I know this firsthand because that night was the first time in a long time that I felt safe. Protected. It was the first time I felt whole.
Grayson balks, surprised, then slowly nods. “Okay. Thanks, Mace.”
I smile, but inside, I brace myself for heartbreak. I’m praying my heart won’t be utterly annihilated. How could it be when I’m breaking it for the greater good? That should be an automatic grant of reprieve.
Furthermore, I’m not pulling back because I believe I deserve better. It is because I know Grayson does.
Though I’m not convinced Cameron deserves him, either.
Ugh!Why did all this have to happen now, while I’m heavily pregnant and overrun with hormones? I’d have a better chanceof making sense of everything if I could take my emotions out of the equation.
I should look at this case as a seasoned agent, not a lovestruck woman who’s hoping karma will reward her for her sacrifices. It’s just hard when you’ve always believed karma is the balance sheet of all the good and evil you’ve done.
Grayson was the good that came from my sister’s abduction, and now I’m close to losing him forever.
Needing time to process everything, I fake a yawn. “I should probably go to bed. It’s been a long day, and I’m exhausted.”
“I’ll do that,” Grayson says when I place my plate into the dishwasher.
I can’t look at him, so I keep my chin tucked into my chest while murmuring, “Night.”
It feels like the earth circles the sun a hundred times before he eventually replies, “Night, freckles.”
30
GRAYSON
After flashing me a tired smile, Macy leaves the kitchen as if she’s about to snuggle under the sheets and get a solid eight hours. I know better. She has no plans of sleeping. Don’t get me wrong. She looks exhausted, but I don’t see sleep pulling her into subconsciousness anytime soon. Not after the day she’s had.
I watch her go, the soft pad of her footsteps fading down the hall. The kitchen feels immediately suffocating without her in it, as if something has sucked the life out of it.
It feels dead.
After scraping our plates and stacking the dishwasher, I concentrate on the mountain of new evidence Crew gifted us. Despite my efforts, my mind continually drifts to Macy. I hate the way her shoulders slumped the more distance she placed between us, and how her smile didn’t reach her eyes. She’s hurting, and although I wish it weren’t true, I’m the cause of her pain.
Her eyes hold the same hurt mine did when I stood outside Cameron’s apartment and heard her move around inside but notanswer my request for entrance. It was a hollow, empty ache that made me feel helpless.
But this—this is worse.
At least with Cameron, I can tell myself that she’s protecting her family. But with Macy, I only have myself to blame. I’m breaking her heart, piece by piece, every time I place Cameron first.
I wish I could stop doing that, but I can’t. I have obligations to Cameron that I can’t simply brush off. I made them before I even knew who Macy was.
After what my father did, I owe more to Cameron than I do to Macy. Giving her closure, and perhaps even a second chance, is the appropriate thing to do.
But then why does it feel so fucking wrong?
When I stood outside Cameron’s apartment, knocking, it felt like I was betraying Macy—even with having no clue what the fuck we are. I haven’t contemplated loving someone in seventeen years, and I wasn’t even an adult when I shut down the idea of moving on, so I can’t confidently declare that’s what I felt for Cameron.
I cared for her—a lot—but love? Was it that? Or did her abduction blur the truth like it did the particulars of her file? I painted her a picture of perfection, but that was far from the truth. For most of our three months, our relationship was volatile and horribly one-sided. What Cameron said went. No questions asked.
Although I now better understand my father’s decision, I’m still angry. He could have saved me years of misery if he had been honest. But then I guess it could be worse. I could be in jail, and women like Katie Bryne would still be missing.
I have no fucking clue where I go from here, but I’m confident I can’t fix what’s broken tonight. I can only continuemoving forward, one foot in front of the other, and hope that eventually I will emerge from the fog.
The quickest route to clarity is directly in front of me.
After plonking my ass into the seat Macy vacated, I pull Kendall’s file closer and flip through the pages until I find the photo I’m looking for. It’s a picture of Macy and Kendall taken six months before Kendall’s abduction. They’re both grinning at the camera with their arms around each other. You can’t deny that they’re sisters. They have the same eyes, and the stubborn tilt of their chins is identical.
