“If I didn’t tell her, maybe she’d still—”
“She’d have found out eventually. If not from you then from Rhett once he realized he had a rat in his ranks. If not from him, then from Alex or someone else. It doesn’t matter who told her. Thewhoisn’t why she killed herself. It’s thewhy.”
“I’m thewhy,” she insists. “If I weren’t so clingy, if I didn’t need Alex so much, I wouldn’t be in the picture, can’t you see that?! You were right!” She bolts upright, trembling all over.
I don’t have time to react before she spins around and rushes out of the house. The door slams behind her and, through the window, I see her running toward the guest house, the security guys trailing her every move.
“Leave her,” Dante says when I twitch to follow. “Give her time. All you’ll end up doing now is screaming at each other.”
I ignore him. Not because he’s wrong. He’s most likely right, but I’m not letting Hailey blame herself for Aalyiah’s death. I made that mistake, so I know it’s a mistake.
All she’s guilty of is needing someone in her corner while her life was falling apart. She was still grieving her mother when her father dragged her halfway across the country to Ohio and jumped headfirst into work, forgetting he had a daughter going through the same hell he was.
Aalyiah would still be alive if Alex had chosen a different way to infiltrate my father’s organization.
He didn’t need her.
He could’ve posed as a soldier. He could’ve gained Rhett’s trust, but he chose the path of least resistance, using a teenage girl to do his dirty work.
I can’t even blame Vaughn for planting Alex. No way would a man with his moral code allow a cop to use a girl like Aalyiah... a girl like his daughter. Innocent, easily manipulated, oblivious to the monstrosities men like my father are capable of.
He wouldn’t approve, which is why Alex kept his relationship with my sister from him. Only Hailey knew. He gave her a burden too big for her grief-ridden mind to carry.
She’s not downstairs when I enter the guesthouse, or in the bedroom when I climb the stairs. She’s in the en suite, water running, door closed. I grab the handle, cursing when I bounce off the hardwood instead of entering.
“You think that’ll stop me?! Think again. I’ll come in whether you let me or not.”
She doesn’t respond, and rather than coaxing her out, I back up a few steps before using the momentum and bulk of my body to wrecking-ball the door off its hinges.
Hailey sits in the corner of the showcase shower, fully dressed and soaking wet. Water drips down her hair and chin, pooling at her bare feet. Her shoulders shake. Sobs mingle with the drops pattering the tiles and the visual makes my heart split down the fucking middle.
She doesn’t look up, breaking down all on her own.
I’m not even surprised.
She’s bottled up her fear, frustration, and grief so long that the dam had to burst. There’s only so much one person can take before the corks start flying.
Hailey reached her limit.
She’s spent weeks piecing together her past, reliving her mother’s death, learning to trust me—only to realize she shouldn’t have. Throw the danger she’s in, her time with Blaze, and the gore she’s seen into the mix and then add the absurd thought that she’s responsible for Aalyiah’s death... no wonder she’s snapped.
I round the pane of glass, crouching before her. “I know what you’re thinking, but you’re wrong. I don’t blame you. You’re not why Aalyiah’s dead.”
Water rains down my back, wetting my clothes in seconds. It’s not warm but scalding hot. Nothing but choked-back sobs escape Hailey’s lips as I reach under her arms, hauling her up.
“Come on, pretty girl. You can cry in bed just as well.”
I could calm her, but I think she needs a moment of weakness. She’s been holding her head up high too fucking long and the strength she’s clung to was slowly dismantling her from the inside out. Especially while she wouldn’t let me close enough to help.
I wrap a towel around her the best I can using one hand before I carry her out of the bathroom. She sniffles, shaking softly, but doesn’t try wiggling out of my arms. If anything, she burrows into me harder when I maneuver us onto the bed. We’reboth wet, soaking the sheets as I rest against the headboard and move Hailey to lie half on me, half beside me.
It’s not enough, though. Too much distance. She nuzzles closer like a baby animal seeking comfort, her cheek in the crook of my shoulder, one hand by her face, grasping my waistcoat, one leg draped over my middle. She makes herself as small as possible, her warm breath tickling my neck.
I want to kiss her head, hush her cries, and tell her I can’t fucking cope when she’s suffering... but I don’t. This isn’t about me. No words will help her as much as letting the pain out will.
Instead of whispering sweet nothings in her ear, I hold her a little tighter while she falls apart at the seams.
It’s a new dynamic for us. Forme.
