“Let’s go,” he whispers. No one tries to stop them as he guides her out of the room, but just before they disappear from view, Jordan pauses.
“I’ll send the files,” she says, wiping away tears that don’t move me at all. “They’ll be in your inbox before the end of the night.”
“Great.”
“And Selene?” I arch a brow, urging her to continue. “For whatever it’s worth, I’m sorry.”
A bitter laugh breaks the tension in the room. “Oh, Jordan. Your apology isn’t worth a God damn thing to me.”
28
CAL
Jordan sends the files an hour after she and Sam leave.
They were just as extensive as she said they were, but no one had the energy to go through them after everything we’d learned. Beck and I cleaned up the aftermath of Selene’s emotional destruction, Monique took her into the living room, holding her on the couch while her wails filled every crevice of the vast space.
She cried for hours. Monique cried with her, sobbing the way someone only can when they’ve lost what you’ve lost, when they hurt how you hurt, when their heart knows how to read the map of your pain. I’ve shed tears for Beck that way, wrapped him in my arms the way Monique did for Selene, cradled him like a baby and rocked him like one too.
I wanted to be able to do that for her as well, and the same desire rolled off Beck as the minutes ticked by. I was proud of the way we held it together. The way we sat and watched and waited, witnessing pain we couldn’t be a part of soothing until we carried her to bed and crushed her sadness with our love. Slashed her doubts with our reassurances. Ripped the blame she was trying to carry out of her hands and replaced it with acceptance.
Hopefully, it was enough.
“When do you think they’ll be up?” Beck asks, sitting a cup of freshly brewed coffee beside me. We’ve been up since six, going through the files Jordan sent and taking notes because neither one of us could sleep. Selene left the bed when we did, but she headed straight to Monique’s room. It’s almost two in the afternoon, and I haven’t heard so much as a peep from either of them.
No footsteps overhead.
No soft murmurs.
No sobs either, which is a good thing.
I take a long sip of the steaming liquid. “I don’t know.”
“Should we wake them? I mean, they’ve got to eat.”
“They’ll eat when they get up, Beck.”
His leg bounces, the scent of his anxiety curling in the air. “Selene threw up her dinner. She’s probably starving.”
“Beckham.”
It’s a gentle warning accompanied by the presence of my hand on his thigh. Onyx eyes fly to mine, glazed with regretful tears. “I hate that we were right,” he whispers.
Months have passed since we first floated the idea of Aubrey’s involvement with Selene’s kidnapping and AJ’s death. She refused to consider it, even going so far as storming out of the room to avoid having the conversation. We didn’t bring it up again, but every time we uncovered a new piece of information, I braced myself for it to lead back to that theory. When so much time went by without it happening, I started to hope we were wrong, even though I knew we weren’t.
“Me too.”
Beck covers my hand with his, fingertips kissing the inside of my palm when he turns it into something of an embrace. “I can’t believe she thinks this is somehow her fault.”
“That’s just the guilt talking. You, better than anyone, should understand that.”
“I do, it’s just hard to…” he trails off, searching for words to convey a thought that’s echoed in my mind at least once a day for years.
For as long as I’ve known him, I’ve watched Beck carry the same weight Selene started to shoulder last night, loving him through that pain makes me feel more equipped to care for her as she navigates it. It’s still scary, though. Knowing that there’s hurt inside of someone your love might not be able to touch. I have to keep reminding myself that it touched Beck’s. That it broke down walls and watered gardens left for dead long ago. And if it did it before, it can certainly do it again.
This time the process will move faster because I’m not the only one working toward the goal. Beck is right beside me, pushing love and understanding, dismantling harmful beliefs, meeting every what if with the gentle reminders of what was and what will be.
“See someone you love blame themselves for something that was completely out of their control?” I ask, finishing the sentence he abandoned with an arch of my brow that says ‘welcome to my world’.
