“Because...” Because he didn’t deserve to be in front of those cameras any longer. She of all people should understand that. “Why are you being so nice to me?”
She shrugged and then started to walk again. “How am I supposed to act around you?”
“Like you hate me.”
“Should I hate you?”
He inwardly groaned. Why did she have to keep turning things around on him? “It’s not for me to say how you should feel. It’s just that if circumstances were reversed, I’d probably act more like your father.”
“And what has that accomplished? He has broken the law and has his daughter bailing him out.”
Deacon really wanted to understand her. “So you think by taking the high road that you’ll accomplish more?”
“Such as you telling me what happened the night my aunt died?”
“There it is.” He stopped next to an outcropping of rocks. “I knew that’s why you dragged me out here. You wanted to get me someplace where you could interrogate me.”
“That’s not true. I didn’t drag you out here—”
“But you can’t deny that you didn’t think about questioning me. You were hoping to wear me down into a confession.”
Her gaze searched his. “Do you have something you need to confess?”
He should turn and leave. That’s what he’d do if he were thinking clearly. That’s what his attorney would advise him to do.
But his feet wouldn’t cooperate. He stood there staring into Gabrielle’s eyes and could only imagine the pain that she’d been through. And the not knowing, well, he knew all about that. Much too well.
He swallowed hard. “If I told you, you wouldn’t believe me.”
“Try me.”
He wanted to trust her. He wanted to believe that whatever he said would stay between the two of them. But he hardly knew her. And right now, he could count on one hand how many people he trusted.
Instead he turned and climbed up on the rocks. He made his way to a large boulder on the water’s edge. He sat down, letting the sea breeze fan his face, and hoped the lulling sound of the ocean would ease the storm raging inside him.
He sat there for the longest time, trying to get his thoughts in order. By then the sun had sunk below the horizon. It was an overcast night with the moon peeking out here and there. Deacon found comfort in the long, dark shadows. He glanced around and found that Gabrielle hadn’t left. Instead, she was sitting just a few feet away. She was too far away in the dark to make out her face. As she sat there with her knees drawn up to her chest, he couldn’t help but wonder what she was thinking. He hated the thought that he continued to cause her pain. But nothing he could say would fix things.
“If you’re waiting for a confession, you’re wasting your time.” He turned back to the ocean.
Gabrielle moved to settle on the rock next to him. “Is that because you didn’t cause the accident?”
Why was he holding back? So what if she didn’t believe him. Once he said it, it would be out there. Perhaps she’d believe him. Perhaps she wouldn’t. But it was time he told the truth.
“I don’t remember.” Somehow it was easier having this conversation under the shelter of darkness.
“What don’t you remember?”
“The accident.” He could feel her intense stare.
“What part don’t you remember?”
“All of it. They called it retrograde amnesia or some such thing.”
“That’s pretty convenient.” She said it as a fact.
He turned to her and now that she was closer, he could make out the disbelief written on her face. “Actually, it isn’t. I want to remember the accident as bad as you need me to remember. I need to know what I’ve done.” His voice cracked. “I—I need to know if I’m responsible.”
For a moment, Gabrielle didn’t say anything. “So you’re not holding out and trying to bury the events?”