Chapter 122

~ Clinton ~

I really wanted to investigate the case, even after Franklin had practically ordered me to back down. The pull was magnetic—every instinct in me screamed to dig deeper, to chase the shadows surrounding Octavia’s accident before they swallowed everything whole. But I had to listen to him. Not out of some sudden loyalty, but because I needed to know what plan he had up his sleeve. If it was truly better than mine, if it offered even a sliver of real progress, then maybe stepping aside was the smarter move. For now. Away from that tangled mess, my thoughts drifted to something warmer, something that still made sense in this chaotic world: Trudy. Or rather, Annie-bell, as I’d always called her. I had wired Trudy some money a few days earlier for her transport fare to make it to Annie’s graduation party, and she’d traveled without a hitch. We’d spoken briefly yesterday, right after the ceremony, and telling Trudy that I sent a gift to Annie. Though I hadn’t revealed what it was. By now, it should have arrived safely at her door.

I decided to call her again. The phone rang only a couple of times before she picked up, her voice bursting through like a ray of sunlight cutting through storm clouds. "Hey, Clint!"

"Annie-bell," I replied, a genuine smile tugging at my lips for the first time in days. Just hearing her lifted the weight from my shoulders. "That cheerful tone tells me you’ve already gotten my gift."

"Yes! Got it this morning," she said, excitement bubbling over. "A MacBook? Clint, how incredibly thoughtful of you. It’s perfect—sleek, powerful, exactly what I need to start building my portfolio properly."

"So that means you like it?" I asked, leaning back against the couch in my apartment, the city lights of New York twinkling beyond the window like distant stars.

"Like it? That’s an understatement. I love it!" she exclaimed, and I could practically see her grinning on the other end, that infectious energy of hers lighting up the room wherever she was.

"I’m glad you do," I told her, warmth spreading through my chest. "I figured it would help kickstart that art studio dream of yours."

"It’s such a surprise gift, and I’m over the moon because I love surprises—well, the good ones, anyway," she babbled on, her words tumbling out in that familiar, endearing rush. I understood every syllable; it was like no time had passed between us at all. "I’m really glad you love it," I said softly, savoring the moment.

"Yeah," she agreed, then shifted gears. "I called your mom yesterday during the graduation party. I wanted to speak with you directly, but she said you were swamped with everything. How was it? Tell me everything."

"Oh, well... honestly?" She paused, and I heard her take a breath, as if replaying the day. "It was stressful and hectic—crowds, speeches, the whole whirlwind—but at the end of it all, it was amazing. I’m so glad I’m finally done with art school. It feels like I can breathe again."

"Yeah, and now the real adventure begins: planning your future," I said, proud of her in a way that ran deeper than words.

"Exactly. First up is launching my art business and opening my own studio," she declared, determination ringing clear in her voice.

"That’s good. Really good," I encouraged. "Where are you thinking?"

"I want to come back to New York," she said without hesitation. "It’s where my heart is. That’s where I’ll open the studio—right in the heart of the city, surrounded by the energy that inspires me."

"Your mother mentioned something like that to me," I replied, nodding even though she couldn’t see it.

"And what do you think?" she asked, a hint of vulnerability creeping in. "Is that what you want, Clint?"

"Of course that’s what I want, Annie," I said, my voice steady and sincere. "I miss you. More than you know." 𝒻𝘳ℯℯ𝑤ℯ𝒷𝘯ℴ𝓋ℯ𝘭.𝑐ℴ𝑚

"Aww," she cooed sweetly, and I laughed, the sound genuine and light.

"I miss you too," she added. "Don’t worry—when I come back, we’re going to spend so much more time together. Catch up on everything we’ve missed. It’s been... what, ten or eleven years since I was last in New York?"

"It’s pushing twelve years now," I corrected gently. "You and Ayanna both."

"Damn, that’s a long time ago," she murmured, the weight of those years settling between us for a beat.

"Indeed it is," I chuckled, though the nostalgia hit harder than I expected. "How’s your sister, by the way? I heard she’s engaged."

"Yeah, she’s doing great. She and her fiancé are solid—they’ll be getting married soon," Annie said, her tone brightening again.

"How soon?" I narrowed my eyes playfully, though curiosity was real.

"Soon, soon," she replied with a chuckle. "She hasn’t picked a date yet. She’s talking about a winter wedding, which is ridiculous, right?"

"Won’t she feel cold if she picks that?" I asked, imagining the scene.

"Won’t we all feel cold?" she shot back, laughing. "True, but hey—it’s her wedding. She and her husband-to-be can pick whatever date suits them."

"I told her to pick June," Annie added dryly.

"But you aren’t the one getting married," I said, feigning confusion just to tease her.

"I know," she sighed dramatically. "At least I’m giving her good advice."

"Annie-bell... you’ve never changed," I chuckled, the familiar banter wrapping around me like an old, comfortable coat. At least her company was keeping the darker thoughts at bay—the investigation, the threats, the endless what-ifs gnawing at the edges of my mind.

"Of course I haven’t," she laughed along with me. "So, when will you be coming back to New York?"

"In a few months," she said. "But if I change my mind and decide to come sooner, you’ll be the first to know."

"Cool. Can’t wait to see you," I told her, meaning every word.

"Yeah, me too," she replied softly.

"So, how’s your mother?" I asked, shifting the conversation.

"She’s fine. She’s staying at my apartment right now," Annie said.

"If she’s at your apartment, where are you?" I asked, raising an eyebrow.

"I went out with some friends—we’re hanging out at this amazing restaurant. I’m still here, actually," she explained, the ambient clatter of dishes and laughter faint in the background.

"Hope you’re having a good time."

"Yeah, I am. The dishes here are top-notch. Have you ever tried New Orleans snacks like beignets? Or the classics — roux, jambalaya, even gumbo?"

"Uh... they sound foreign to me," I admitted with a grin.

"So I’ll take that as a no," she said slowly, teasing.

"Those are strictly Louisiana dishes," I pointed out.

"True, but the recipes have spread around the world," she countered. "You could make them yourself—my mom taught you how to cook, remember?"

"True," I nodded, smiling at the memory.

There was a short, comfortable pause before she asked, "I forgot to ask—what about your dad? How’s he doing?"

For a moment, the question jolted me. I almost forgot who she meant; my father had become little more than a forgotten shadow, a Chapter I preferred to leave closed, especially after the way we’d parted. "He’s doing fine, Annie," I said evenly, keeping the bitterness locked away.

"Okay," she replied, sensing the shift but not pressing.

In the background, someone called her name, and she spoke up quickly. "I’ve got to go, Clint. I want to showcase my portfolio to the owner of this café—she’s a friend and might have some connections."

"Oh, okay. I’m glad I got to hear from you, Annie-bell," I said, warmth lingering in my chest.

"Me too. We’ll talk later, okay?"

"Okay. Bye."

"Bye!" she said cheerfully, and the call ended. I sat there for a long moment, feeling happy and genuinely proud of her—of everything she’d accomplished despite the years apart. It was a rare bright spot in the storm.

Later that evening, back in my apartment with the city humming below, my phone rang again. This time, it was Franklin. A surprise I hadn’t expected.

"Thought you’d never call me, since I’m still your enemy," I said dryly as I answered.

"You still are," his voice came through, sharp but controlled. "Listen, I’ve already hired a private investigator to handle the case. You’re officially off the hook."

"So you really don’t want my help," I scoffed, irritation flaring instantly.

"You’ve helped enough," he replied firmly. "Leave it to my PI now. I don’t want any complications. It’s better if you stay out of this entirely, Harrington."

"What if I don’t?" I challenged, my grip tightening on the phone.

"Then I’ll take you to court," he said without hesitation. "She’s my wife, and it’s my duty to protect her and assist with her condition. Don’t test me."

I sighed heavily, gritting my teeth until my jaw ached. "Fine," I muttered. "I’ll stay out of it."

"Thank you," Franklin said, and the line went dead.

I sighed again, running both hands through my hair in frustration. Who the hell did he think he was? The nerve of him, issuing orders like he owned the truth. I headed to the kitchen, the cool tile under my feet doing nothing to calm the fire inside. Grabbing a bottle of bourbon from the cabinet, I poured a generous glass and took a long swing, the liquid burning a path down my throat. After a few more shots, I set the glass down with a clink, staring at the amber glow.

"Maybe I will stay out of it," I muttered, taking another swing. The warmth spread, but it didn’t dull the edge. "Or maybe not." I poured one more, thoughts swirling with the next step—what to do, who to trust, and how far I was willing to push before everything shattered. The investigation wasn’t over for me. Not by a long shot.