by Ella Fields
“What? This isn’t you, Jem. You can forgive me. I know you can if you—”
Fed up, I spoke over him. “I can forgive mistakes, Milo. I can forgive betrayal. Maybe even of this magnitude.” I met his gaze, and my voice softened. “But I can’t just do that. It’s not that simple. You forced me into loving you, forced me to hand over parts of myself that I’d never shared before, all the while you were feeding me scraps. Enough to gain my love and sustain it, but not enough for me to grant you forgiveness should the day come that you’d need it.” A bitter laugh left me. “Funny, how I never realized just how little you gave until I’m faced with what I might lose.”
He cleared his throat. “Lose what, Jem?”
With tears threatening, I looked away. “Do your parents even live two hours north? Where is that anyway?”
“Lambton, which is three hours north.”
“And your last name? Is it really Fletcher?”
“It’s Carlson. I’ll tell you anything you want to know. Just tell me you’re not in love with him.”
A shallow laugh was my only response. I knew enough.
He kept trying, kept apologizing, but I pretended to fall asleep, and eventually, he left me alone. In a disgusting cell, on the cold, hard ground, and with renewed vision.
Milo Carlson was a spineless, self-serving dick.
Thomas
Lou rubbed her eyes. “When will Jemma be home?”
Pulling her duvet up to her shoulders, I bent low and kissed her forehead, my eyes squeezing shut as I whispered, “Soon.”
“It’s getting late,” she said as if I didn’t know.
“She’s just busy.”
Lou rolled onto her side, peering up at me. “Is she with that man who made me cookies?”
My stomach revolted at the reminder.
“Yes, he’s an old friend. Did you eat them?” Thoughts of the many different poisons he might’ve laced them with flashed through my mind.
Lou laughed at my expression, then pouted. “No, when Jemma arrived, I forgot to take one.”
My next breath was ragged as I told myself to calm down. He wouldn’t poison a child, but he apparently had no issues taking her and my Dove hostage.
Running a hand over my hair, I said, “Good night, Lou.”
“G’night, Daddy.”
It never got old, hearing her say that. The first few times had been jarring, to say the least. Considering I was so far from a paternal figure when she came to live with me, it was ridiculous. But over time, she wormed her way beneath my skin and slithered inside my heart. Tenacious little thing.
Eventually, I went from being confused to cringing to smiling so hard my face hurt.
Back in my room, I paced quick strides over the rug, my mind whirling with what-ifs.
What if she didn’t forgive me when I saw her again? What if he was hounding her for information? What if he was begging her for another chance? What if she was so upset over my irrational actions, she took him up on the offer? Or, worst of all, what if he’d touched her, and she’d let him?
It was a mistake to instantly place the blame on her slender shoulders. I saw that now, but then, all I could see was rage and every worst-case scenario.
Forgetting the way someone touched you, laughed with you, and loved you was as easy as flicking a switch when part of your heart had been momentarily ripped from your chest cavity.
Over and over, thoughts twirled and overlapped, each becoming worse than the one before, until Murry appeared before me, shaking my shoulders. “Hey, hey.” He slapped my cheek.
I growled, shoving his hand away.
He stepped back, raising his hands. “I was worried. You’ve been in here for an hour, mumbling to yourself”—his eyes shot upward—“and ruining your hair.”
“She hasn’t called. Beau hasn’t called …” I turned and strode to the French doors, staring unseeingly to the dark depths beyond. “He said he’d call.”
“I know,” Murry murmured.
Beau was waiting in the city, not far from the precinct where she’d been taken in for questioning.
“I have to go.”
“You don’t. What can you do? Charge in there and demand they release her?”
I didn’t answer that, and Murry soon left me to my anxiety-laden thoughts, for which I was thankful. One glance at the bed she’d made the morning before had me wanting to set the sheets aflame. Her scent was in my pillows, the hurt look in her eyes everywhere I turned.
Murry’s last words came back to me, and I grabbed my phone, scrolling until I saw the last unknown number Jemima had dialed, and hoped to god it wasn’t her father who picked up.
“Hello?” a sleepy voice greeted.
“Hope?” I asked.
“Yes, who is this?”
Breathing a sigh of relief, I said, “Thomas Verrone. Your sister’s … boyfriend.” The word boyfriend sounded empty. The title nowhere near the realm of suitable for what we were.
Immediately, Hope went from tired to alert. “Where is she? What’s happened?”
Pinching the bridge of my nose, I asked, “How much has she told you about me?”
“Just that you were weird when you first met, and that she’d been staying with you over the summer. Why?” she asked. “What’s going on?”
Weird. I shook that off and steeled myself, ran a lie through my mind, then confirmed it’d do. “I can explain quickly, but then I need your help.”
She listened, and ten minutes later, she said she was on her way.
I hung up and inhaled a deep breath, the tension in my body loosening for the first time in hours as I slowly set some of it free.
My Dove. My Little Dove.
I’d sent her away, discarded her like she hadn’t even mattered. Threatened her life knowing I could never take it. No matter what she did or didn’t do.
But I was too taken by anger and fear to remember that she and Lou … one wasn’t more precious than the other. I needed them both for different reasons, and I loved them both for different reasons, but ultimately, I couldn’t survive without both.
They were the only things that kept me sane.
They were all that glittered in a world of dark gray.
They were all that mattered.
And so I waited, and then I got my keys and decided I could wait closer.
I must have fallen asleep because when I awoke, with my neck and back aching and my ass numb, the sun was creeping through the smeared miserable excuse for a window at the top of my cell.
“I don’t give a fuck who you are, let her out before I call my dad and he speaks to your superior.”
My heart stalled, then thumped hard.
Hope.
“Ma’am,” someone said, “with all due respect, what exactly is your daddy gonna do?”
“Oh, Doug Clayton?” Hope laughed like a maniac. “That’s right, what’s Doug Clayton, the guy who used to miss my volleyball games and dance recitals every weekend just to run this cesspit, gonna do?”
Cursing was followed by, “I’ll get the keys.”
“Wait,” someone said. “Agent Carlson said to hold her until he comes back.”
“You mean to tell me that joke of a man locked her up, then went home to sleep in a motherfucking bed?”
Oh, shit.
The fact he probably did do that was the only reason I didn’t let the laughter that was sitting in my throat free.
“Give me my sister before I call a lawyer and my dad.”
A minute later, a young cop opened the gate, and Hope was hauling me to my feet, fury creasing her forehead and pinching her lips.
“How’d you know I was here?”
“Explanations later.” She shoved my purse at my chest. “Let’s go.”
Exhaustion and soreness made walking those first few steps excruciating, but as I passed the front desk attendant, who was talking quickly to who I guessed was Milo or their superior, it vanished, and I strode fast for the doors.
/> Hope removed her hand from mine to unlock her SUV and open the door. I climbed in and gave her directions to my apartment.
Five minutes later, we walked inside the stale, dust-covered one-bedroom home I’d barely lived in, and I nearly wept with relief. “I need a shower, stat.”
“Hang on a minute.” Hope shut and locked the door. “You need to explain what that asshole did to you.”
“Hope,” I whined. “Give me ten minutes, ’kay?” I needed the time to come up with some muddied version of the truth. She knew Milo was undercover, but she didn’t know he’d invaded my life to get closer to Thomas.
She huffed, stabbing a finger at me. “You have as long as it takes me to find some decent coffee and breakfast.”
I nodded, and she locked the door behind her.
I’d taken most of my clothes to my dad’s when I’d intended to stay there for the rest of summer, but I’d left behind a few pairs of jeans, some tanks and T-shirts, and a cocktail dress.
After brushing my teeth with a spare toothbrush I kept beneath the sink, I nabbed a pair of cotton panties, a bra that’d seen better days, then a tank and light denim jeans. In the shower, I scrubbed until I felt my skin burn beneath the hot water. I hadn’t left any shampoo, so I settled for wetting my hair and spraying some leave-in conditioner once I’d gotten out.
The tank was tight, too fitted, and the jeans scratchy and a pain in the ass to tug on. I’d just buttoned the fly when a light tapping sounded at the door.
My stomach roiled, and my hands shook, but I walked to the door, asking through the wood, “Who is it?”
“Your monster.”
I wrenched open the door, my eyes tingling as I took in the sight of Thomas in a crumpled white T-shirt and jeans. He looked behind him, then gazed back at me with bloodshot eyes. “Let me in?”
I nodded and stepped back, his boots heavy over the old hardwood floor.
As soon as I shut the door, he grabbed me and hauled me to his chest, hands tight against the back of my wet hair, and his chest heaving beneath my cheek. “I’ll kill him. I’ll cut open his chest and bring you his heart. I—”
“Shhh,” I laughed out, trying to gaze up at him, but he wouldn’t release his hold.
“I’m sorry, Little Dove. I wasn’t thinking straight. You have to know I would never be able to …” he trailed off, his lashes closing briefly over his bloodshot eyes.
Drawing in a long breath, I pushed away, and Hope opened the door, almost knocking us over as she barreled in with coffee cups and a large brown bag full of things that smelled incredible.
“Oh,” she said, her lips shaping around the word. She shut the door and looked Thomas up and down. “You must be the evil drug lord.”
I coughed. “What?”
She waved a hand and marched to the kitchen. “He called me and explained why your ex is being so crazy. That he was after Thomas because his family has ties to some drug trade.”
I arched a brow at Thomas, who lifted his shoulders.
Shaking my head, I thanked her for the coffee as I took a seat on a stool at the small bar.
Thomas strode forward, eyes on me as I looked away, then he pressed his front to my back. The weight and his warmth were comforting enough to ignore the pinching pain in my chest when I remembered the way he’d looked at me, accused me and forsaken me without a second thought yesterday.
“So, he called you?” I asked Hope, then took a long sip of coffee.
She shoved a clump of muffin into her mouth, chewing around it. “Uh-huh. Late last night. I drove until I couldn’t see straight, then stopped and refueled.” She laughed. “I couldn’t believe it; my baby sister ending up behind bars. Never ever would I dare to even imagine such a crazy idea,” she stopped, smirking, “but there you were. Asshole,” she added.
“Thank you.”
“Don’t mention it. I needed a mini vacay.” She grinned above my head at Thomas. “And it was worth it to meet this tall, dark, and apparently naughty, creature.”
Trust Hope to find the idea of a drug dealer sexy, I thought with a smile.
“You have a daughter?” she asked Thomas. “We should totally make sure our kids hang out, you know, considering they’re practically cousins.” She licked her finger and took a sip of coffee.
I tried not to choke as I lowered my to-go cup.
Thomas obviously had no qualms about humoring her. “I do; she’s almost seven.”
Hope’s eyes lit, dropping to me. “Perfect.”
Jesus. “Stop scaring him.”
Hope flicked her long, dark hair over her shoulder. “He doesn’t look scared to me.”
Thomas squeezed my shoulders reassuringly in response and continued to humor her as I dragged a muffin to my mouth and demolished it.
She left half an hour later, needing to get home before nightfall so Jace didn’t have a coronary looking after the boys on his own.
“She’s …” Thomas tapped his chin after the door slammed shut on Hope’s sashaying hips.
I headed to my room. “My opposite in every way.”
“I don’t think you’re as different as you think.”
I wanted to ask why he thought that, but my eyelids drooped alongside my heart as he took a seat next to where I was lying on my bed.
Thomas moved the blankets from the end of the bed to cover me, then sighed as he looked around my room. “You’re upset with me.” He looked down at me. “And rightfully so.”
The temptation to lie, to have him lay down next to me and make the past twenty-four hours disappear, was strong. “I am,” I admitted. “You don’t trust me or didn’t. I don’t even know.” I yawned. “I just need some space. Some sleep, probably, and then we can talk about it.”
Thomas stared a long moment, ice-bright eyes tugging at my resolve. Then he ran a hand through his unnaturally mussed hair, strands falling around his face.
“I don’t want to leave you. Can you be upset with me at home?”
Home. The way he’d said it made my lips and heart twitch. “I could be, but I’m not ready to yet.”
His brows furrowed. “You mean to say you’ll still be mad if I leave you, like you’ve asked, when you come home and we’ve talked about it?”
I couldn’t help it. I laughed, tears leaking out of my eyes. “Maybe. I’m sorry,” I whispered.
“For what? Why are you apologizing?” He scooted closer. “Explain. Are there stages of anger for women?”
Sitting up, I took his face, pressing my lips to his for as long as my heart could bear, then released him. “I know you were scared, and angry, but you hurt me.” His head lowered, lips seeking mine again, but I slumped back to the bed. “A lot worse than he ever did.” I let that sink in. “Do you understand?”
“Dove.” The name was a pained sound.
I did my best to ignore the harsh swallow he took. “Go home, Thomas.”
“Thomas?” With a frustrated groan, he stood. “Fine. But I’ll be back tomorrow.”
“I know,” I said.
He still stood there, his feet unmoving and his beautiful face creased with indecision.
“Time, Thomas.”
“Time.” He blew out a breath and nodded. “Okay.”
Yawning again, I watched him walk toward the door, the thread that tied me to him growing taut, urging to be gathered.
Thomas stopped, turning back. “Dove, I know you trust him to a certain extent, but a man like him clearly doesn’t do well with losing. And he’s lost a lot.” Pulling out a gun from his waistband, he set it on the dresser. “He’s spiraling. I know you know how to use it, so don’t hesitate to. It’d be in self-defense.”
I didn’t even blink at the weapon, just met his gaze, then let my eyelids flutter closed when the apartment door shut.
The sound of a gunshot had my eyes flashing open, and my legs hauling me across the room to the gun on the dresser as my heart pounded.
I flung open the apartment door, and seeing Thomas slumped agai
nst the wall on the landing below the first set of stairs, blood coloring his white shirt crimson, I didn’t think.
Clicking off the safety, I raised the gun at Milo, whose gun was still trained on Thomas, ready to pull the trigger again.
“Don’t you fucking dare,” I called.
“Dove,” Thomas wheezed.
Milo’s eyes widened, swinging up at me. “Don’t be foolish, babe. Put it away.”
The metal was cool against my steady fingers, fear and anger slowing my breathing and clearing my vision as I pressed my finger against the trigger and shot him in the shoulder.
Racing down the stairs to Thomas, I screamed for help at the top of my lungs, knowing no one else came into this stairwell besides the landlord who owned the building. But someone had to have heard the gunshots from out on the street.
Milo cursed, folding over and almost falling down the stairs. He caught himself on the railing, but his gun clattered down the steps.
I set mine down and forced my eyes to what they didn’t want to see. The sight was enough to send my shaking knees to the harsh concrete and rip off my tank.
I pressed it into the wound in his lower abdomen, and Thomas groaned, his eyes struggling to stay open. “Tom, look at me,” I urged, then screamed for help again.
“For eternity,” he rasped, lips tilting.
“Don’t be cute right now.”
“Holy fuck,” I heard someone say, followed by the sound of them talking into a phone. “Yes, two victims and one, ah, almost naked chick.”
Thomas cursed as I pressed harder on the wound that wouldn’t stop gushing, then mumbled, “Dove, I think I’d rather die than have strangers see you half naked.”
I laughed, a sob catching in my throat. “Then it’s too bad I’m not going to let you. So deal with it.”
He smirked, then whispered words that made my heart soar and plummet, for I knew why he was saying them now. At that very moment. “I’ve been waiting for you.” He coughed. “And whatever happens, I’ll gladly wait for you again.”
“Don’t,” I warned, tears drenching the word.
“Look at me,” he demanded.
I did, and my entire existence seemed to hinge on seeing those blue eyes.