Текст книги "Bang"

Автор книги: E. K. Blair

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Текущая страница: 19 (всего у книги 21 страниц)

TODAY IS THE last day I have with Declan before I have to leave. Bennett returns this evening and I’ve been a wreck all morning. I’m scared and nervous that Bennett will know I’m pregnant, that somehow he’ll be able to tell. But I’m also sad, because for these past few days since telling Declan, I’ve allowed myself to believe that this baby is his and that we’re going to make this work. It’s all a lie though. I don’t know what I’m going to do, but whatever it is, I want to do it with Declan. I don’t even want to imagine going back to a life where he doesn’t exist for me.

I’ve never come across anyone like him. His intensity is entirely consuming, and when I’m not with him, all I can think about are ways I can sneak around to get to him. It’s like he’s the oxygen I need to survive, and when he’s gone I’m suffocating. I don’t know if love is supposed to feel this way, but it’s all I know, and it’s all with him.

“How are you feeling, darling?” Declan asks as he walks into the bathroom.

“Better. The heating pad just can’t do what a hot bath can.”

“You’ve been in here a long time.”

Sinking down into the hot water, I look up at Declan as he stands over me and admire him. His square jaw, covered in day old stubble, the hard lines of his chest that are noticeable through his shirt, the roped muscles of his shoulders and arms. He’s a beautiful man, casual in his dark jeans and bare feet, and suddenly, I’m mourning the loss of him as he blurs on the other side of the tears that flood my eyes.

Squatting down on the balls of his feet, he crosses his arms over his knees, asking, “What’s wrong?” softly, his brows pinching in worriment.

“I don’t want to leave.” My voice is a mere whisper as I close my eyes to shield the tears from falling. I’ve never exposed this vulnerable side to another person as I find myself doing with Declan. I’ve always prided myself on how well I can cast the iron around me. Stoic and poised; the envy of everyone. But with him? It took something I didn’t think I had in me.

Trust.

Somehow . . . somewhere along the way, he got me to trust him, and in the wake of that, I let him in. He now occupies a part of me that I had only reserved for Pike, but Pike only filled parts of that for me. It’s Declan who fills me entirely, breaking the elasticity, filling me completely and running over to occupy the other vacant pieces inside of me.

The water laps around me, and I open my eyes to see Declan, naked, stepping down into the large tub. I move forward as he situates himself behind me, wrapping me up in his arms as I sink into his embrace. He slowly combs his fingers through my wet hair, and I release a faint hum in approval for the soothing touch. I run my hands down his strong legs that I’m tucked between and close my eyes again.

“Lean forward,” he says, and when I do, he starts to gently massage my lower back. “How’s that feel?”

“Really good,” I tell him. I’ve been suffering from searing stomach and back cramps, the same cramps that led me to the doctor earlier this week. Declan became really concerned the other night when he woke up to find me sleeping in the bath tub, filled shallow with hot water. He made me call the doctor to see if she could prescribe painkillers, but since I’m pregnant there isn’t anything that wouldn’t be harmful to the baby. So I’ve been spending most of my time soaking in hot baths since it seems to be the only thing that gives me any real relief. The doctor said that this type of cramping is pretty common during an endometriosis pregnancy.

“I hate that you’re leaving when you’re hurting so much,” he says while he kneads his fingers along my back.

“I don’t want to go.”

“Don’t. Stay. I’m not going to be able to function knowing you’re with him.”

Drawing my knees to my chest, I wrap my arms around my legs, making my request, “Talk to me.” I need him to do something to distract me from my sadness.

“What do you want me to tell you?”

“Tell me about your home in Scotland. What’s it like there?”

He pulls me back against his chest, grabs a washcloth, and starts dipping it in the water and wringing it out over my shoulders and neck.

“It’s rainy most of the time,” he begins, and I close my eyes, resting my cheek on his pec and listen as he speaks. “But the green, sprawling hills make up for the lack of sunshine. The countryside is amazing.”

“Is that where your house is? In the countryside?”

He drags the washcloth around my neck and down to my breasts, answering, “Yes. It’s south of Edinburgh in the Galashiels.”

“What does it look like?” I ask, my eyes closed while he continues to soothe me with his voice and touch.

“The estate is called Brunswickhill. It was built in the mid-late nineteenth century, a neo-classical Victorian mansion, but was completely renovated before I took ownership a few years ago.”

“You were here though.”

“I know.”

“Have you ever stayed a night there?”

“No. I hired someone to furnish the place, but I’ve never actually stayed there yet,” he tells me.

“So why did you buy it?” I ask.

“Because after my father sold his house to take permanent residence in New York, I felt I didn’t have any more roots there aside from my mother,” he tells me.

I open my eyes and look up at him when I ask, “Is that where she’s buried?”

“Yeah, it is,” he murmurs.

“You bought the place to stay connected to her?”

He nods as he looks down at me, and then kisses my forehead before he continues, “You’d love it there. It’s on six acres, so it’s peaceful and quiet with a great view of the Tweed River.”

“Tell me more.”

“There’s a huge garden and a Victorian grotto built entirely out of clinker under this huge glazed dome.”

“Are there lots of flowers?”

He drops the washcloth and bands his arms around me, tucking my head under his chin, sighing, “Yeah, darling. Tons of red and purple ones.”

“Purple?” I question, my mind suddenly seeing the purple walls of my childhood.

“Mmm hmm.”

“I don’t like purple,” I mutter softly, and he doesn’t let a second pass before saying, “Then we’ll rip them out.”

I laugh under my breath and then he inquires, “You’ve never told me what your favorite flower is.”

I take a moment even though I already know the answer, but the thought alone grips my throat, tightening it as I reveal to him, “Daisies. I like pink ones.”

“Daisies?” he questions in surprise. “Such a simple flower. I would have thought something lavish.”

“Why’s that?”

“You just seem like a girl who likes nice things, that’s all,” he responds casually as he leans back, pulling me with him as we recline.

“Daisies are nice. Simple and nice, which is why I like them.”

“I want to know everything you like.”

“Is that so?” I lightly tease, and when he kisses my temple, he says, “Tell me a few things you like.”

“Mmmm,” I hum before revealing, “I like tea, and I like cupcakes with sprinkles. Apple juice, but only when it’s in a small juice box. And I like daisies.”

“Pink daisies,” he clarifies, and I nod, repeating, “Pink daisies.”

“What else do you like?”

I tilt my head to the side so that I can see him when I say, “I like the way your stubbled jaw feels when you kiss me.”

“Why’s that?”

“It makes me think of how a prince’s kiss would feel.”

His smile grows as he questions, “Aren’t princes clean-shaven?”

Reaching up, I run my hand around the back of his neck, saying, “Not in my dreams,” before pulling him down to kiss me. His lips move gently with mine, eventually taking his tongue to open me up, tasting me deeply. I savor the ice of his mouth, gliding my tongue along his.

He takes my hips and eases me around to slide over his lap, my legs straddled around him. His cock is instantly hard, and the need for closeness takes over, so I lift up, and with my hand on his massive erection, guide him inside of me. His eyes close as I slowly descend down around him and hold myself still. Neither of us moves as we cling to each other—hugging—flesh against flesh.

“Tell me what you want,” he breathes against my breasts as he starts planting soft kisses down the swell and over my nipple, tightening it to a stiff peak.

“This.”

“Tell me,” he urges.

“Just this. I just need to feel you inside of me right now,” I respond, giving him my honest words, because I desperately need to be as close to him as possible right now.

“I am inside of you,” he says, loosening his arms and slipping his hand between our bodies, resting it on my stomach. “This is me inside of you.”

My eyes well as I nod, needing to believe that it is a part of him growing inside of me and not Bennett or Pike. I want it to be him because all I want is simply him. My tears fall as I gaze into his beautiful, green eyes. Eyes filled with adoration for me and I adore him just as much. I love him. And now I’m doubting everything because all I can see are the rolling hills of Scotland, a nineteenth-century estate, and Declan with our baby in his arms.

The pain of what it would mean to destroy everything good in this man and turn him into a murderer for the sake of this sick game Pike and I schemed up shreds my heart. I tried to stay focused, I tried to shut myself off from feeling anything towards Declan, I tried to stick to the plan. But I can’t do it. This isn’t a game; this is a man’s life. A good man’s life. A man that I deeply love.

I can’t ruin him and turn him into a monster. If sparing Bennett’s life, even though I want him to suffer for what he did to my life, means that Declan’s life won’t be destroyed, I’ll do it.

Killing Bennett isn’t worth sacrificing Declan.

My tears grow, spilling over and down my face as I whisper, “I love you. All I want is you. You and me and this baby.”

His cock thickens inside of me with each word I speak, but he doesn’t urge me to move as we remain connected, locked together intimately. I know what I must do, and it won’t be easy. Pike has given up so much these past few years while I’ve been married to Bennett. But I can’t do it. I won’t do that to Declan. Truth is, I don’t have to kill Bennett to get my fairytale—my second chance—because that fairytale is right here in my arms. This is the happiness I’ve been missing all my life.

So I’ll go to Pike and tell him it’s over. Tell him I’ll play it out, divorce Bennett, and fold my cards. I’ll live the rest of my life as Nina, the girl from Kansas, if that means I won’t lose Declan. I’ll bury my past.

“I want to own every part of you,” he groans as his eyes flare in heat, his fingers pressing into my skin as he grips my ass.

“You already do.”

“Grab my shoulders and move,” he commands, and I obey, lifting up along the shaft of his cock before gliding back down.

I continue to work the length of him, my pussy snug around him, gripping him in needy ecstasy as the water laps around our bodies. He handles one of my breasts in his hand, tugging on my hardened nipple as he drags his tongue over my other breast before fiercely sucking me into his mouth. With his teeth bared, he scrapes them along the delicate skin and then bites down with force. Screaming out in a seething aura of pleasure and pain, I ride his cock, rolling my hips over him. The warm water swirls over my swollen clit with each of my thrusts, driving me towards my peak.

Declan continues to work my tits, laving me with his tongue, feasting like I’m his last meal and he needs me to survive. He then grabs my hips, jerking me to pound against him as he shoves his cock deeper inside of me, hitting that bundle of nerves that only he’s done, and I can’t hold on. Dropping my head back, he quickly finds my hand, interlacing our fingers and squeezing it tightly. I pulse and spasm around him as the colorless light of my exploding orgasm blinds me. When I writhe against him, he wraps his free arm around my waist and roughly pins my body down over his cock. He throbs inside of me, growing and contracting with each pump of cum he shoots inside of me.

“Fuck,” he moans in a sensual brute as we both come together.

Holding me close to him, my body begins to tremble in fiery aftershocks. I’m wrapped all around Declan when he eventually pulls his head back. Our breaths are erratic and labored as we try to find our way back down.

In a staggered voice, Declan pants, “I want to make you into everything you’ve ever dreamed of being.”

And with those words, I don’t need any convincing.

Fuck Bennett.

Fuck the revenge.

Fuck it all.

I have everything I’ll ever want right here inside of this beautiful man.

I HAVEN’T GONE to see Pike yet. I know I have to, but I’ve been afraid about how he’s going to react to the news that I want out of this. Bennett has been back in town for the past few days, and I find myself caring less and less about playing his wife. For me, it’s over, but I feel I can’t walk out until I talk to Pike.

I’ve seen Declan every day since Bennett has returned, and to say he’s growing impatient with me is a severe understatement. My excuses are wearing thin, so I finish getting ready to drive out and tell Pike the new plan—the plan that will, for the first time, leave him without me by his side.

The guilt is insurmountable at this point. How do you tell the man, who is probably in love with you, and the one who has been your protector for the past twenty years, that it’s no longer the two of you? That you’ve fallen in love and want to be with that other person? Pike and I have always been together, always honest with each other, until now. I told him I didn’t love Declan, but I knew he could see right through me. See deeper than even I could at that point. I knew I cared for Declan, that he was a friend that I was being drawn to, but I hadn’t yet realized that I had already fallen for him. Pike already knew though; that’s how connected we are.

The house phone rings as I throw on my sweater, and when I answer, it’s Manuel from downstairs.

“Mrs. Vanderwal, I’m sorry to disturb you, but there’s a gentleman here saying he’s a cousin of yours.”

“What?” I question, wondering who the hell is down there, and then I hear the unmistakable voice of Pike, arguing, “Dude, just let me go up.”

“Yes, please, Manuel,” I quickly interject as rampant fear streaks through me. “Go ahead and send him up.”

My nerves crash, confounded as to why the hell Pike would come here. Never has he come here. We agreed from the start that our paths would never cross outside of Justice, so as I pace the foyer, waiting for his knock, I try to grapple with my thoughts and compose myself, all the while knowing what I must tell him.

When the knock comes, I open the door, grab his arm, and yank him inside, snapping, “What the fuck are you doing here?”

But his eyes don’t meet mine, instead they scan around the room, taking in my home of the past four years. “Holy shit,” he murmurs. “So this is where you’ve been while I’m rotting away in that shit tank?”

“Pike, what are you doing here? Are you crazy? What if Bennett was home?”

“Relax, Elizabeth. I’ve been sitting outside all morning waiting for that shit-stain to leave,” he says, walking past me and into the dining room. “So . . .” he starts, letting the word linger as he drags a finger down the length of the cherry wood dining table, “. . . where the fuck have you been for the past month?” His words scrape out in frustration.

“I-I’m sorry. I ju—”

“Cut the shit. You told me Bennett was going to be out of town this past week, yet you never once came by to see me. Why is that?”

“Pike, please,” I say on a shaky voice as chills run down my trembling arms, scared shitless with what I’m about to reveal.

“Please? What the fuck is going on with you, Elizabeth?!” he shouts, his voice booming through the open space as he slams his fist against the table. “You used to run to me the second Bennett left, you used to beg for my dick, but now, when you do finally decide to show your face, you rush out the door.”

“Why are you screaming at me?!” I yell.

“Because you’ve got a job to do and it isn’t getting done!” He walks the edge of the table and back over to me, but when he gets close, I take a step back. “Why isn’t it getting done?”

My pulse races as I stutter out the words I’ve been afraid to say to him. “B-Because . . .”

“Because why?” he hisses as he glares at me.

Swallowing hard, I force out the words, “Because I want out.”

His jaw locks and he begins a rhythmic clenching and unclenching of his hands, fisting them at his sides. He takes a moment before he breaks the silence, seething, “What do you mean you want out?”

“Pike, please don’t flip out on me,” I say, trying to keep my voice calm.

“What do you mean you want out?”

“I can’t . . . I can’t do this anymore.” My face grows hot with the tears that threaten.

“It’s Declan, isn’t it?”

“I’m so sorry, Pike. I never thought—”

“You’re nothing to him but an illusion, Elizabeth,” he says, cutting me off.

“I love him.”

My confession sparks a fury in his eyes, and when he takes another step towards me, I take another back, pissing him off.

“So, what now? You think he loves you back?”

“Yes,” I breathe.

“You’re full of shit. You have no idea what you’re saying. You’re so wrapped up in this lie that you’re buying into this false reality. But it’s false, Elizabeth. It’s not real.”

“It is.”

“It isn’t. You are not Nina. Can’t you see that?”

“And what’s Elizabeth? Huh? I mean . . . who is she really? Is she me?” I question as the levies break and the tears fall down my cheeks. “Because she doesn’t feel like me. Because she was never supposed to be me!” My words now cries, pleading cries. “She only existed because of Bennett!”

“That’s right, Elizabeth!!” he barks furiously. “Bennett! Feel that fucking hate! He’s the reason for all of this! Don’t lose sight of what he did to your life! To your father’s life!”

And my fury parallels his, except that fury is robed in a mass of sadness and desperation when I shriek, “I know! God, I know, but I can’t do it. I can’t destroy Declan like that.”

“Fuck Declan! He’s the pawn. He’s always been the pawn, and you, the queen.”

“But sometimes the queen falls.”

“Not you,” he says sternly as his hands grip my shoulders that tremor under my emotions. “I’m not gonna let you fall.”

“I already fell, Pike. I want out. I’ll finish this; I’ll divorce Bennett, and no one will ever have to know about this.”

His fingers tighten around my shoulders, painfully. “You don’t love him,” he whispers, and I hear every morsel of pain he’s trying to hide, but I can’t lie.

“I do love him,” I say under my breath, and as soon as he drops his head, he lifts it right back up. The look in his eyes turns to cold stone, and he takes a couple steps back, releasing his hands from me.

His sudden shift in demeanor rattles me as I watch him start to subtly shake his head before questioning, “Are you not telling me something?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean the fact that your hand hasn’t left your stomach for the past few minutes,” he says, and when I look down, I see that I’ve got my hand right where he said it was—an unconscious act of protecting what’s inside—and suddenly, all the blood drains out of me, leaving me utterly terrified as I watch the viperous hate surface in his eyes.

You’ve heard of Newton’s first law of motion, right? The one that states that an object in motion will remain in motion unless acted upon by an unbalanced force? It’s a science that can’t be negated, and with the game in full speed, I’m about to learn the catastrophic consequences of that law.

“Pike,” I soothe, needing him to calm down.

“Tell me that I’m losing my mind right now. That I’m not thinking clearly. That I’m not—”

Holding my hand up in front of me, I try coaxing my words as I speak slowly, “Please, Pike. I need you to just—”

And then he loses it, exploding like a grenade, screaming in sulfur, “Tell me you are not fucking pregnant!!”

“Pike!” I yell as he grabs my arms violently.

His face—raging red, spitting his words, “What the fuck have you done?”

“Nothing! Let go of me,” I yell, panicked, jerking to break free of his hold on me.

“Tell me!”

“Yes!” I immediately shout back, and he releases his grip.

He turns away from me, raking his hands angrily through his hair, as I stand here, nervously awaiting his next move. He keeps his back to me when he continues to talk, “You’re fucking pregnant. Jesus Christ. And it can’t be mine because you haven’t been fucking me.”

I don’t correct him because he assumes that I’m not as far along as I actually am. This baby could very well be his.

He turns back, and the look in his eyes scares the living shit out of me. I don’t see Pike behind them, only a monstrous version of what could be my brother. And when he starts moving towards me—body tense—the shrill of horror stabs me.

“This is over right now. I’ve spent too many years for you to fuck this up.”

“What do you mean?” I ask as I start backing away from him.

And then my world goes into a paradox of raging fast slow motion.

His arm rises with a tight fist.

My arms wrap around my stomach.

Fist barreling down.

My eyes squeezing shut and coiling away.

A collision of knuckles against jaw.

Blow after blow, he’s relentless as I fall lifelessly to the ground. The light begins to fade as my screams lull me into the blackness. My lungs cave with every fatal kick to my stomach, and there’s nothing I can do as I lie here defenseless to this monster above me. A beating fire of pain ruptures inside, paralyzing me to a corpse as I feel everything breaking inside of me. My screams turn breathless and everything vanishes as Pike grunts like a wild beast, hammering his booted foot over and over and over into the womb that carries the purest part of me.

Black ink bleeds over me as I drift into nothingness. I’m a hollow tomb. Looking up, I see a dark sky, flickering with diamonds. Thousands of them. There’s no more pain—there’s nothing in this solitude of pure, deathly silence as I lie here and stare into the endless black hole.

Wishes.

I could make an infinite amount of them with all the stars that shine down upon me. But I’m not lying on the ground. I don’t feel anything as I float in negative space.

Where am I?

How did I get here?

And then I see him. My old friend. He never changes and that constant nurtures the despair that has always followed me. His green and yellow accordion body slinks over to me, and it’s then that I realize how small I am because he appears to be the same size as me.

“I’ve missed you,” he says in his eloquent English accent.

“I’ve missed you too, Carnegie.”

“Where have you been?”

“In hell.”

“Is that why you came back?” he asks.

“I don’t even know how I got here,” I tell him, and he smiles, saying, “Maybe someone knew you needed a little break from hell,” as he gives a nod up to the heavens.

“Maybe,” I whisper and roll over onto my belly. It’s then I see where I am. Large, green blades of grass standing high above the mass of earth beneath. Gigantic trees that border a sea of dark water. Brilliantly massive blooms are illuminated by the full moon above, casting its glow on the array of colorful, exotic flowers; pink, orange, yellow—but no purple in sight. And when my eyes shift down, I take in a breath of awe when I realize why Carnegie doesn’t look so tiny. My body, a tube, roped in pink and black, and when I look back at Carnegie, he laughs, “It’s spectacular, isn’t it?”

“I’m a caterpillar!” I say in wonderment. “Carnegie, do you see this?!”

“I do.”

And then it all comes together. I finally made it. I’m here . . . in the magical forest . . . and I’m a caterpillar, floating in a pond that seems like an ocean because I’m so tiny. I begin laughing as we float on our lily pad raft.

“It’s good to see you smiling,” he says as I scoot around the large, green leaf, reveling in my new form.

Meandering around, I respond, “It’s been a while since I’ve felt this free.”

“May I ask you a question?”

Giggling after I round my body into a ball, discovering I can roll, I take a few seconds to play around before acknowledging his request, answering, “Of course,” as I straighten my body and inch over towards him.

“Why do you feel like you’re in hell?”

His question dulls my zealousness, and when I flatten my body against the lily pad, I tell him, “It’s always been hell, Carnegie. But lately, it’s become overwhelming.”

“What happened?”

“It’s a long story.”

“Look around,” he says. “I’ve got nothing but time.”

“I’m sure, but to relive everything isn’t something I wish to do.”

“Then tell me what happened last.”

I blink and then look up at the black sky, glittered in stars, and tell him, “I fell in love.”

“Ahh, love,” he says as if he’s wise in that spectrum, so I ask, “You ever been in love?”

“Me?” he questions and looks out over the water. “No. I was turned into a caterpillar before ever having the chance to experience such an emotion. But I wonder why it’s hell you feel.”

“The love is the only part of this story that isn’t hell.”

“Tell me what it feels like. Love.”

A few fireflies above catch my attention, and as I watch them making skittering dashes of swirling light, I answer, “Amazing. It’s like an urgency that can never be sated because you can’t get enough. One day, you’re walking through life, thinking you’re satisfied, well, as satisfied as you can be, and then, when you finally feel the click and get your first taste of love, you realize you’ve been starving your whole life but never knew it. And that one person is all you need to truly feel alive.”

“And you found that?”

Giving Carnegie my attention again, I reply, “Yeah. I never knew what it felt like to breathe until I met him.”

“So what’s hell?” he asks.

“The man I’m married to.”

“The one who allows you to breathe?”

“No, the one who slipped the noose around my throat and caused me a life of suffering,” I tell him as his beady eyes widen.

“I’m confused.”

“I married my enemy,” I begin to explain. “And the man I wound up falling in love with was someone who I was supposed to trick into killing my husband.”

“Why do you want your husband dead?”

“Because when I was five, I was ripped away from my dad. He was arrested and went to prison where he was eventually murdered, and I went to a horrendous foster home.”

“What does your husband have to do with that?”

“Everything,” I say as we continue to float around the smooth water. Releasing a deep breath, I begin telling him the story of my father’s arrest and how Pike was determined to find answers for me when we were older.

“It took a while, but after going through my father’s police records and Pike blackmailing his old caseworker for my file, we finally found out that it all started with a child abuse claim. We kept digging because my father was the kindest man I knew and had never laid a hand on me. And then we found it. A call was made to DCFS from the Vanderwal family.”

“Who are they?”

“I’ll give you one clue,” I say. “When I married my husband, Bennett, I took his name.”

“Vanderwal,” he concludes. “But why go after him if it was his parents who made the claim?”

“Because in that file was an interview. The interview was with Bennett.”

“It was his claim?”

“Yes,” I reply as I feel the hate begin to boil inside of me.

“What did it say?”

“He had been walking home from a friend’s house one afternoon, and when he passed my house, he heard fighting and screaming coming from inside. He saw my dad through the window hitting someone, but he couldn’t see the other person. He assumed it was me that was getting hit, so he went home, told his parents, and the call to DCFS was made.”

“Who was it that your father was hitting?”

“I couldn’t have been home that afternoon because I would have heard it. I was probably still at preschool or something. But looking back, with the information I have now, it was most likely someone he was doing business with. Maybe a deal gone bad; who knows?” I tell him. “The thing is, the state did their investigation. but they couldn’t find any signs of abuse or neglect. However, it was noted that the caseworker noticed suspicious activity at the house while performing random drive-by’s, so a request for further investigation was handed over to the police department who uncovered the gun trafficking. And that was it, he was arrested, and I never saw him again.”

Those last words choke me up, the pain of that last image of my father. It’s never faded for me; my father, on his knees, the tears running down his cheeks, his words, trying to convince me that everything would be okay.

When Carnegie begins to move closer to me, finding a new spot on the lily pad, I’m pulled from the sad memory, and he questions, “So why did you marry him?”

“I felt this burning desire to avenge my father’s murder, to make Bennett pay for all the abuse I suffered in foster care, for everything that was stolen from me.

My innocence.

My faith.

My childhood.

My trust.

My father.

My future.

Everything.

“Bennett is the reason there was a magnifying glass put on my father. It was Bennett who opened his mouth, made a false claim, and destroyed two lives, yet he goes on, happy, healthy, making his life into a glorious success. That was supposed to be my life. But because of him, he took it all away from me and I wound up being raped, molested, bound up in a closet, left for days to shit and piss all over myself. That’s the life Bennett gave me.

“I wanted to make him pay for what he did. I wanted revenge.”

“But you fell in love,” he states, and I whisper my confirmation, “I fell in love.”

“And now?”

“And now all I want is to spare destroying Declan. I still want to kill Bennett. I still want to make him pay, but not if it costs the good soul of the man I love.”

“Let me ask you something. How old was Bennett when he told his parents he thought you were being abused?”

“Eleven.”

Carnegie takes a moment before saying, “Just a kid. A young, innocent kid who saw something that probably scared him, thinking you were the one being hit, and his first reaction was to help.”

“But he didn’t help, and my dad wound up dead,” I defend.

“He was just a kid trying to do the right thing,” he counters, but instead of growing frustrated, the tranquility of being in this place with Carnegie keeps my frustrations at bay. “Can I ask you something else?”