I stare at the floor because if I look at her too soon, the wrong things in me are going to break. “I brought the trouble to Coyote Glen.”
“No.”
“Yes.” The word comes out sharper than I mean it to. “This is my past. My decisions. My people. My mess. I left thinking distance fixed the rot, and all I did was give it a new address.”
“Ryder—”
“One of my men died because I thought I could manage Cole.” There. It’s out now, harsh and irreversible. “I thought if I kept things controlled, if I gave him enough rope to feel respected, he’d stay inside the lines. He didn’t. And a good man paid for my miscalculation. Marcus paid for it.”
I keep going because I’ve already cut the thing open.
“He was young,” I say. “Too young for any of it. Trusted me. Trusted the structure. Trusted that if I said a meet was contained, it was contained.” My jaw locks. “Cole used theopening. Wanted to send a message. Sent it through him instead.”
Aurora’s eyes shine immediately, not with pity.
Worse.
Understanding.
“I left after that,” I say. “Bought The Hollow. Tried to make something clean. A life that didn’t ask blood for loyalty.” I finally look at her. “And now Finn’s bleeding in a storage unit. You were almost used as leverage. Tell me how exactly I’m supposed to pretend that isn’t on me.”
She steps into my space and puts both hands on me, one at my chest, one at my jaw, making it impossible to look anywhere but at her. “You don’t get to take responsibility for every cruel choice another man makes.”
My laugh is hollow. “That sounds nice.”
“It’s true.”
“I recruited him.”
“You didn’t make him become this.”
“I gave him access. Years of it.”
“And then you left.”
“Too late.”
She tips her chin up, green eyes fierce enough to stop a better man than me. “No. Not too late. If it were too late, you wouldn’t be here trying this hard to do it differently.”
I want to believe her.
That’s the dangerous part.
“You think intent changes outcome?” I ask quietly.
“No.” Her thumb moves once against my jaw. “I think choice does. Repeatedly. Over and over. Every day. And you keep choosing.”
I close my eyes.
Her hands stay where they are.
“I’m so tired,” I admit, the confession slipping out before I can kill it.
When I open my eyes again, her expression breaks me cleaner than anger ever could.
“Come here,” she whispers.
I should refuse.
