“Penny for your thoughts,” Oliver says, nudging me with his shoulder.
“I was just thinking about forgiveness. I want to…” I stop walking and face him, “I’m sorry for how I treated you the night you arrived and for last night. I shouldn’t have…it wasn’t you. None of it was you. Ever. Since the beginning, since we first met, you have been…” Damn it. I gaze down, hoping maybe the right words are there. They aren’t. There aren’t enough words in all the languages combined to express what this man means to me. I shake my head. “I’m sorry. I’m truly sorry. The last thing in this damn world I want is to cause someone I lo—care about a moment of pain. And it’s like that is all I’m capable of doing right now. I’m not fit for human consumption. I’m just so…furious and sad and frustrated and frightened and I want to cry and punch and scream and crawl into a ball and never move again every second of every day since I…” My mouth snaps shut. I’m not—
“Say it.” I look up at Oliver, whose face is as serious as cancer. His eyes bore into mine. “Say it.”
“Since I…almost got you killed. Since I…murdered Will,” I say, voice cracking.
His expression doesn’t change. “Is that what you truly believe transpired that night? That you threw me to the wolves and murdered your fiancée? That every crime that occurred that night was due to you?” he asks, voice hard.
“Oliver…” I look away.
“My actions, all our actions that night, were our own. I chose to chase after William. Patricia Winsted chose to rape and murder men—”
“And I chose to pull that trigger. I chose to—”
“Save my life. You chose to save my life from the mad, wild animal literally ripping the flesh from my bones. Tearing out my throat. Letting me bleed out like a stuck pig. If it were anyone else but William would you have felt a kernel of guilt?”
“But it was,” I say. “It was.”
“That was not William, Trixie. That was Patricia Winsted’s monster. A soulless beast wearing William’s skin. He was gone the moment she enchanted him.”
“But she never should have had the opportunity, Oliver. She was there, in front of me, the whole time. I was just so distracted, I wasn’t paying attention. She was right there, and I—“
“You were not the only one working the case, Trixie. You are not the only one to bear the responsibility. Even William—”
“No,” I growl, even pointing my finger in his face. “Don’t you dare—”
“Say he should have remained at mobile command or recused himself from the case the moment he realized he was susceptible to her influence? Or perhaps I should point out he should have been able to withstand her magic or come to his senses when faced with the power of true love?”
“Stop.”
“Or fought through his madness, his bloodlust, his animal nature the moment he laid eyes on you whilst he feasted on my liver?”
“Stop,” I hiss as I move away from him.
“Perhaps you simply did not love him enough,” Oliver continues. “Perhaps you failed to make him believe you truly loved him. Perhaps, deep down, he knew how weak, how damaged, how ugly you are and wanted simply to get away from you by any means necessary.”
I spin around to face this hateful man. “Stop it! Why are you saying these things?”
“Because you are thinking them,” he says, voice steady as he takes a step toward me. “Because they are possessing your mind. Your soul. Because you are drowning in them. These-these bloody ridiculous thoughts that have no basis in reality. And William would agree with me. I loathed the man at times. He was boorish, uncreative, ornery, and treated you like manure for months because he was too weak, too frightened to reveal his true feelings to you. But I do not doubt his love for you. The moment you arrived, he sparked to life. He smiled. He laughed. He softened. He dreamed. He hoped. He adored you. Fleeting though they were, you provided him with some of the happiest days of his life. And he would destroy himself if he knew how you have been behaving because of him. Torturing yourself. Burying your justified anger and choking on your misplaced guilt. Let it out, Trixie. You have every right, every right to be angry, even at him.”
“You think I’m angry at Will?” I spew.
“No, I think you are furious at him, and that is the root of all this madness. You are enraged and you are guilty for feeling that way, which in turn spurns more fury. You are the ourobourus eating its own tail.”
“That’s nuts. He was victim in all this. Th-that bitch turned him into her slave. He didn’t know what he was doing. He couldn’t help himself. Literally.”
“And I literally almost died at his hands. You still literally had to put him down like the mad dog she made him.” Oliver steps toward me, so close I doubt there’s an inch between us. “Darling, it is not rational, but when have emotions ever been rational? When has life? When has naught to do with love?” He gazes down into my eyes. “I am asking you, I am begging you my darling, you have to forgive him. And you have to begin forgiving yourself. You have to embrace your anger. Let it out. Let it go. Unshackle yourself from his corpse, crawl out of his suffocating grave, and scream to the heavens. Let whoever is listening hear your primal rage and let that fury spark you back to life. If not for me, if not for your family, for April, then do it for yourself. Do it for William. Let the man rest in peace knowing he did not kill you that night because if you do not do this, he will have in all but body.”
I already have tears in my eyes, all my muscles have knotted, and I can barely breathe. The weight’s too much. I can’t move. I can’t think. I just want to crawl into a ball and hide. “I don’t think I can—”
“You can do this,” Oliver says with absolute certainty. “You know you can do this.” He caresses my wet cheek and smiles. “You have to do this. Just let it go, my darling. Let him go and come back to us. Please.”
Staring into those loving, determined eyes, experience the soft touch of his thumb caressing my cheek, that same spark from last night rekindles, burning inside me. I can do this. I can do this for him. Twice he walked into certain death, once to save my life and once to save my spirit. I can goddamn well do this for him. My dark angel. My best friend.
I close my eyes and step away, turning my back on him. I open them and stare up at that moon. “Will, I…” I croak. “I-I don’t know if you can hear me. I don’t know if you’re listening. Of course listening to me was never one of your strong suits,” I chuckle as I wipe a tear away. “I-I hope you are now. I hope whoever else is out there, God, the universe, whoever, is listening too because…I have a lot to say, and I only want to say it once. But to Will, I…I loved you. I loved you the only way I could, with my all. We would have had a good life. You would have been a good husband. An even better father. You would. And I am so-sorry for the part I played in taking those experiences away from you,” I say, voice as brittle as the rest of me right now. “I am so sorry, Will. You didn’t deserve what happened to you, what she did to you. What she made you do. You were a good man. A great man. And a part of me will…love you until the day I die. You were my first love. And you helped me believe I was worthy of love in return. Thank you for that gift, Will Price. Thank you.”
I swallow my tears, gaze down, and take a few breaths to buy me time to find the courage to say this. “But…fuck you.”
I stare up at the moon again, my scowling mouth trembling. “It may not be fair but fuck you. Fuck you for every time you pulled away from me. Fuck you for making me question if I was a good agent. Because I am. I was even better than you and that fucking killed you. Fuck you for every time you left the room when I walked in. Fuck you for treating me like shit for fucking months because you were too proud to admit you were jealous. Fuck you for not kissing me the thousand times you wanted to. Fuck you for always pushing me away because you couldn’t admit you loved me. Fuck you for making me fall in love with you. Fuck you for not being strong enough to fight that psycho bitch. I was there, right fucking there, begging, plead
ing. Did you even try? Did you even try to fight for us, because that’s all I did. And fuck you for that. Fuck you for the million opportunities you never took that would have never put us in her path. We could have been married right now. Had a baby on the way. But you took that from me too, you son of a fucking bitch!
“I would have done, I did everything I could for us! Me! And it wasn’t enough for you! You couldn’t do one goddamn thing for me! I begged. I was right there in front of you, begging for you to stop, to leave her, and you wouldn’t! You wouldn’t listen. You never listened. You were killing my best friend and you wouldn’t fucking listen! And fuck you for hurting a hair on my best friend’s head! He didn’t deserve that either! So fuck you! Fuck you William Price for making me pull that trigger! Fuck you for dying and taking our children and our life with you! Fuck you for leaving me alone in this fucking fucked up world with nothing but guilt and shame and anger left! Fuck you, fuck you, FUCK YOU!” I shriek at the top of my lungs until there’s no air left in them. Until my shaking legs cannot support myself, and I fall to my knees in the sand still shouting.
The sobs begin a second later, huge wracking sobs I can’t control. Oliver’s arms scoop me up from behind, and I fall against his body as I just sob and sob as he pets my hair and hugs me a sweet lullaby until I’m all cried out. Until I’m empty of sorrow. Of guilt. Of anger. Until I’m no longer suffocating and can breathe in the crisp, clean ocean air once more. Until there’s nothing left but peace and gratitude for the man holding me. I never want him to let me go. And he won’t. Not when I’ve just found my way back to him, the one who believes in me even when I don’t believe in myself. Only he could make me a believer.
Chapter Twelve
The Moth and the Flame
I don’t know which is worse: an alcohol hangover or emotional hangover. With either one it’s almost impossible to drum up the energy to get out of my luxury hotel bed in the morning. I only have the drive to order room service and pad to the bathroom when needs be. The question becomes around noon do I extend my stay another night or check out. Since I don’t think I can leave in time for check out, I choose to buy another night whether I use the room or not. It’s only money.
It’s only after my second order of room service at lunch that I even begin to feel human again. It’s like after a massage. When you begin there are all these stress knots but after the massage the knots are gone but working them out released lactic acid, leaving you sore for days. Get through those days and you’re home free. Suppose it’s the same with emotional knots. My body has emotional poison pumping through, working its way out, but it’s a good pain. A necessary pain. I don’t know, I feel almost…free. Cleansed. As if my soul doesn’t weigh several tons and I’m carrying it around like a quarry full of boulders anymore. How did he know? How does he always know the exact right thing to say or do? How does he know what I need even when I don’t? Centuries around humans no doubt. For once I’m glad I’m so damn predictable. Maybe he can tell me what I’ll do next because I have no freaking clue.
I’m still exhausted mid-afternoon but bored to tears. It’s been awhile since I’ve been this exhausted. Oliver had to practically carry me back to my room. He put me in bed, removed my shoes, tucked me in, and I think I was asleep before he even left. Such a gentleman. I need to think of a way to thank him. I already have to name every one of my eighteen children after him at this point. Right now all I can do is apologize until my gums bleed. To Nana and April too. The Beatrice Alexander Apology Tour should begin today. Before I lose my nerve.
After forcing myself out of bed and into some clothes, white capris and royal blue blouse, I trudge to my car and leave the Coronado. I want to pick up a few things from home. Of course my resolve wanes when I see Nana’s car in the driveway. Crap. I shut off my Mercedes and just sit for a few seconds. I can do this. I need to do this. She’s gotten the worst of it from me in the past months. I have to begin making amends. For both our sakes. With a sigh, I climb out of the car.
Nana’s sitting at the dining room table working on a puzzle with a courtroom show playing on the TV when I let myself in. She peers over at me, and once I see the smile on her round face, my nerves wane. “Hi…Nana,” I say.
“Honey Bea,” Nana says as she rises. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah. I’m good. I’m fine. I’m sorry I…worried you.” I pause to gather my strength. “That’s, uh, actually why I stopped by. I came to…I had a sort of epiphany last night. A come to Jesus moment, Mrs. Rodriguez would call it. I’ve been horrid. A total cow these past few months. Worse, I knew I was doing it. I knew I was treating you like crap, but I couldn't stop myself. I didn’t even want to. No one has the right to hurt people no matter how angry they are, especially the people they love.”
“I didn’t take it personally, Bea. I knew it wasn’t about me.”
“It still wasn’t right. Especially how I behaved the other night. Both other nights,” I chuckle wryly. “I was horrible to you at April’s then again when I got back from Vegas.”
“You were surprised,” Nana offers.
“No excuse. I even knew you’d done it to help me, and I still yelled at you. I still walked away without a word. I didn’t let you know where I was going. I didn’t call after that. I’ve been selfish. And I’m sorry. I love you. I am…so sorry.”
“Honey Bea, what you’ve been through, what you had to do…” she moves toward me. “You talked about it a little, but I had no idea just how horrific what happened was. How Will was brainwashed, kidnapped, how you beat then freed a suspect trying to find him. How you saved Oliver’s life doing what you did. How you begged and pleaded and how Will still didn’t listen. Oliver told me everything, even what you endured before Will. Your first case. What happened to the squad, and how you were caught in the middle. What happened to Steven the night he died. What you’ve been through, honey, I’m surprised you’re not barking mad.”
“He told you…everything?”
“Yeah. And I’m so glad he did. It helped me understand you more. He’s a good man. He cares about you a great deal.”
“I know. I think you were right to…welcome him here. So I apologized to him, and now I’m apologizing to you. I was caught off guard and didn’t handle the situation well. I’m sorry. Again.”
“I forgive you. Of course I forgive you. Come here.” She hugs me. Tight. I swear sometimes hugs are better than sex. I embrace her back. “I love you. So much. You are so loved, Beatrice. Please don’t ever forget that. All we say, all we do, comes from a place of love.”
“I know, Nana.”
She releases me and cups my face in her hands before kissing my nose. “You’re a good girl, Bea. You deserve to be happy. And now you just have to decide where you’ll find that happy.”
“I thought it’d be with Will,” I say. “I wanted it to be with Will. I have no idea what will make me happy now. I don’t even know if I have any happiness left in me.”
“Of course you do. It just needs a spark to come back to life and a little help stoking the embers. If that means going back to Kansas with Oliver or staying here and teaching again, I support you either way.”
“That’s the problem. I don’t know what will make me happy. But I guess, at least, I kind of want to find out now.”
Nana smooths my hair, cups my cheeks, and kisses my forehead again. “I’ll start dinner, okay? Spaghetti? You’ll stay?”
“Yeah. Sounds great. Or I can make it. My culinary skills are getting rusty.”
“You don’t—”
“I want to. You sit. Finish your puzzle. Let me take care of you tonight.”
I kiss her forehead and move to the kitchen. I haven’t cooked beyond microwaving in months. We tried to take turns making dinner for the whole squad in Kansas but with all our erratic schedules and cases I only cooked two to three times a month. Usually it was spaghetti or hamburgers with french fries, nothing special. I didn’t have the energy since getting back to San Diego to e
ven try, but the skill quickly comes back. I actually feels good, accomplishing something concrete and having the proof of my work. It even tastes good.
I’m cleaning up the dishes when my phone buzzes in my pocket. Oh, fudge. Connor. I was hoping…well, maybe later. I let it go to voice mail and finish the dishes. Of course all the joy from dinner wanes after that call. I’ve managed to put him out of my mind all day, now here he is. Waiting on my phone. Sometimes technology really sucks.
I excuse myself to my bedroom and shut the door. I could be a coward. Never call him back. Send an e-mail asking he bring my suitcase back here when I’m out. But the truth is I don’t know if I want to end things. The relationship always had an expiration date, we both knew that. Or at least I hope he does. But I like him. If we slow things down considerably then that expiration date could be months in the future unless I return to Kansas and…okay, did that thought just enter my brain? Go back? No. Hell no.
But—
Stop! I don’t care that most of the time I freaking loved the job. That I miss the squad something fierce. That I was damn exceptional at it. That it sounds like they’re falling apart. That it gave me a sense of purpose as if God himself were speaking to me. That not going back might mean I’ll only see my best friend once or twice a year, if that. All or nothing. That’s what we are, and we can’t be nothing. But it’s not worth it. The broken bones, the watching people I care about die, the terror, remember that, Bea? You joined to gain control of your gift. You’ve done that. You can go back to teaching. You can go on Match.com and find a husband. Have children. It could still happen. Of course the idea of returning to teaching makes me physically grimace and the last time I tried dating someone normal he turned out to be a sociopath. Maybe April’s right. I am attracted to darkness. Will had it. Connor sure as heck does. Oliver—
The Sin Eater (A F.R.E.A.K.S. Squad Investigation Book 5) Page 17