“Pop it in and find out,” I dared, notching my head toward the player.
She smirked, accepting the challenge, and when “Girlfight” by Brooke Valentine started playing, she held her laugh for all of two seconds before it burst from her lips.
“What?” I defended. “This shit is hype!”
She laughed harder, and then her eyes snagged on another CD in the album. She wordlessly pulled it from the case and swapped it out with the one playing.
As soon as the first song began, I knew which mix she’d picked.
“Open Your Eyes” by Snow Patrol hummed over my speakers, the familiar, rhythmic guitar strums echoing in my chest the way they always did.
“Her,” Ariana said, reciting the word I’d scribbled in Sharpie across the top of that CD the day I’d burned it. Her eyes lingered on mine, and I shrugged.
“One guess who she is.”
Ariana’s throat constricted, her gaze falling to the floor between us, and then she wordlessly moved over to the couch and sat. She dropped the burner phone on the couch cushion before immediately folding her hands into her lap, wringing them together as her knuckles turned white. She was dressed in satin pink pajamas, her feet bare, face shining from what I assumed was her nightly skincare routine.
The sight of her like that sucker punched me, because I felt robbed. I could have lived my entire lifetime with that sight, with her climbing into bed next to me and kissing me before settling in to read her book while I fell asleep beside her. I could have woken to her each morning, could have held her against me and felt her warmth.
I’d been a fool to leave her under the pretense of protection. A young, stupid fool.
I quietly sat next to her as Snow Patrol serenaded us, and for a while, I let her stay silent. Then, I reached over, peeling her hands apart so I could slide my palm into hers and thread our fingers together. We both closed our eyes when I did, like we were spiraling back to the first time I’d ever grabbed her hand.
“I know it’s probably the last thing you want to do,” I told her, gently stroking her skin with my thumb. “But I need you to tell me everything. I need to know exactly what’s been going on with you and Nathan.”
She let out a shaky exhale, shaking her head. “I don’t know if I can.”
“Try.”
She spoke slowly at first, like she was testing the ground with each word to make sure it wouldn’t give way, and I stayed quiet, my hand wrapped around hers as I listened. What she told me didn’t land as something that made sense all at once, but in pieces that seemed small on their own and devastating in the way they accumulated.
Nathan controlled their money. He not only reigned over their accounts but restricted her access to them. He handled every payment, laughed at her when she suggested maybe she should have a separate account of her own, and framed all of it as responsibility rather than restriction. He acted as if he was doing her a favor by taking it off her plate.
Her schedule wasn’t hers either. He expected to know where she was, who she was with, and how long she’d be gone. When she stepped outside those expectations, he noticed. He always noticed.
“Did he know we were together that day when he went to Vegas the first time?” I asked.
She swallowed. “I didn’t think so at first, but now… I’m sure he did. Or at least, I know he knows I was out all day. He may not have proof I was with you, but he suspects.”
I nodded. “It makes sense why he was so abrasive with me at the executive dinner. If he already suspected we’d spent time together…”
“And then he saw us alone.”
I nodded grimly.
“He asked me where I’d been for Thanksgiving after his trip. We share our location, so I didn’t see any reason to lie.” She paused. “He wasn’t happy you were there. And that’s when he started in on Sweet Dreams.”
She went on to tell me how Nathan had questioned the time it demanded, the people involved, the way it was “draining her,” all under the guise of concern. By the time his concern hardened into pressure, Ariana had already realized what his intention was.
“And then… there’s Georgie.”
My stomach dropped along with her shoulders when she said his name. She told me what I suspected, that everything her brother depended on had been folded neatly into Nathan’s influence — his tuition, housing, stability. He’d never threatened her outright with any of it, but he didn’t need to. He simply reminded her what was at stake and let the fear do the work for him.
“That part hurts the worst,” she admitted softly. “Because for so long, I took care of Georgie. But then I trusted Nathan when he said he wanted to take care of both of us. I fell into the trap because I was so desperate for the release — to be free of the stress, the worry, the pressure.”
That had cracked my heart like flimsy, dry clay.
Because I knew she was desperate for that because I’d left her wanting.
