CHAPTER FIFTEEN
RAY
“Catherine, can this wait? I’m up to my neck here,” I mutter, glancing around at the blood splattered across the walls.
I should’ve covered them.
Dale lands one final punch, and the guy drops to the floor. The room goes quiet except for the ragged sound of his breathing, which quickly fades to nothing.
“Not really,” Catherine says calmly through the speaker. “I’ve got Wynter’s aunt here. She’s asking for you.”
Dale looks at me and shrugs.
I frown. “Is Wynter okay?” I ask.
“I think you should come.”
By the time I get back, scrubbed clean and dressed, she’s been waiting an hour. And she’s still here, that’s how I know this isn’t small.
“Is Wynter okay?” I ask the second I step inside, shrugging off my jacket.
I hold out my hand for her to shake, but she stares at it like I’ve insulted her.
I lower it slowly.
Right.
“Did she tell you about me?” she asks, her voice clipped.
I nod. “She told me nothing about you,” she says sharply.
“Not one thing.” I nod again, not really surprised.
Wynter seemed to keep a lot from her family so they didn’t worry.
“And yet here I am,” she continues, stepping closer, “standing in the home of the man who tore my niece apart when she was already broken.”
I drag a hand over my face, the stubble rough beneath my palm.
“Is this why you called me back?” I ask Catherine, irritation bleeding through. “For a lecture from this crazy woman I don’t even know?”
Lucy lets out a short, humourless laugh. “You’re exactly how I pictured you—arrogant and rude. Next, you’ll be telling me you cared for her and broke up with her for her own good.”
“Actually, yeah,” I fire back. “Because that’s exactly what I did.”
Her eyes flash. “You don’t get to walk into her life, drag her through hell, then throw her away like she meant nothing!”
“She lied,” I bite out. “Did she tell you that part? She put someone I love in danger.”
“And you think that gives you the right to destroy her?” Lucy shoots back. “Do you have any idea what that girl has been through?”
My jaw tightens. “I know enough.”
“No, you don’t,” she says, stepping closer, her voice dropping but losing none of its bite. “Because if you did, you’d know she doesn’t survive things like that easily. She barely survived losing her mum. Then Josh. Anika. And now you.”
Something shifts in my chest, it’s sharp and unwelcome. Guilt.
“She came home a mess,” Lucy continues. “Crying. Not sleeping. Not eating. And still . . . still trying to defend you.”
I look away. “But despite all that,” she says, her voice steadier now, laced with anger, “I didn’t come here to scream at you.”
I glance back at her. “Then why are you here?”
She holds my gaze. “Because you need to fix what you’ve done.”
I let out a harsh laugh. “That’s not how this works. I did what was best for us both and I stand by that.”
Her composure cracks. “Perfect. I’ll let her know that when I visit her tomorrow,” she snaps, her voice shaking with anger now. “If she’ll even hear me. She’s so far gone, Ray, I don’t even know if she can.”
A cold knot forms in my stomach. “What are you talking about?” I ask carefully.
“They’ve sectioned her,” Lucy says, the words coming out cold. “Wynter’s in hospital. They’re saying she’s a danger to herself and they won’t listen to me. They won’t let me take her home. I feel completely fucking useless.”
Catherine gasps softly behind me. “Oh my god.”
Lucy drags a hand through her hair. “She refused antidepressants because of the baby, and now, she’s so deep in it I don’t know if they can pull her back.”
“Baby?” I repeat, the word catching in my throat. “She told me she wasn’t pregnant.”
Lucy lets out a bitter laugh. “Well, she wouldn’t lie, would she?” she snaps, her words dripping with sarcasm. She doesn’t even look at me as she turns to Catherine. “Maybe seeing you would help,” she says, softer now. “She spoke about you. Said you were kind to her.”
Catherine nods immediately. “Of course. If it’ll help.”
“Hold on,” I snap, stepping forward. “You’re telling me she’s pregnant with my child . . . and she’s in hospital?”
Lucy finally looks at me. “They say it’s for her own good,” she says coldly. “She stopped eating. Wouldn’t get out of bed. They’ve had to put her on a drip, even a feeding tube at one point. She’s in a bad way.”
The room feels like it’s closing in. “And this is because I ended things?” I ask, the words quieter now.
Lucy scoffs. “Don’t flatter yourself,” she snaps. “Did you ever once stop and ask how she was coping after Anika died?”
I open my mouth, but nothing comes out.
I didn’t.
Not once.
“You took on an inexperienced girl who had already lost her mum and her boyfriend within months of each other,” Lucy continues, her voice rising. “You put her in a situation she wasn’t equipped for, and when it all went wrong, you threw her out and left her to deal with it alone.”
Each word lands harder than the last.
“As her employer, the least you could’ve done was make sure she had support. Counselling. Something,” she adds. “But instead, you washed your hands of her.”
“I’ll pay for private care,” I say quickly, the words spilling out. “Whatever she needs.”
Lucy’s head snaps towards me, her expression turning furious.
“We don’t want anything from you,” she cuts in.
“I would rather scrub floors with a toothbrush than come to you for money.” The silence that follows is brutal.
“She’s exactly where she needs to be,” Lucy says, calmer now but no less cutting. “We’ve made sure of that.”
She steps back, looking me over like I’m something she can’t quite stomach. “I just needed to see the man who let this happen.” She heads for the door.
“What about the baby?” I ask, my voice low, controlled, but barely.
Lucy pauses at the door, her hand hovering over the handle.
She looks back at me. “How do you even know it’s yours?
” she asks. “Wynter was out partying a lot,” she continues, her tone edged with something bitter.
“Drinking heavily most nights after she left you. I’m praying to God it was nothing more than a one-night mistake. ”
Slapping me would have hurt less. “Wynter isn’t like that,” I snap, feeling the urge to protect her reputation.
She turns sharply, eyes blazing. “And how the hell would you know?” she fires back. “You knew her for what, five minutes? You don’t get to decide who she is after everything you put her through.”
My jaw tightens. “Don’t make this harder than it already is,” I warn.
Her expression shifts to disbelief, then anger.
“Is that a threat?” she asks, stepping closer instead of backing down.
“You might be someone important around here, with your fancy suits and your dick extension apartment with the city view, but let me make one thing very clear.” Her voice drops.
“You don’t scare me.” The lift dings open behind her.
“And I would fight anyone—anyone—to keep you away from her.”
She steps inside, then stops the doors from closing with her hand.
“She didn’t love you, Ray.” She smirks, and I know her next words will be a hard blow.
“I found her at Josh’s grave,” she continues, quieter now but no less brutal.
“Crying. Holding a bottle of pills like she was about to end it.” Something twists in my chest. “She wanted to be with him,” Lucy says. “Not you.”
The doors slide shut, and I’m left standing there.
With nothing but the echo of it.
Catherine lets out a slow breath. “Well, that was unexpected.”
I don’t answer straight away. I just stand there, staring at the empty space she left behind.
“I didn’t ask how she was,” I say eventually, my voice quieter. “Not once. After everything that happened, I didn’t even think to ask.” The words sit heavy in my chest. “I kicked her out,” I add. “Blamed her for everything because it was easier than looking at myself.”
Catherine watches me carefully. “You were grieving too,” she says gently.
I shake my head. “It’s been five months, Catherine,” I mutter. “Grief doesn’t give me the right to destroy someone else.” I drag a hand down my face. “I’ve been a complete bastard.”
She doesn’t bother to argue. “So, what are you going to do about it?”
It turns out Wynter is staying at a private clinic in London. Soho to be exact. I’m secretly impressed that no expense has been spared. The place is discreet, with top doctors and therapists.
I sit in the car longer than I should, staring up at the building like it might swallow me whole if I step inside.
I’ve faced men with guns. Watched people beg for their lives. None of that ever made me hesitate like this. Because this . . . this matters. And I don’t know how it ends. I have no control.
I drag a hand down my face, push the door open, and force myself out.
The receptionist already knows my name. I called to make sure I could visit. I expected resistance and more questions, or even a flat-out no, but it’s almost like they expected me to call.
I’m guided down a quiet corridor and shown into a small, neutral room. Beige walls. Two chairs. A table. Nothing personal or comforting.
I don’t sit straight away, I pace. Then I force myself into the chair, pressing elbows on my knees, and staring at the floor like I can somehow prepare for this.
The door opens, and I stand instantly.
He walks in, and I know right away who it is. He’s got the same eyes as Wynter. The same shape to his face.
But where she’s soft . . .
He’s not.
“No need to be formal,” he mutters, glancing at my outstretched hand but not taking it. I drop it, trying not to let it get to me.
“Mr. Lee,” I start, my voice rougher than I expect. “I’m sorry we’re only meeting like this.”
For the first time in a long time, I feel out of my depth. He studies me for a second too long, then takes a seat, gesturing for me to do the same.