Her room is exactly what I'd expect—organized chaos.
Rodeo ribbons on the wall, stuffed animals from childhood mixed with veterinary textbooks, posters of horses alongside college acceptance letters.
She's caught between being a girl and becoming a woman.
She shouldn't have been forced into womanhood like this.
Grace sits on the edge of her bed, arms wrapped around herself.
She's shivering despite the heat.
I stay near the door, giving her space. "Shiver told me what happened."
She flinches at the words. "Is he... is Bronco really dead?"
"Yeah. He's dead."
"Good." The venom in her voice surprises me. "I hope he rots in hell."
"He will." I'm certain of that.
She looks up at me, and I see the fear in her eyes. The shame. The guilt that she shouldn't be feeling but is anyway. "My dad's going to be so angry."
"At Bronco, yeah."
"No." She shakes her head. "At me. For ruining the deal. For losing the ranch four million dollars. For?—"
"Stop." I can't help it—I move closer, crouching down in front of her so we're eye level. "Grace, listen to me. None of this is your fault. You understand? None of it."
"But—"
"No." My voice is firm. "What he did to you was wrong. It doesn't matter that your dad arranged the marriage. It doesn't matter what his family paid. You don't owe anyone access to your body. Not for any amount of money. Not for any reason."
Tears spill over, and she covers her face with her hands. "Shiver killed him because of me."
"Shiver killed him because he deserved to die."
"Dad's going to find out. He's going to know I?—"
"He's not." I reach out slowly, giving her time to pull away, and take her hands in mine. They're ice cold. "Shiver is taking the heat for this. He won’t say a word."
She stares at our joined hands. "Why would he do that, and why would you go along with it?"
Because above all things, Shiver loves his baby sister.
I'm not entirely sure how to answer.
Because I've been watching you for years, even when I shouldn't have been.
Because you're Phantom's daughter and off-limits, but that never stopped me from noticing you.
Because you're eighteen and I'm thirty-eight and I have no business feeling protective of you the way I do.
Because tonight, knowing what happened to you, something inside me cracked.
"Because you deserve to heal in peace," I say instead. "Because what happened to you was traumatic enough without having to explain it to your father and the whole club."
She studies my face in the dim light from her bedside lamp. "Shiver made me promise something."
