Page 81 of Shatter

"I kind of love the picture," I reply. Because I do. So much so that I made it my phone's lock screen image. But I sober. "Are you okay? The comments about you were the worst." I hate how shallow and judgemental the public can be.

He gives a dismissive huff. "I couldn't care less." And I can imagine exactly the face he's making right now. "When are you coming home?" he asks and my heart flips in my chest.

Home.

Because his condo isn't my home - he is.

I fall back onto my bed, kicking my feet up towards the ceiling.

"I was thinking about that, actually. What do you think about moving to the suburbs? A little place with a lawn? Maybe a kid or two down the road?"

Now that my freedom is so close I can practically taste it, I feel comfortable talking with him about the future. About what I want; about what he wants.

"Cassidy lives in a nice neighborhood with Elijah. Small yards, but enough to toss a ball around."

His reply makes my cheeks hurt with how much I'm smiling.

"Will you ever tell me 'no'?" I tease.

"Not if I can help it. I'm a smart man."

"When I get my money back, can we start looking for a house to buy?"

"Or we can look now. I have enough to buy you whatever you want."

I shake my head. "No. I want to be in this with you - show you I'm committed just as much as you are."

"Babies?"

"Two or three?"

Even though we're separated by a few dozen city blocks, I feel closer to him than I ever have. We chat for the next hour easily, about Cass and Elijah, about Declan and Daniel, about The Envelope and our future.

"I have two more things I want to do before this is over. Is that okay?" I ask, nerves suddenly invading my stomach.

"Of course, Little Bird. Whatever you need."

"You'll wait for me? I don't know how long it'll take..."

"I'll wait forever for you."

"I'm going to need your help with one of them..."

"Have I ever told you 'no'?"

"No. Because you're a smart man," I tease back. "I love you," I whisper, the words only for his ears.

"I love you, too."

Chapter forty-four

Harrison

"Ineed a favor," I say to Mathew Richardson, Esquire. Also known as the morally gray lawyer the mafia sometimes uses.

He rubs his hands together eagerly. We're at The Envelope the next night. Matty helped us grease some palms to speed along the permitting when we were opening The Envelope, so we maintain underground connections for cases just like this.

"I love dealing in favors." He rubs his hands together like an exaggerated villain. "What's it this time?"