She’s mine. Her happiness is my top priority. I want her calm and comfortable every single day. Allowing her this space, this outlet for her anguish, goes against my instincts. Simple assurances and complicated promises dance on the tip of my tongue, but I swallow them all.
Words can wait.
She needs a moment of weakness. And even though listening to her whimpers physically hurts me, I let her cry because there’s not one thing I won’t do for her.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers a while later, her voice croaky. She’s not crying anymore, just quivering like an injured kitten.
“You have nothing to apologize for.”
She falls silent again, shuddering more frequently the longer we sit there. I’m itching to dress her in some warm, dry clothes, then tuck her under a fresh comforter, but she’s holding on to my waistcoat so hard her fingernails are white.
She’s not ready to let me go. It’s clear in how she moves a little closer, nuzzling her face into my neck, breathing me in as if my scent keeps her sane.
The bathroom door stands ajar, burst from its hinges, the lock torn from the frame. I doubt it’ll close again... Broadway will need to look at it.
“I’m cold,” Hailey murmurs what feels like hours later.
“How about a warm bubble bath? I’ll change the sheets while you’re in there.”
She moves away, those beautiful blue eyes rimmed pink. “My head hurts...” she whispers, angling herself my way to press her sweet, swollen lips against mine.
Everything inside me goes perfectly still. It takes immense effort not to grab her face, pull her onto me and claim her mouth. She’s not kissing me in carnal desire.
It isn’t foreplay... it’s an apology.
I curl my fingers under her chin, breaking away. “Don’t apologize, pretty girl. Idon’tblame you.”
With that, I head through what’s left of the bathroom door to fill the tub.
36
HAILEY
After the hot bath, I wrap myself in Carter’s hoodie and go to Dante’s main house, my head still pounding from the revelations.
“Better?” Broadway asks, peering up from a map spread across the bar counter.
“I’m okay, sorry about—”
“Don’t worry about it,” he cuts in, waving me off. “There’s no need to apologize.”
I send him a grateful smile, looking between the five men gathered around the bar. Ryder’s torturing his laptop keyboard, while Koby’s drawing lines over the map, his eyebrows pinched together in concentration.
“Come here,” Carter says, holding his hand out.
As soon as I’m within reach, he weaves our fingers and tugs gently, moving me to stand beside him, my shoulder brushing his arm.
“Ryder found Aalyiah’s call log,” he says, weighing every word. “You called her but you never met.”
“How do you know?”
He hands me a list of numbers, times, and dates. “This is your call.” He points to the very top of the page I’m holding. “Thirteen seconds. See the date?”
“The night before the accident... seven thirty pm.”
“My guess is you called to set up a meeting,” Ryder chimes in. “But we don’t know what was said. I can’t find any records.”
“Why are you so certain we didn’t meet?” I ask Carter.
