“Leave my dad out of it,” he snapped.
“I did leave him out of it,” she shot back. “Did you miss the fact that I never once mentioned your family’s involvement? CBC is pissed that I ‘forgot’ that part, but I would never do that to you.”
He snorted. “Right. Because you clearly have a moral compass.”
Her hand found his arm. “Luc, you’re the one that’s been telling me all along that you weren’t a saint. I’m not saying that I didn’t act selfishly. I did, and I’ll spend the rest of my life hating myself for it, but we set out to show the full picture of being a cop, and we did.”
“I can’t wait to get my gold star in the mail,” he muttered, shaking off her hand.
Her fingers came right back, wrapping firmly around his wrist and pulling him around. He let her.
“You’re a good cop, Luc. You didn’t do anything wrong. You know it, I know it, and the people that matter know it.”
She released him long enough to go to her purse, which she’d left by the door, and came back with a small recorder. She handed it to him.
“What’s this?”
“It’s the audio of the video Mihail helped me record before I came here.”
He looked at her. “Sum it up for me.”
Ava licked her lips. “It’ll be the follow-up to the interview, in case CBC…twists things. In it, I explain everything I just told you. That neither Beverly Jensen, nor Shayna Johnson’s parents, nor any law enforcement officers find fault with anything that you do.”
He rolled his eyes, tossing the recorder aside, but she pressed on, her voice louder, stronger.
“I’ve already called contacts at competing networks that will air it, Luc. It’ll set the record straight. It’ll show the viewers what took me way too long to understand. That you’re America’s Hero not because of your acts, but because of your heart. That you’d be less of a hero if you didn’t beat yourself up every day for the death of a friend and a little girl. I tell them that—”
He closed his eyes. “Get out, Ava.”
“But—”
“Out!”
“Don’t you understand what I’m trying to tell you?” she asked. “I’m trying to tell you I—”
“It doesn’t matter!” he yelled with a wild wave of his arm. “What did you think was going to happen, that you’d apologize and in a few months we’ll be curled up on the couch, watching your stupid TV series while planning our wedding? Fat fucking chance.”
Her eyes filled with tears, and he fisted his hand so he didn’t reach for her.
“There’s no future for us, Ava. I showed up today for you, yes. I care about you and wanted you to get what you’d sought so desperately to achieve. But that’s as far as we go.”
“But I said I was wrong—”
He held up a hand. “Don’t. We’re both getting what we want. You can still go be a superstar journalist. Go get your damned Pulitzer Prize, or whatever.”
“And you? What will you get?”
Luc moved toward his front door, opening it as he picked up her purse and held it out to her.
“Solitude.”
Ava gracefully took her purse out of his hand, chin held high as she accepted her banishment. “You’re being an ass, you know that, right?”
Luc shrugged. Don’t care.
Her eyes continued to hold his. “I love you. You know that too, right?”
Her soft-spoken words did something dangerous in the vicinity of his heart, and once again, he almost reached for her. Almost.
“I can’t, Sims. I can’t.”
She pressed her lips together and nodded once.
Then she walked away.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
I look horrible in coral,” Ava said, staring at her reflection.
Beth came up beside her, radiant in her wedding dress. She wrapped an arm around Ava’s waist. “You do, kind of.”