I stood there like an island as his regret and confusion waked around my ankles. His utter devastation undermined my anger, but I refused to break.
It was his turn to grovel. His turn to show me light in this never-ending blackness.
I’d tried to help him so many times. I’d made excuses for him. Trusted in the stolen touches and bone-deep knowledge that he loved me. I’d begged himto let me in. To love him. To cherish everything he was—even his secrets.
But he’d pushed and shoved and hurt me so damn much. And no matter how badly he treated me, I couldn’t tear out the love I had for him. He was a confused, cruel, crippled human being who wasn’t good for me.
My anger switched to sadness. If he couldn’t even give me this—when I was at my most violent and open—he couldn’t give me anything.
Just let him go. End this charade.
I sighed, taking a step backward. “Go. Just leave.”
His spine stiffened as he glared at the wall.
Tears ran down my face as I stared at the cold animal I’d given my heart to. The icy fear that I’d been abused by Daniel and Cut filled my mind. Was that why Kestrel had drugged me? So I wouldn’t have to live through something so heinous? Had he done it out of concern for my wellbeing?
Would Jethro ever do something so heroic?
He gritted his teeth, finally looking at me. “I’m supposed to tell you that my father raped you and my youngest brother degraded you to the point of ruin. I’m supposed to stand here and fill your vacant memories with pain and evil abuse.”
He took a step toward me.
My skin crawled at the thought of him coming closer.
“But, no matter how this will backfire, no matter if my plan fails and everything I’ve tried to avoid comes into play, I can’t—I can’t do that to you.” His eyes were wild and dilated, thanks to drugs and liquor. “Nila, I swear on my fucking life, no one touched you. Kestrel knocked you out, so we could do what we needed behind the scenes.” He punched his chest. “But I give you my word as a Hawk that the only person who touched you was me.” His eyes fell on my nightgown. “I dressed you, kissed you, put you to bed. And then I curled up on the floor to ward off any more arseholes. Even though I’ve proven I’m not worthy, even though you hate me—as you should—I couldn’t live with myself if I told you a lie on top of all the others.”
A sob wrenched through my chest.
Oh, thank God.
Thank, thankGod.
They hadn’t touched me.
I almost puddled to the floor in relief. But the complications in those sentences—the truth, the distress—forced me to keep pushing, keep talking. How could he take my anger and twist it so inexplicably? How could he warm my hate so it boomeranged back on me and made me crumble?
Wrapping my arms around myself, I took a step closer. My need to hurt him hadn’t receded but beneath my violent rage, there was the incessant urge to hug him, touch him—fix both of us.
He shied away. “Don’t.” His voice was strangled—a sharp warning to keep my distance.
We stood apart. Two figurines in an emerald sea of carpeting. The air was cool, coaxing my temper to simmer. Not being allowed to touch was torture. I couldn’t deny myself the need to connect—either to strike him or stroke him, it didn’t matter.
Ignoring his beg for space, I closed the gap and touched the back of his arm. My eyes flared at how hot he was—how unnaturally warm for his normal frigid form. “Thank you for finally being honest.”
I swallowed. “You can’t keep fighting. Whatever it is you’re going through. Whatever reason that’s making you take drugs and obey the vilest man in history, you have to stop.” My voice lowered. “You’ll end up killing yourself if you don’t get help.”
He tumbled backward, his voice raspy and low. “You can’t help me. Nobody can.”
“Don’t be a cliché, Jethro.Everyonecan be helped.”
He snorted, pain layering upon pain.
I hugged myself again, trembling and quaking, struggling with the thick tension in the room. “Tell me and I give you my word I’ll listen.”
What are you doing?
“If you tell me the truth, I won’t judge. I’ll stay quiet and withhold judgement until everything makes sense.”
