He stepped forward, and I lifted my chin, stopping him from coming any closer.
“I will beg for your forgiveness if that’s what it takes. But I didn’t do it without reason. I never wanted to hurt you.”
I crossed my arms, wondering how my knees hadn’t buckled yet. “So what were your reasons then? Must’ve been good if it resulted in her death.”
If possible, Ronen appeared even more reluctant to answer than before.
I gestured for him to get it over with.
“Your father threatened to expose me to Etan if I told you.”
Heat flushed through my body, searing and twisting. Music, soft and haunting, whispered and scratched at my skin. “What?”
“He made a runed deal with someone to hide it from you.”
My chest heaved as I dug my nails into my palms. Tears spilled from my eyes—not sad, furious, and… confused.
“He blamed me, and he knew! My deadbeat, dying father fucking knew!” My knees gave out. Ronen lurched forward, catching me.
And I let him. For five blissfully agonizing seconds, I melted into him. It was as easy as breathing, and it shouldn’t be. It shouldn’t be so easy to love the male who kept this from me.
“You need to leave,” I whispered through the ache in my voice.
Ronen tightened his hold, pressed his face into my hair, and breathed deeply. Then he murmured three words that did nothing to lighten my anger or soothe the countless questions and what-ifs tearing through my head.
“Leave!”
He reluctantly pulled away and stood. The words poured from his mouth again, along with more apologies, before he finally left me alone on my bedroom rug.
Everything felt too big, too much without him. And yet I was grieving her all over again because of him—because of my father.
Chapter
Forty-Five
Lucille
My door squeaked open, and uneven steps thudded toward me. I didn’t lift my head. I didn’t move. I only blinked away the crud from my lashes. Shaking arms scooped me up and cradled me to a chest. He sat us on my bed and rested his head atop mine. My face pressed against his soft sweater, the smell of fresh rain grounding me.
“I think I threw my back out picking you up, never mind my clubbed foot,” Oliver mumbled. He paused, then added, “Ronen let me in.”
I rubbed my chest.
“Okay, let might’ve been the wrong way to phrase it. He more or less bulldozed into the healers’ wing and demanded that Aspen or I come to you. I chose me.”
Oliver tapped the top of my head. “Anyone in there? He didn’t look good, Luce. And neither do you.”
I snorted.
“Huh.” Oliver pulled me in tighter. “Well, I’m more than happy to sit here gazing at the pretty wallpaper for the rest of the day and throughthe night if you want. Or…” He hesitated. “We could bear our pain together.”
I shut my eyes, and Oliver settled us deeper into the pillows like he already had his answer. I opened my mouth, about to tell him, but the lump in my throat grew.
Ronen wasn’t just some guy. I had feelings for him. Big, crazy, unnamable feelings. And I didn’t know how to separate them from the pain.
Oliver ran a hand through my hair, his fingers rough, as if since he couldn’t stress-scrub his own head, he’d use mine instead and disguise it as a semi-sweet gesture.
I caught his hand on the next pass, taking it in mine and rubbing circles into his palm. “I’m sorry about your sister, Oli.”
