I tell her about that day in the basement with Rita. I'm hesitant at first, but then I don't spare her any details. I tell it to her like I told the doctor. And, just like Dr. Libby, my Libby can't believe it.
“You wouldn't do that. Not without a reason.” And I can see it in her eyes that she knows I had a reason. I know she must, because she listened to my phone call with my dad, and it's not hard to deduce.
“She treated you badly, didn't she?”
“She wasn't good to me,” I hedge.
“She was abusive,” Libby whispers.
I shrug. “If you ask my father, he'll tell you I antagonized her all the time.”
“Well that's bullshit!”
“How can you be so sure?” Even I don't know half of the time. Not after hearing for so long that it was my fault.
“Because you didn’t mean to kill her, for one!”
I open my mouth, but I’m not sure what to say.
A shadow crosses Libby’s face. “You didn’t, did you?”
The other Libby asked me the same thing, and the answer to that question is what’s tormented me all these years. Did I intend to kill her? Did I think to myself, “Time to kill Rita!”? No. But the relief that I felt… Sometimes it’s easy to forget it was an accident.
Libby clears her throat, and she has my attention again. I can tell from her face I’ve been silent for too long. “Hunter?”
I shake my head. “No.” Even with my f**ked up point of view, I know that's the appropriate answer. I didn't set out to hurt her.
“Were you ever charged?”
I shake my head. “There was no chance. My father kept that shit quiet. Covered it up, even. Bought people off. Tried to get the coroner's report changed. He did get it changed. That’s a big part of the problem. He was in the middle of a tough race, and he thought the truth would be too distracting.” I chuckle sourly as I consider what I’m going to say next. “In the end, Rita’s death and our family’s story of loss is probably what won him the election.”
“So he never called it what it was? He acted like it was your fault?”
“He thought it was,” I tell her bitterly.
“Hunter, that's just not true. You don't have her blood on your hands.” Her voice drops. “She has yours.”
I shrug. I’ve told myself that before, but to little effect.
“Here’s something I don’t get,” Libby says. “Those files from your talks with Dr. Bernard should be inadmissible. Right? They were stolen.”
This is also true, although the files could certainly point the FBI in the direction of the people who were paid. Probably did, if what Dave told Marchant can be believed. The information, which will surely be leaked, will cause a big stink for my family—my father in particular. But, “Even if I don’t face any legal consequences from that incident, and from my father's cover-up of it, in the court of public opinion about Sarabelle, I’m pretty f**ked.”
“But there must be some way—”
I sit up straighter and lean my head back against the foyer wall. “There's too much we don't know. All we have pertaining to Sarabelle is a bunch of phone recordings of our villains talking in code. Lockwood—Gunn—if he has a place down in San Luis, our guy's never seen it. And Sarabelle was found in a damn ditch, not sold into Mexico.
“I know.” Her eyes glisten with tears. “But Hunter, we have to try.”
“And wait and see how long it takes them to drag out more of my story? The part about how Rita liked to hit me? The world already knows my mother was an escort. The media is having a f**king field day with all my 'Mommy issues'. You know what it will be like when it comes out that I killed my goddamned child-abusing stepmother.”
“You didn’t kill her!”
I shrug. “It makes no difference to them.”
“What do Dr. Bernard's notes even say? I’ve been to enough shrinks with my mom to know she probably didn’t write HUNTER IS A MURDERER in red caps.”
That’s true. I have no idea what’s in those files. Libby Bernard hadn’t looked at them in seven or eight years, she said. But it doesn’t matter. “I don’t know, but that’s not the point. I think the FBI already knows about the cover up, which sure as shit makes me look guilty. Even if they don't, in the court of public opinion, I’m f**ked. And when I get charged for Sarabelle’s murder, I’m doubly so.”
“So we have to set the record straight,” she says. “We have to try. Please try. Please.” She kisses my mouth, and I can't help groaning. “Libby. You're so good.”
“You are.”
She's tugging at my gym shorts, and all of a sudden I'm hard as f**king rock and aching for her. I sweep her hair out of her face and press my palms against her warm cheeks. “Libby, are you sure?”
She knows what I’m asking, and she leans in closer for a kiss. As I lap into her sweet, warm mouth, I realize I just told her. I just told her everything. My eyes flip open and I squeeze her shoulder. “You don't care? What I told you—it doesn't...change anything?”
“Hell yeah, it changes things. It makes me want to kill your father, but that’s about it.”
I let out a long breath, and she shakes her head. “I’m so made for you, that you had to go through that. That you still are.” She leans her head against my cheek. “But does it change my feelings for you? No.”
That's all I need to hear. I swoop her up, throw her over my shoulder, and stomp to the bedroom doing my cave man impression. She’s trying to grab my ass and giggling as I spank hers. I carry her to the green room—it’s clean, this time—and toss her on the pillow-stacked bed. I climb up after her and tug her shirt over her head.
“I think it's time to cash that check.”
“Yes, please,” she gasps.
My c**k twitches as my gaze rakes her shirtless body, and I bend over and start to work her bra. “Is this okay?” I murmur between our kisses.
“Oh yes.” She leans up, kissing my throat as her warm hands pulls my shorts down, and when my dick springs out, I swear to God she actually shivers.
“Oh...Hunter. I want you so badly.”
“You can have me. But I want to taste you first.”
*
~ELIZABETH~
His eyes are molten as he crawls over my limp body and pinches my nipple in between his teeth. “Oh,” I moan. “Hunter!”