinct seemed to crackle with her frustration, her form tense and radiating fury as she shoved through the doors, not sparing anyone a second glance.

Edward’s arms uncurled, the urge to chase after her fading as he watched her storm away. Whatever he’d meant to say, whatever swift reprimand he’d been ready to deliver to her, felt suddenly irrelevant. She had stood her ground with Edward, and only moments later, she had dealt with Hartley’s idiocy on her own terms, and that realization left him feeling… conflicted. His gaze lingered on the door long after it swung shut behind her, a slight tension still knotting in his chest as he replayed the scene in his mind.

He felt a strange pull as he processed what he had just witnessed. Romy, the pretty girl who garnered attention so effortlessly and spared none of it for anyone who didn’t seem to meet her standards. It was a power he’d expected, yes, but her application of it confused him.

On paper, it made so much sense: a meet-cute with a rugged cop, a bit of harmless flirtation, something both parties could laugh about later. But there had been none of that from her—no humor, no flicker of interest, just sheer, unrestrained frustration. She had turned Hartley down with a clarity and force that left no room for doubt, and somehow, the finality of it resonated with him, stirring something he couldn’t quite identify.

Still standing in the doorway to his office, it wasn’t long after she had left that he finally realized what she had said. The case number was stored in his working memory, and having remembered it, he converted it to short-term. Almost instantly, he computed the serial of digits and letters, knowing the code of Gotham City’s case nomenclature by heart.

GC:08SA207.

Gotham City 2008; SA case number 207. The 207th report that year.

SA.

Sexual Assault.

It was a long time before Edward moved, having sat with the information for a minute. He blinked, then his feet shifted, and he turned back to his office. He strode across the small room, stepping over the fallen coat rack. Soon, he was sitting and maneuvering his chair to face the monitor. His hands raised, pausing above the keyboard, thinking hard about his next actions. He wished he could say he was a more honest man—that he curbed the nosy urge to stimulate and satiate his curiosity.

But the mystery of it all, the mystery of Romy, the mystery of what had happened that had her breaking her so-curated contemporary, cool-girl demeanor in front of him, in front of the precinct, was all too much to bear.

After all, she did tell him it would answer his questions…

In a few clicks, Edward had the report pulled up, the case title standing stark on the screen: DOE, JANE vs. CORREN, JAMES, February 23rd, 2008. The words seared into his mind, and, much to his chagrin, he felt a growing sense of dread as he scrolled down, the details unraveling line by line. Very quickly, he realized he didn’t want to take it in, knew that with his memory, every word would be imprinted, unshakeable. But the need to understand—fully, truly understand—kept him reading.

The summary was clinical, blunt: James Corren, a tenured history teacher at Gotham Preparatory, was accused of coercion and sexual assault. Edward’s stomach churned as he read further. Jane Doe, a student, a senior at Gotham Prep, claimed Corren had assaulted her during a private AP practice session. The words were detached, almost cold, but he could see through them to the reality—the afternoon when the teacher had tried to use his power to back a young female student into a corner. Edward’s fingers tightened over the keyboard: Corren cornering her, leveraging his authority, pushing his advances when she couldn’t escape.

His pulse quickened as he skimmed further, his breath hitching when he reached the details that stopped him cold.

“Pinned to the desk.”“Forcefully undressed.”“Vaginal penetration.”“Digital insertion.”

“Penile insertion.”

The words infected his mind, leaving him feeling heavy and nauseated. Edward’s face contorted in disgust, his anger a raw, visceral thing. He pulled back from the monitor for a moment, jaw clenched, feeling the sickening weight of what the girl had endured.

Edward took a deep breath, forcing himself to continue. Against his better judgment and at the behest of his insatiable need to put the pieces together, he pulled up Romy’s juvenile record, matching the dates. And there it was—her arraignment just weeks after the incident. One month of juvenile detention for hacking and grade tampering. The entire last month of her junior year, a time meant for joy and celebration, was spent in juvie. The anger sharpened as he realized the timeline, the painful irony of it all.

She hadn’t hacked the school’s system out of arrogance or entitlement or because she was cheating.

She had been trying to take back control over a situation that had left her utterly powerless.

And then he saw it: a footnote at the bottom of her record, a casual line that most would skim over. Edward’s gaze hardened as he stared at the screen, the words “Evidence from a related case not permitted in court” sinking into him like a knife. That line—so dismissive, so coldly bureaucratic—hid the truth of what had been done to her. His fingers curled tightly on his keyboard as he absorbed the implications. The system had erased the context, taken her desperate act of survival, and twisted it into a simple “offense,” stripping away the pain, the desperation, the sheer injustice that had forced her hand.

It made his blood boil.

He flipped back to the case report, staring once more at the black-and-white text of DOE, JANE vs. CORREN, JAMES. As he read, a thought occurred to him: she had chosen anonymity, hadn’t she? She hadn’t wanted this part of her life to follow her, to haunt every future decision, every opportunity. She was already dealing with the one black mark in her life as it was. Jane Doe—it kept her hidden, allowed her to walk through the world without this hanging over her head. She had wanted to move forward, to keep this from defining her, to prevent people—people like him—from connecting this case to her if it were to come up.

Finally, he read the case conclusion, and something inside him snapped.

Ruled in favor of James Corren on grounds of lack of evidence.

Just her word against his. No definitive DNA proof had been found since it seemed she had reported it days later—days past the time any DNA would have been viable… 

Edward felt the bile rise in his throat as he stared at those words, realizing what they meant, what they had cost her. The man who had hurt her, humiliated her, walked away without consequences because the “evidence” wasn’t enough. Just her word against a tenured teacher, her big truth drowned by the voice of a respected adult. He could picture it—the doubt, the way she must have been scrutinized, questioned, blamed, while Corren had left unscathed.

The injustice of it, the cruelty, knotted in his chest, and for a moment, Edward’s vision blurred with anger. The hacking, the grade change—it wasn’t just an act of rebellion; it was a lifeline, Romy’s way of clawing back some small piece of control in a world that had denied her justice. A bitter, helpless anger built inside him as he thought of it—the loneliness, the desperation she must have felt, trapped in a system that failed to protect her.

Edward leaned back in his chair, his hands motionless, the screen still glowing with the damning text. This wasn’t just about Corren, he realized. It was about every institution, every system that turned its back on her. The school system that ignored her, the courts that dismissed her, the system that took one look and chose to see a delinquent rather than a survivor. She had been reduced to a record in a file, a single mistake used to erase her humanity, to ignore the truth.

His chest tightened, a pressure building that he didn’t know how to release. This wasn’t something he could brush off, not now. The realization gnawed at him, a strange, hollow ache that he couldn’t just ignore. He’d always seen Romy as a nuisance, a spoiled, privileged brat who flaunted her looks and effortless charm, someone who breezed through life without much care for the real world. But that picture he’d formed of her, the shallow, one-dimensional judgment he’d held onto, crumbled as he stared at the damning words on the screen.

She was someone who had endured. Someone who had been betrayed by every system that should have protected her, forced to claw her way back from academic hell, to rebuild herself in a world that stripped her of any fair chance. Despite the injustice, the violation, the betrayal—somehow, she had kept going, kept fighting, kept reaching forward to a future that had once seemed inevitable. He realized, with a discomfort that sat heavy in his stomach, that her resilience was something he had never given her credit for.

Romy wasn’t just a pretty face in his office.

And she wasn’t a victim.

She was a survivor.

As Edward sat there, a dark, simmering anger twisted in his gut, churning with a depth he didn’t often allow himself to feel. This wasn’t the kind of anger that came from annoyance or frustration; it was deeper, sharper, almost painful. He could feel it settling into him, demanding that he confront it. He couldn’t just look away. Not from this, not from the truth of what she had gone through, of who she was. For once, his anger wasn’t a selfish response to a perceived slight. It was for her. For everything that had been stolen from her, for the scars she had to carry, for the path she had been forced to walk.

And then, unbidden, his recent conversation with her slipped to the forefront of his mind, like a mocking reminder of his own cruelty. He remembered his words—how he had accused her of cheating, mocked her need to “prove” herself in the face of Loeb’s dismissal, in the face of him dismissing her academic struggle as an act of entitlement.

But now, knowing the truth, his words felt like a slap in the face. She had been smart—honor roll, perfect marks, a near-flawless record before Corren destroyed it. She had built herself up from scratch, achieved everything with grit and intelligence, until that one fateful year. That failure, that stain on her record—it hadn’t been her fault. It wasn’t a reflection of her capabilities. It was a scar left by a system that ignored her, failed her, twisted her trauma into a simple narrative of delinquency.

She had been a smart kid, from a good family with her whole future ahead of her. And it hit him, how deeply unjust it all was. How Corren’s cruelty, his manipulation, had set off a chain reaction that left her struggling to prove herself to people like Edward—people who never bothered to see the person beneath the mistake, the real story behind the choices she had been forced to make.

He could feel the anger building, burning hotter now. It was a righteous anger, a rare thing for him to feel for someone, usually so wrapped up in his own ambitions, his own need to stay one step ahead. But now, this fury was laced with something else, something unfamiliar and uncomfortable, something that was triggered by Romy and Romy alone. She was always so cool, so easygoing, so funny, so smart, so resilient.

Edward exhaled sharply, the sound lost in the din of the precinct outside his door. His office was quiet, insulated from the chaotic hum of ringing phones and hurried footsteps, but the silence offered no solace. He dragged a hand through his hair, the motion rough and impatient, before leaning back in his chair. The frame creaked under his weight, a faint, deafening sound.

His neck craned back, gaze fixed on the cracked tiles of the drop ceiling. The sickly fluorescents buzzed above him. But Edward’s focus wasn’t on the room around him—it was on the storm in his mind, each thought louder, vivid, more insistent than the last.

What do I know about her?

The question looped in his head, a desperate attempt to impose order on the chaos of his thoughts. His hands gripped the armrests of his chair as he forced himself to catalog, analyze, understand.

She was young. The kind of youth that felt untouchable, invincible, alive . It irritated him, the ease with which she carried it, the sharp contrast to the weight he felt in his own years.

She was beautiful. Infuriatingly so. A kind of beauty that turned heads, that lingered in someone’s eye long after they’d looked away.

She was clever. Too clever. Quick-witted, sharp, always a step ahead in conversation. He hated how often she disarmed him, how often she made him falter in ways no one else had.

She had been a cheerleader. His research had uncovered this—it felt insignificant then. But now, it fit neatly into the mosaic of her. Confident. Agile. Poised.

She had gone to juvie. That initial information being the catalyst for why he had chosen her—and something now a jarring contrast to the polished veneer she presented. Yet, the more he thought about it, the more it clicked. There was an edge to her, a hardness beneath the surface that could only come from surviving something brutal.

She was in a sorority. Yet another piece of information uncovered in his late-night background check. Offsetting and emblematic of how effortlessly she embodied the roles she played. Student and sister.

She was a sexual assault survivor. The heaviest truth of all. It loomed over the rest, casting shadows on every other detail. It complicated everything—his thoughts, his feelings, his understanding of her. He didn’t want it to matter, but it did. It did.

Edward’s teeth clenched, his head tilting forward now, his gaze boring into the scratched surface of his desk. He couldn’t ignore the weight of these truths, the dissonance between what he thought he knew about her and the reality that had been thrust upon him.

And then the final, damning thought rose to the surface, unbidden and undeniable:

She was perfect.

His lips parted slightly, his breathing shallow as the thought settled, unwelcome and yet immovable. The contradictions, the flaws, the maddening complexity of her—they all added up to something he couldn’t ignore.

Despite all this, despite all this private information, despite this big picture he was piecing together today, why did he feel like he still had no idea who she was?

The precinct’s muffled noise outside seeped back into his awareness: a ringing phone, the clatter of an archaic typewriter one of the old crones insisted on using, the distant hum of voices. He closed his eyes briefly, willing the thoughts to fade, to dissolve into the cacophony outside his door.

But they didn’t.

Edward exhaled, his breath shaky, his pulse loud in his ears.

“Fuck.”

Chapter 4

I used one hand to knock on Nic’s door, holding onto Cassidy’s small hand with my other one. Nic and I had decided to spend the night apart so she could sleep without Cassidy waking her up and I could spend a lazy morning with Cassidy just me and her. The night apart had done little to ease my nerves of introducing Nic to my family, even with the distraction of having a fun dance party night with Cassidy- her choice of course.

She answered the door, wearing jeans, a fitted t-shirt, and a light scarf- an effortlessly sexy look. “Nic!” Cassidy said happily, hugging Nic tight. “It’s Daddy’s birthday!”

“It is!” she agreed patting the top of Cassidy’s head and kissing me. “Happy birthday, handsome.”

“It’s actually in a few days, we’re just celebrating early,” I clarified, my cheeks flushed. “But thanks. Ready to go?” I asked, going up to run my hands through my hair for the millionth time that morning.

“Ash, relax. Today’s gonna be fine.”

“I know,” I nodded, kissing her. “I know. I just… well it’s been awhile since I’ve brought a girl home.”

We made the half hour drive up to my parents, the three of us singing along to the radio to drown out my thoughts. I hadn’t told my family I was bringing Nic. Lauren was the only one who even knew about Nic. And the prospect of introducing them to a girl for the first time since I brought Taylor home all those years ago was a little nerve wracking.

When we pulled off the freeway, Nic turned down the radio. “So, who am I meeting?” she asked.

“My mom, Anne, and my stepdad, Jack. Well, he’s my stepdad. He’s biologically my siblings dad. But he’s Dad. Lauren will be there too, but you already know her. She might bring her boyfriend, Adam, but I’m not sure. And then there’s my brother Harry.” 

“Tell me about them.”

“Uh…” I drummed my fingers against the steering wheel. I looked over at her, her hair blowing in the wind, a smile on her face, and her eyes waiting for an answer. I looked back at the road and slammed on the brakes, my arm shooting out to catch Nic as she fell forward. “You okay, Cass?” I asked, checking in the rearview mirror at Cassidy in her seat.

Cassidy nodded, oblivious to everything around her, lost in her childlike wonder.

“Almost ran that light cuz of you,” I told Nic, half-angry.

“You’re the one who can’t keep his eyes on the road,” she scolded.

“Well, stop being so beautiful.”

“You’re distracting yourself, Ash. Tell me about your family.”

I sighed. “They’re traditional. My mom moved me and her here from Australia after my biological dad left. She worked in a rehab facility for war veterans where she met Jack. He was in the Gulf War. He’s a cop now. They got married. He adopted me. They had Lauren. Then they had Harry.”

“Wow… Is that why you became a cop? Because of your dad?”

I shrugged, “I always thought it was because I liked to read Sherlock Holmes. But, yeah that probably played a part in it, too.”

“Sherlock Holmes was a detective,” Nic pointed out.

I nodded. “Yeah, that’s why I’m a cop. Working my way up to being a detective.”

“Oh, a man with ambitions.” I caught her smile out of the corner of my eye. “So, what else should I know about your parents? Who are they personality wise?”

“My dad is stubborn and rather traditionalist. He’s very much a man’s man. Not very into showing his emotions, but there’s never any doubt what he’s feeling. And he has the biggest soft spot for Cass. My mom is very headstrong, especially when it comes to her family.” I made my way through my old town as I spoke, navigating my way through the streets leading to my parents with a practiced ease.

“So, normal family dynamics.”

“Normal family dynamics,” I agreed, pulling up behind my dad’s car. “Well, this is home,” I told her.

She looked out her window at the house- a simplistic two-story home in the middle of a street filled with other simplistic two-story homes. “This is where you grew up?”

“Yep,” I said, pointing out a window to her, “that’s my bedroom window. Snuck out a lot through there.”

She laughed, “So you were a trouble-maker, huh?”

“I was a good trouble-maker,” I defended, laughing. “I only snuck out the nights they wouldn’t let me take the car. Which was a lot, because I kept sneaking out.” I smiled for a moment at the memories my old house brought to mind. “It was a good place to grow up,” I told her finally. “Ready?”

She nodded and we got out of the truck. I held onto both Cassidy’s and Nic’s hands with either of mine. “Get the door, Cass,” I said.

Cassidy reached up and flung the front door open, calling out, “Nana! Grandad! We’re here!”

“Jack! Cassidy’s here!” I heard my mom say and the creak of the couch as she got up and made her way to us. “Oh, my sweet little Cass!” my mom crooned, bending down to hug Cassidy.

“Hey, Ma,” I said, trying to get her attention.

“What, Ash? Let me say hi to my-” her eyes looked up and fell on Nic. “Ashton Fletcher Irwin! You brought a girl without even mentioning you were seeing one?!” she straightened up and smacked my arm, then, “Jack! Ashton brought home a girl!”

“He always brings a girl home, sweetheart,” Jack said, finally getting up to see what all the fuss was about. “There’s my Cass,” he smiled, picking up his granddaughter. “Oh… Daddy brought a friend, that’s what Nana’s screeching about,” he told her, raising his eyebrows at my hand that was still holding Nic’s. “So, who’s this, Ashton?”

“This is Nic, my girlfriend. Nic, this is my dad, Jack, and my mom, Anne.”

“Pleased to meet you both. Ash’s told me so much about you.”

“Oh, so you can get a girlfriend, but you can’t call home long enough to tell us about her? Ashton,” my mother scolded, smacking me again.

“Ow, geez, Ma. I thought you’d rather meet her. Sorry.”

“Sorry doesn’t erase what you did, Ashton,” she told me, repeating the familiar phase she had told both my siblings and myself anytime we got in trouble. Then, she turned her attention to Nic. “Nic, was it? It’s so good to meet you! Is Ash treating you right? How was the drive? Would you like something to drink? Come, sit, both of you.”

As she ushered us into the living room, Nic answered my mom’s incessant questions, her Southern charm coming out heavily. “It’s nice to meet you too, ma’am. You have a lovely home. Ash’s been nothing but great to me, you raised a good son. The drive was fine, not too much traffic, and Ash’s a very safe driver. I’d love a water. Is there anything I can do to help?”

“I should hope I raised him right, even if he doesn’t call as often as he should. Oh, no sweetie, I can do it. You just sit here with Ash and rest. Harry, your brother’s here!” She reached out and patted my arm, “I like her, Ashton,” she told me.

“I like her too, Ma,” I said, sitting down on the couch, like I always did. “I’ll take a water too, if you’re up.”

“You have legs,” she told me.

“Nana, can I have juice, please?” Cassidy asked, climbing into my dad’s lap.

“Of course you can!” my mom answered, disappearing into the kitchen.

Nic snickered into her hand.

“What?” I asked her. “You wanted to come.”

“Ashton,” she snickered again.

I rolled my eyes and tilted my head back. “You’re one to talk, Nicole I teased.

“How come you never told me ‘Ash’ was short for something?”

I shrugged, “It never came up. Hey, Harry,” I said as Harry stumbled downstairs.

“A girl?” he asked, raising his eyebrows at Nic.

“Yeah, nice to see you too, kid.”

“Yeah, happy birthday, old man. I’m Harry,” he said, offering a hand to Nic.

“Nic,” Nic smiled at him.

“So, Ash, how’s work?” my mom asked, reappearing with water for both Nic and me and a juice box for Cassidy.

I shrugged again, taking the water. “Same old, same old.”

“And how’s daycare, Cass?” she asked.

“It’s fun,” Cassidy said before launching into a long story about her daycare adventures she told anyone who would listen, my mom hanging on to every word.

“You good?” I asked Nic in a whisper, my hand resting on her leg.

She smiled softly at me, “Yeah, your family’s wonderful. Feels like home.”

We sat there for awhile on the couch, Cassidy holding my mom captive with her stories while my brother, dad, Nic, and I paid attention to the game on TV. When Cassidy finally stopped talking to catch her breath, my mom finally cleared her throat. “Nic, would you like to see pictures of Ash?” she asked, getting up and moving for where we kept the photo albums.

“Ma!” I groaned, burying my face in my hands while Harry snickered.

“Oh, I’d love to!” Nic  squealed in delight.

My mom sat next to Nic on the couch and opened up one of the albums. She started telling Nic all my old stories, while Cassidy moved from my dad’s lap to mine to look at the pictures. “This one is when he was born… aw, his first birthday!... that was when Lauren was born, he was protective of her even then,” my mom paused to relive the memory.

“You were so cute, Ash!” Nic told me, squeezing my arm. “Wow, you really care for your sister,” she said pointing at the photo my mom was showing her of me holding Lauren after she had come home from the hospital.

I smiled, looking at the photo. “I did the same with Harry. I take my big brother duties very seriously.”

“Too seriously sometimes. You’re like Dad 2.0,” Harry put in with an eye roll.

“Harry,” both my dad and I said with the same tone of exasperation and warning.

“Point proven,” he sighed with another roll of his eyes.

“You played t-ball?” Nic asked, looking at another photo.

“I told you I played baseball in high school. Gotta start somewhere.”

She continued to scan the pictures of my childhood, which varied from birthday parties, holidays, sport events, school events, and various other snapshots my mom and dad thought worth preserving like me playing guitar or caring for Lauren and Harry. “You wore glasses?!” Nic laughed, fixating on a picture of me in bed, wearing pajamas and glasses, reading a book to Lauren and Harry.

“I wear glasses,” I corrected, “for reading.” I looked at the picture, “I hated that book, but they loved it,” I told her.

“You read me that book sometimes, Daddy,” Cassidy said, looking at the picture.

“I do,” I agreed, hugging her to me. “Auntie Lauren and Uncle Harry were the ones to give you that book.”

“Wow,” Nic smiled, closing the album. “I feel like I’m seeing a whole different side to you.”

I shrugged, “I was a happy kid. No, Mom, not that one,” I said suddenly, seeing the next album my mom had opened- the one I knew contained a lot of pictures of me and Taylor.

Nic got excited, thinking it was more embarrassing photos of me. “Is it high school Ash? Oh, I wanna see! Please, Ash?”

“Please, Daddy?” Cassidy also begged.

They both looked at me so excited and I didn’t have the heart to say no. I sighed, “Alright…”

My mom, Cassidy, and Nic all grinned and then opened the album. The first few pages were similar to the first album, only instead of my face being round with baby fat, I had acne and my face and body started to define themselves more and more with each picture. As they flipped through the school pictures, family get-togethers, and general teenage shenanigans, my acne cleared and my beard started to show. Then, came the senior yearbook photo and I knew Taylor was on the next page. Sure enough, Nic smiled at me and turned the page, revealing a picture of me in a tux, grinning like a damned fool next to Taylor in that stunning green dress at Homecoming, crowns perched on both of our heads. “Is that…?” Nic asked, quietly.

I tried to smile and nodded. “Yep, that’s Taylor. Told ya I was Homecoming King,” I laughed, swallowing the lump in my throat. The last thing I wanted was Nic seeing pictures of me happy with an ex-girlfriend I thought I’d be with forever. And I certainly didn’t need the reminder that I had once proposed to the girl kissing my cheek while I grinned at the camera.

“Who’s that?” Cassidy asked me softly.

I smiled weakly, “That’s Momma.”

Her little face furrowed as her fingers grazed the picture. “How come she’s not here? Doesn’t she want to be a momma?” She turned her head to peer up at me, her big eyes a mix of childhood innocence and a deep questioning that no five year old should ever have.

I pinched the bridge of my nose and took a breath to steady myself. “Cass, we told you about your momma. She’s just really busy,” my mom hurriedly explained.

“Oh…” Cassidy said, seeming to accept the answer.

The mood kinda shifted as we continued to peruse the album with my mom. Nic stopped at one of the few pictures that Taylor wasn’t in and smiled at me, checking if I was okay. “Oh, I like this one,” I told her, looking at it- me on the pitcher’s mound, just seconds after I struck out their batter, ending the game, my face mid-transition from grin to screaming with joy. “We won our state championship game after... What, Dad, 15 innings?”

“18,” my dad corrected. “I remember because we kept joking in the stands that they should’ve charged us all for 2 tickets if we were gonna watch 2 games worth of innings.”

I laughed, “Yeah, that was a hell of a game.”

“It was. But you held your own.”

“I pitched 6 shutout innings,” I explained to Nic. “The 7th through 9th innings and then innings 16, 17, and 18.”

“He was a damn good closing pitcher,” my dad explained proudly.

“Yeah, okay, Dad,” I laughed while Harry scoffed that he was better. “When’s Lauren getting here?” I asked, suddenly realizing that I’d been home for at least an hour and she hadn’t shown up yet.

My dad cocked his head to the side before shrugging. “Soon, I guess.”

Right on cue the front door flew open and I heard Lauren scream, “I’m here!” then a blur of my sister as she ran in the living room, swinging Cassidy up in her arms before placing her back in my lap. “Hey, Nic,” Cassidy said, hugging Nic. “Good to see you again.” Then she went around saying hi to our mom and dad, kissing them on the cheeks, “Hi, Mom. Hi, Daddy. We winning?” she asked, leaning on his armchair. “Sup, Harry.”

“We’re doing our best, baby,” our dad told her while Harry nodded in greeting. “Where’s that boy of yours?”

“Oh, he couldn’t make it, Daddy,” she told him and then stuck her tongue out at me for no reason other than that she could.

I shook my head, laughing softly. “She’s his favorite,” I explained to Nic. “but it’s okay, cuz I’m Mom’s favorite.”

“Where does that leave me?” Harry asked, crossing his arms and pouting.

“I have no favorite children, Ashton. Just a favorite grandchild,” my mother reminded me, smiling softly at Cassidy.

“Yeah, Ashton,” Lauren tormented.

“Don’t you start, Lauren Rose Dawkins. You knew Ashton had a girlfriend and couldn’t be bothered to clue us in?” my mom asked my sister.

“Ha-ha!” I snickered, sticking my own tongue out at her.

“Oh, like she didn’t full name you when you introduced them to Nic?” Lauren shot back.

“Oh, she did,” Nic ratted me out.

“Then she pulled out the photos…” I added, shuddering.

Lauren sucked her air in through her teeth, “Yikes… did you get to the high school ones?”

“Oh, yeah..."

“I like your pictures, Ash,” Nic told me. “You were very handsome.”

“You hear that, Ashy? Were,” Harry and Lauren laughed.

Nic laughed shyly, “You’re still handsome,” she defended.

I smiled at her, “They’re just being jerks. I knew what you meant.”

“Oh!” Lauren said, clapping her hands together. “Has Ash showed you his room, yet, Nic?”

“No, he hasn’t.”

“Come with me, I’ll show ya,” she grinned, taking Nic’s hand and leading her towards the staircase.

Cassidy quickly got off my lap and went after them. “Wait for me!” she yelled.

I hurried after them, praying that my old room didn’t look like how I’d left it when I moved to Seattle nearly 5 years ago. I found the three of them on my old bed, looking around the room. “Wow, I haven’t been here in ages…” Lauren said aloud.

“Good, let’s keep it that way,” I told her, feeling sixteen for a minute.

“So, this is your room?” Nic wondered, standing up to get a better look at the posters on my walls of my favorite bands and sports teams. The corkboard that hung above my desk was still crooked from when I’d torn all the pictures off it in a fit of rage. The small trash can still held them, unharmed, because I had broken down crying when I tried to light them on fire. On my nightstand, a photo was still lying face down. Nic reached out to fix it.

“Leave it!” I said, my voice coming out harsh and sharp. Then, with a much softer tone, “Just leave it, please.”

“Oh… that’s the… shit, sorry, Ash,” Lauren said, getting up. “C’mon, Nic, have you seen the back yard yet?”

“What’s that picture, Daddy?” Cassidy asked, grabbing the frame in her hands.

I sighed and picked her up, sitting on the bed and holding her in my lap. “It’s a picture of me and Momma,” I told her.

“You don’t talk about her.”

“I know.”

“Why?”

“Because it makes me sad.”

“Why?”

I sighed again and patted the space next to me for Nic to sit down with us. “Okay, I’m gonna tell you both a story. Are you ready?”

Cassidy and Nic both nodded. I took a breath and flipped the frame over. In it, I was bent on one knee with a ring in my hand, while Taylor looked at me with her hands over her mouth in shock. “It was Taylor’s sophomore year of college and I had just finished up at the academy. I took Taylor- your momma- on a small vacation between Christmas and New Years. I had a ring, I had a speech, I had her dad’s blessing, all of it. And I proposed to her. I told her that I’d been in love with her since we were five and that I wanted to spend the rest of my life being everything she needed. She said no. Actually, she told me she was pregnant and wasn’t sure she wanted to be a momma.”

“She didn’t want to be a momma?” Cassidy asked, her eyes wide.

“Ash… I had no idea… I thought she…” Nic said, struggling to find words.

“Was dead? Yeah, she’s alive. Just didn’t want to be a mom. But, I really wanted to be a dad,” I said, smiling at Cassidy. “So, I convinced her to go through with it and we had you. Then she signed over her parental rights to me, broke my heart, and left me with a newborn that looked just like her.”

“Wow… Ash… I don’t know what to say…”

“There’s nothing to say. We were young and we had a tough choice to make. We each made the one we thought we could live with best. I don’t regret any of it. I’ve raised Cass with the help of my family. I lived here while I found a job and a place for us. Then I moved to Seattle almost 5 years ago with Cass. Then I met you. So, that’s what happened. And that’s why it’s a touchy subject, and why I don’t talk about it.”

“Thank you for trusting me enough to tell me,” Nic smiled.

I shrugged. “You’re my girlfriend, so you have a right to know about my past, even the ugly bits. And now you know about your momma, Cass,” I said, kissing her head.

“Why didn’t she want me?” she asked, her eyes full of tears as she looked up at me.

I took my thumb and ran it under her eyes, catching the tears. “I don’t know, love. But I know that I wanted you. And that I love you very much.”

“That’s true,” Lauren told Cassidy. “Your daddy loves you lots. Wanna know how I know that?”

“How?!”

“Because your daddy’s a terrible liar,” Lauren said, smiling.

Nic laughed, “Good to know you’re a bad liar.”

“The worst,” I assured, kissing her.

~~~

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