CHAPTER EIGHT
AINSLEY
M y day of illumination arrived three sleeps before Josh left for boot camp. To be fair, I wasn’t deluding myself about what it meant to be a Morelli. The horror stories kids told around the bonfire at summer camp weren’t about ghosts or axe murderers from the 1800s who were still spotted lurking outside the cabins. They were about my father—tales of those he’d ended and the gruesome methods he’d employed to do it. And I knew they were true.
He had a coldness about him. And while I never fooled myself into believing he’d extend warmth to me, I knew making him proud was a possibility. Slim? Sure. But feasible nonetheless. And, fuck, did I want to provoke that rare glimmer in his eyes. The one he generally reserved for his right-hand men.
Those were the manacles I wore my entire life—a self-inflicted restraint to be whoever he wanted me to be. But they were invisible. To the world. To me.
It appeared that I was untouchable when I was actually being led to slaughter.
My mother probably knew those cuffs were there, but she wouldn’t have ever helped me unlock them. She was bound by her own. The whole Morelli clan was, just the way my father had designed it.
So, while I wasn’t in the dark, there was a shadow of belief that being his daughter sliced through those haunting barriers. I was so naive.
The day after Josh told me my father’s plans, I braved a meeting. It wasn’t something I did often. The Morelli Don’s time was valuable. Interrupting for frivolous matters had consequences, but to me, it was worth the risk. This was a matter of life or death. Lives.
I stood in the driveway before our vast Tudor mansion with George, sweating it out, fretting that I would only make things worse. “I don’t know if I can do this,” I rasped.
“You’ll be fine,” George cooed, his brown eyes bouncing with sincerity. “He bites, but he won’t bite you.” That came with a chuckle before his features sobered. “He won’t likely change his mind, honey. But it’s an act of love for you to try.”
“And if I fail, if I can’t …” My lips quivered because the earth was pulsing, warning me this was life-altering. “Is it still an act of love to let Josh go … to keep him in the dark?”
He lifted my chin, a solid hold because George knew this was yet another tale where no happy ending was in sight—every scenario would end in that campfire-story bloodshed. “It’s the only act of love you have to possibly get to the other side with him.”
My response got stuck in my throat, so I simply nodded as my hand splayed across my flip-flopping stomach.
“Be firm. Unwavering. No fear. Your father respects a lion,” George continued. “And whatever his response, you take it with your head held high, like a Morelli boss. Prove you can handle it. Everything is a test. I’ll be here when you’re done. If you need to break, you break with me.”
With those words echoing in my mind, I strode toward my father’s office, the aroma of tobacco, spices, and leather escorting my steps. The door was cracked open when I arrived to find him waiting, my eyes instinctively flitting to his clock.
“Ahh, Agnello, please come in,” he greeted.
That was his nickname for me—Lamb in Italian. That alone should have shouted how he saw me, but he’d been calling me that for as long as I could remember, so the fact that it was synonymous with sacrifice went unnoticed. Even the encouragement he’d extended for all my school challenges—about being the hunter or the hunted, the lion or the lamb—seemed separate from the term of endearment.
It’s like how you can sift through puzzle pieces for hours, unable to find the one that fits, only to realize it was sitting right in front of you and you’d looked at it a million times. Sometimes, we just don’t see.
“Hi, Papa,” I said with the confidence George had instructed me to carry as I took the seat across from my father. “I’m sure you know the reason for my visit.”
He hummed, stroking his thick salt-and-pepper beard. “The boy.”
“Yes, sir,” I confirmed, waiting for his direction, my insides winding into knots.
“I’ve been as generous as I can muster, Agnello. What is the problem?” He swung his hands through the air. “What did he tell you?” The displeasure in his tenor was obvious, and I feared I’d tanked the whole meeting before we even began.
Swallowing, I resisted the urge to shift in my chair, concealing even the slightest hint of nervousness. “He wouldn’t tell me much. But as you’ve always instructed me to do, I listened to all he didn’t say.”
That garnered an impressed dip of his chin, which swelled my chest. “Very nice. Go on then.”
“Well, Papa, I know how important complete transparency is, which is why I was pleased that Josh chose to speak to you once we realized something more could be between us. And I am so grateful for the opportunity you’ve provided him. We both are. But he said it could mean we’d be apart for years.”
His ring-clad pinkie clinked against his prized humidor as he scoured the mini-fridge-sized case beside his desk for just the right cigar. “Yes, Agnello. Years. Family means sacrifice.”
That was unsurprising. It was his reasoning for everything.
“It would mean the world to me if his sacrifice could be closer to home.” My voice quavered with that, and I chastised myself for it. Weak.
“I hear love in your words, Ainsley,” he admonished, eyes still scanning his cigar collection. “Love has no place in This Thing of Ours. We are called to more.”
“I respect that, Papa. And I remain fully devoted to this family, but he makes me happy. And he is your strongest foot soldier—”
“Foot soldier,” he repeated with a dismissive wave. “You, married to one? Sciocchezze. ”
Nonsense?
There was no keeping the plea from my voice after that.
“He could be more. You know this,” I insisted. “Of course you know this because you gave him your word that he would be. And you are a man of your word, right? He’s smart and determined—”
“And a Ricci,” he scorned, and my heart sank into my stomach.
“Forgive me, sir .” I spit that out with more snark than intended. “But it doesn’t sound like you’re planning to send him on a mission to earn my hand. It sounds like you’re getting rid of him.”
“Perhaps both can be true, Agnello. We will see how strong and devoted the two of you are.”
An insubordinate scoff left my lips, but my shackles were shining bright in his dimly lit office. “And the reward for this devotion, this sacrifice, is it that I get to be with him? Marry him? Have a family with him?”
“ Sangue! ” he barked, his fist pounding on his mahogany desk. Blood .
He was too angry to even utter the entire saying— blood is thicker than water .
My choosing Josh was nearly the same as defecting from the Morelli Cosa Nostra in his eyes.
Impatience with this discussion rumbled from his lungs as he finally selected his perfect smoke and grabbed his guillotine cutter to chop off the end, his gaze rising to mine. “Your reward is that he is alive.”
The threat was as chilling as his icy stare. I didn’t know what to do. Running would have gotten us both killed, but the thought of living without Josh for years felt like death anyway.
So, I risked it all and pushed, tears welling in my eyes as I laid it all on the line. “Family is everything to me, Papa. But so is he. In fact, my family is with him.”
His flinty eyes narrowed at me, his breath held. He understood all that was unsaid in that admission.
“I need your word,” I begged with all the strength I could summon. “Promise me that if he does as you’ve asked, he will remain unharmed. Promise.”
A rare glint of pride painted his features as he sighed, “Okay, Agnello. Okay.” He lit his cigar, puffed a few times, relaxed in his chair, and surveyed me. “You did good. You fought.”
It wasn’t a promise, but it was something—the speck of an accolade I had been so desperate for. My chest ballooned with joy and relief, but then silence came.
For a full minute, he said nothing. The towering grandfather clock behind his head taunted me. That was why he kept it there—a reminder to anyone who dared to disturb him that his minutes were precious and we were all on borrowed time. He’d told me that when I was only seven, pointing to the clock to prove he’d spent enough of his valuable time with me already. It had been six minutes that day. Despite my dyslexia, telling time came easy for me. Sometimes, I wished it hadn’t because after that day, I became obsessed with checking the time whenever I walked into his office.
So, during his silence, I thought long and hard about what I wanted out of my borrowed time .
Josh would have risked everything for me. He’d always wanted to run from that world. It was the only way we could ensure being together. I was nearly tipped that way, to the rocky days we’d have, looking over our shoulders, but laughing while we fled. My bags were practically packed in my mind.
Ready to be the lioness who owned her damn life.
Until …
“Here’s what I’ll do.” My father sat up straighter, so I did as well. “Josh will leave on Friday.” His palm rose in warning because Josh wasn’t supposed to leave for two more weeks, and he saw my objection coming. “You will both do precisely as I instruct, and when the time is over, I will award you each an administration position.”
“Each?” I croaked out as the quarter-hour Westminster chimes on the clock pulled me back to my impermanence. “Me as well?”
He’d never suggested that before. I’d been convinced he thought I was foolish, pretty but stupid.
“Yes. Of course. Famiglia . You’re bright, and you have the fight of a lion. You will do well.” He waved me off. “That’s all. Go say your goodbyes.”
I stood quickly, as commanded, peering around his office that held various memorabilia from This Thing of Ours—relics of honor. “Thank you, Papa.”
In so many ways, this was everything I’d ever wanted. I’d be a respected Morelli, not the family mascot. Not an embarrassment. And I’d have Josh by my side while I did it.
But that vision of us giddy and carefree, off on our own, was compelling. Wouldn’t that trump the abdication of my birthright? To sacrifice it all for that future, a new vision of family?
Before I reached the threshold, my father’s gruff timbre halted me. “Agnello.” Once I turned back, locking my eyes on his, he proved that he knew all, saw all, even the inner workings of my mind. “Be sure to extend my gratitude in advance for his subservience and don’t feed into any other ideas. You aren’t to give him any reason at all to disregard my orders. He needs a clear head. For his own safety and peace of mind, anything other than goodbye can wait. Make me proud.”
There were many elements of that statement that I could have sifted out—that I was his Lamb, the subtle threat for us both to comply, or that my father was finally proud.
I chose the latter. I chose wrong. I chose blood, and yet I didn’t.
That choice to grasp my father’s approval became the first rock in my mountain of sacrifice—the one I climbed, only to plummet off the edge, dragging everyone I loved with me into the avalanche.
My current trek doesn’t feel so different. The long route from my bedroom to Liam’s office lends a walk-the-plank kind of drumbeat to my steps. Wells summoned me there. The fiery redhead is the one who delivered said summons and is also my guide. She was nice when she came to get me. I’ve been avoiding them for the past twenty-seven hours—ever since the feverish, mud-splattered, animalistic fucking they were all obviously privy to.
Hiding is a survival method I’m well accustomed to—out of sight, out of mind. It’s less comforting than it used to be though. As much as I loathed my previous incarceration, there’s something to be said about not hoping or craving or longing. It hurts less.
This is a constant reminder of what isn’t mine.
Tonight, I took my dinner to my room, so when Ivy knocked, she told me to finish eating first because it was always wise to keep a man waiting. Especially her demanding husband. That made me laugh. I don’t want to like her, but she has a certain charm about her. Irritating .
When we enter, it isn’t just Wells and Liam. It’s all four guys. Though Wells is the one behind the desk.
“And something wicked this way comes,” Liam jeers, his eyes rollicking with mischief from the sofa where he’s lounging.
“Double, double toil and trouble,” I volley, pointing at him and appreciating the way he seems to lighten every space.
He winks at me and chuckles. “Well, you got that right.”
The air is otherwise thick with tension. My gaze floats around the room, briefly docking on Gage, whose expression is blank.
Maybe they’re finally going to place me. Let me leave. He got fucking me out of his system, so why else would he keep me around? My gut wrenches even though I know it’s for the best.
Stuffing down all the anxiety, I take the seat on the other side of the desk. Ivy sits down beside me. There must be a reason she’s included in their meetings when the other two girls aren’t, but I haven’t figured that out yet. Wells makes it hard to snoop.
“Thanks for coming down here, Ainsley,” he begins, and the distress mantling his usually stoic features has my heart rate ratcheting higher. “We received intel from Vargas. He was sent a message.”
“I thought he was in hiding,” I say because that’s what they told me when I threatened to contact him. And even I know that messages sent when you’re on the lam are relegated to smoke signals.
“He is.” Wells dives his hand into his thick raven-black hair—that’s his frustration tell that I’ve picked up on. “The entire Bureau got the same message. Vargas and I have an encrypted chat. He also has one with a fellow agent, so he was apprised and thought you should see this.”
He slides a laptop toward me with what appears to be a handwritten note on the screen.
It has bile scorching my throat. The inverted times are likely a dig at my dyslexia—not that I invert clock numbers. But what’s even more concerning is that 9:32 is circled.
How? I watched them fucking die.
My hand rises to my sternum, willing my lungs not to empty to the point of fainting. “Fuck. How did … I thought I …”
“What does it mean?” Wells asks, drawing me back to him.
Tears prick my eyes as I attempt to make sense of it. It can’t be. “I don’t know for sure.”
“You know more than you’re telling us,” Liam sneers, no mischief in his delivery now.
“Yes,” I admit, noticing Gage studying me. “I do. And there’s more to who all of you are. It seems we have a need-to-know-basis relationship.”
“Enough goddamn snark, Ains.” Gage crosses his arms over his bulging pecs, like a warning reprimand. “This is us fucking needing to know.”
Says the man who wants to keep me as a fucktoy. I’m not worsening my chances of making it out of this alive to be on his leash. Throttled for both the choices I made over a decade ago and the ones I was never afforded.
I swat my hand at the invisible line between us. “Too fucking bad, ya big mamaluke .”
“Christ, she’s fucking fun,” Liam howls, wiping his watery eyes. “I want to keep her in my pocket and let her cuss at people in Italian. I gotta know—what the hell is mamaluke ?”
Gage grunts, reluctantly translating. “She called me an idiot, dipshit.”
“Ainsley,” Ty croons from his seat beside Liam, completely ignoring the comedic outburst. He bends forward like he’s internally reaching for me. “You’re safe with us. I told you that.”
“You did,” I grant, knowing that he means it.
His authenticity is reminiscent of George’s—the only person I could truly count on, growing up. But Ty isn’t the only one here, so I need to stand my ground.
“And I appreciate that from you. But this …” I take in all five of them, unsure about how trustworthy they are and needing to push. “You’re not getting anything until I know what your angle is. You all want something from me. I might even be okay with being your bargaining chip, but I will make that decision once you start talking.”
“Let’s try something else,” Liam retorts while clicking on his slew of wall monitors.
“I thought we agreed to ease into this,” Ty objects as Ivy places her hand on the arm of my chair.
“Play it,” she orders, like a woman in charge. “She needs to see it. We’ll face it together.”
That all has my spine snapping straight.
What the hell is going on?
Twelve screens stare back at me, and what shows on them are various news stories, none of which appear to be about the same thing—coverage ranging from small-town theft to drive-by shootings. No idea how this relates to me.
But then he flicks the volume on, and at once, they all sync up through the surround sound to announce in eerie unison, “Occurred at nine thirty-two. While no details are being released at this time, investigators state that the evidence is clear and justice will be served.”
Jesus, that’s creepy.
I wrap my goose-bump-riddled arms around my middle, wishing I could disappear as I acknowledge the improbability of what I just watched. “All those things didn’t occur at nine thirty-two.”
“Not likely,” Liam returns. “We’ve been investigating a media conglomerate that seems to be scripting portions of broadcasts across all channels, like a sort of brainwashing. Know anything about that?”
“Who the hell are you guys?” I gasp because it’s clear they’re more than an erasing team.
Wells clanks the ice from his after-dinner scotch around the glass tumbler, garnering my attention. “We’ll share more once we know what we’re dealing with. That’s a safety measure for us and you.”
My eyes flit to Gage’s, but there are too many mixed emotions there, so I move to the one who might hear my plea. “Ty … please. I need you to erase me. If you guys are connected to this world, they’ll find me. Sending me far away is the safest move for all involved. Plea—”
“Fuck that,” Gage snipes. “Till my dying breath, Wicked. I told you that. In fact, even if I perish first, I’ll come back and haunt you. Goddamn eternity.”
“Jesus Christ,” Wells hisses, pinching the bridge of his nose.
“That’s some good shit right there, Big Guy. I think your Little Wicked could do her fair share of haunting.” Liam dips his chin to me in a weird blend of antagonistic respect. “So you might want to pray you go first, but the sentiment hits either way.”
I wish I could adopt his easygoing air, but based on what I just saw, my dying breath might come sooner rather than later.
Ivy’s hand smooths over my back, and although I’m not super fond of touch from those I don’t know well and am trying really hard to despise her, I don’t flinch. It’s been a long time since anyone has consoled me.
“Do you know who would be sending you this message?” Wells asks.
After mulling that over, I come up empty. It seems over the top, even for my father. He certainly weaponized time, whether it was the clock in his office or the watches he required us to wear to remind us that he owned our minutes. But I can’t envision him or anyone he trained using the media to goad me. To brainwash? Sure. But this is an extensive method of torment from someone who generally shot people like dogs in the woods. Plus, he’s dead. I saw him die.
And Nick? He knew I was obsessed with the clock in my father’s office. Everyone who entered that room was to a degree. It was the symbol of prosperity, sacrifice, and the grave. We were all counting the seconds to the end in some capacity. Nick even jokingly referred to it as the Grim Reaper, which was ludicrous, considering it was the man in the office who held our souls captive. But it was easier to villainize a clock, I suppose. So, yeah, taunting me with the time would line up, but still … he’s fucking dead.
The only other person I communicated with that night was Levi, but that was ten to fifteen minutes later when I flirted with him to escape. No way he or any of the other guards knew the exact time.
I shake my head. “No one that would make sense.”
“Who knew?” Gage roars, clearly referring to the inverted times, as he spins the fidget ring on his index finger with a vengeance. “Who the fuck would use this against you?”
A warmth spreads through me that he didn’t spell it out for the rest of them in a way that would embarrass me and that he’s obviously enraged on my behalf, but I chastise myself for gripping on to that.
And it’s another area that has me drawing a blank. The only people who knew my struggle are either dead or in this room. Even from that list, there are only two who would use it to screw with me.
“Only my father and Nick,” I supply, tucking my hands under my thighs to conceal the tremors in them.
“Of course Nick fucking knew,” he grumbles, like it wounds him that I shared that part of myself. It shouldn’t.
Nick knew because my father had wanted him to be aware of my limitations . Regardless, that is hardly the star evidence of this office convo.
Wells pins Gage with a rebuking glower before settling on me. “I know there’s a lot of shit between you two, but despite that, we’re on your side, Ainsley.”
He seems like he truly believes that. Maybe he does. But I doubt he comprehends what being on my side amounts to, especially since I don’t even understand what’s going on.
“Could either of them be alive?” Wells presses.
“No,” I huff, and my stomach roils.
I feel gaslit, not by the people in this room, but by whoever is doing this. I’ve worked so hard to block some things out that I’m second-guessing the memories I do have. I’d bank everything I am on the fact that they’re dead, but I’d also bet my life that no one outside that office could know the precise time I killed them. Maybe it doesn’t matter. Either way, someone’s coming for me.
“What can you tell us then?” he tries, and I wonder if he realizes I’m spiraling.
Instead of answering, I decide to request my own clarity. “Are you the head of the Cabrini family?”
“Yes,” he answers at the same time Gage’s pupils blow wide, but Wells forges ahead. “How did you know?”
Honest and no hesitation.
Not wanting to spew the odd correlation that name insinuates and unnecessarily stir up trouble, I keep it simple. “I didn’t. But I saw the name on your schedule and assumed. The thing is … this is how the Morellis work. The Vittoris too. If they’re launching a coercion of this magnitude, it’s worse than I thought. They’ll be combing through every connected family, assuming I sought refuge with one of their enemies, and …”
“Did they have media ties?” Liam inquires.
“I don’t know,” I confess because it would be nice if they could get to the bottom of this. “I wasn’t permitted access to any of the business, but my father was highly motivated to do whatever was necessary to be the most powerful, so I suppose that would align. Is that what the Cabrinis do?”
“No.” Wells’s response is clipped as he whips out a butterscotch candy, unwrapping it and plopping it into his mouth.
“It’s not just the Cabrinis,” Ivy warbles from beside me, and Wells immediately grits out a stern, “Ivanna.”
Her blue eyes are wild, skin pink, as she throws her hand toward Gage. “You heard him. He said she’s his until his dying breath, so I think we’re good.”
An unspoken dare ensues between them that almost appears to be lust-charged while the room falls silent.
Satisfied that she won, she peers at me. “We’re members of a cabal. The media is about the only thing we don’t control. We know the Morellis are dangerous, but they are no match for us, especially now that the Don and his primary administration are gone. Your cooperation could make all the difference.”
And that’s a hell of a mixed bag. Honesty from the one person in the house I want to despise. And yet it’s so unfiltered that I also hear that this cabal needs me to do their bidding. They think the Morellis and Vittoris own the media, and I’m the key to the inside.
The sacrificial lamb yet again.
The candy clacks against Wells’s teeth as he sets his stern gaze on me. “What does nine thirty-two mean, Ainsley?”
I’m officially at my breaking point, so I rise to leave, but since they revealed some things, I do the same. “Time of death. But the only people who could know that were in that room with me. And they all had bullets in their heads.”
A soft knock raps on my door about a half an hour later—the main door, not Gage’s peeping access. When I open it, Ivy is standing there, her blue eyes teeming with what seems to be pity, which pisses me off.
“Can I come in?” she asks.
“It’s your house,” I bite out while throwing the door open wide and immediately hating myself for it.
What the hell is my problem?
She bobs her head and steps inside. “No more than it is yours now.”
I fall back on my bed and glare at her despite my gnawing guilt. “I think I respected your threats more. Why are you being nice to me? Is it because you sense how much I want to hate you, like a kill-’em-with-kindness punishment?”
She laughs and plunks onto the plush cream reading chair. “Something like that, but I actually mean it—the threats, but especially the kindness.”
“Right.” I cock my head, conveying my sarcasm, before I search the ceiling for a trace of patience. “Because everyone wants to open their home to the woman who stabs their family with utensils.”
“I’m not judging,” she sings. “He probably deserved it.”
My eyes flick to hers. “That’s an unexpected perspective from his beloved baking buddy.”
“Because you’re only seeing one snippet of who we are.” The corner of her mouth hitches upward as she twirls the fringe of a throw pillow around her finger. “Stabbing is nothing. When they pissed me off, I burned their house down.”
A genuine cackle leaves my lips—the first one in … forever. “You have to give me more than that.”
She flaps her hand. “It’s a long story, but basically, they abandoned me—or so I thought—so I funneled money out of their bank account, bought the house we’d lived in that they were trying to sell, set it on fire, recorded it, and sent them the video.” Her whole face beams as she tacks on, “I even drew a phoenix in the backyard and set it on fire too.”
Talk about coming in here with guns blazing. I think I have my first girl crush.
“Oh my God,” I gasp, covering my flushed face. “Well, I can’t hate you now.”
“So, kindness, threats, and tales of arson were the magic combination, huh?” She giggles, and the girlie sound doesn’t infuriate me.
“I think so.” I nod, not quite ready to divulge that I’m in awe of her. “So, how did that lead to you here, with all of them worshipping you after that?”
Her eyes sear into mine with a candor that almost hurts. “We’re more than one day, one choice, one string of actions. Everyone here has done things they aren’t proud of, for reasons that were completely valid in the moment.”
“So, they just forgave you for stealing their money and burning down their house—”
“And sending them on a wild goose chase,” she interjects. “But, yeah, because we all need each other. And the rest of them—they’ve had such a rough road. That’s the reason I spewed my threats. I’ll protect you all at any cost.”
Hearing myself included in that has my chest tightening. I’m sure it was an oversight, so I bypass it and pluck out something else. “You didn’t have a rough road?”
“No. Far from it.” Her eyes glisten before dropping to her finger, entwined in the pillow fringe. “My dad passed away a year and a half ago, but he was the most amazing father anyone ever had. And my mom is equally incredible. She’ll be back in a couple of days, so you’ll meet her. They loved me well and gave me everything they could. So, it is my greatest honor to spread that to my family.”
Before I can respond, Rena pops her head in.
“Hey, girls. Gage and Ty have F-bomb for the night,” she begins, and my heart simultaneously balloons and shatters at the reminder of how sweet Gage is with that baby. “Wells and Liam are working on something,” she goes on. “Celeste is having Rex and his guys grab us sushi and tacos for Wine Wednesday. So, we’re almost set.” She peers at me. “If Ivy doesn’t convince you to join us, I’ll be back with snacks to lure you. Oh”—she claps with a celebratory whoop—“and your playlist.”
“Thanks,” I say as she leaves, and I turn to Ivy. “Sushi and tacos?”
She shakes her head with a grin as she jumps up and shuts the door. “When it comes to Rena, it’s best to just hold on and enjoy the ride.”
That makes me smile. “I’ve gathered.”
“You had a baby,” she blurts out while reclaiming her chair.
“What?” My arm instinctually wraps around my middle, my heart hammering my rib cage. “Why would you say that?”
“It’s not obvious.” She slants her head, empathy marring her features. “There’s no need to worry. I sense things sometimes.”
“Like a sorcerer? You set things on fire and read minds?” That had a bitchy tone to it. I suppose it’s going to take a hot minute for my mind to embrace being nice.
She shrugs. “I won’t rule it out. But this … I just know.”
Her face reveals even more than her admission, like she has a window into the deepest cracks inside me. And it hits me, the realization that somehow, she sees the gaping wound that will never mend. I was intimately aware that I couldn’t outrun it, but I didn’t think anyone else was.
The grief I’ve been stifling for a month and a half—for years—comes rushing to the surface, so I double over, mortified, and raise my hand to her. “Please don’t.”
In a blink, she’s beside me, arm curled over my back, pulling me against her. “He deserves to know, Ainsley. I won’t ask you all the obvious when, who, what happened questions. Those are between you and Gage. But you still care about him, and you deserve to be heard. To explain yourself. Why haven’t you?”
“Because I did all the things he said I did.” That confession comes out strained, through tumbling breaths and mortifying sniffs.
“You had valid reasons.” She doesn’t pose that as a question, simply states it matter-of-factly, and I’m baffled as to how this girl is suddenly my champion.
“Does it matter?” I spit out.
“Yes,” she insists. “Just like it mattered that I had a reason for burning their house down.”
“Well”—my breaths wheeze out of me—“Gage made it clear that first night that it didn’t. He got his answers and said he didn’t need to know anything else. I can’t even blame him for that piece. I’d probably be the same.”
“He doesn’t want the rest of the story,” she argues, “because he thinks he knows it. But something is amiss here. It doesn’t seem like you intended on deceiving him.”
I straighten, wipe my face, and finally look at her. “It’s not that simple. He has actually asked for the full story, but he doesn’t want it. He wants me to tell him it was all a mistake. And I can’t. I failed in so many ways. I know you mean well, but these secrets aren’t the kind that make things better when they’re revealed. They’re the kind that haunt people, and I … I won’t use the worst thing I ever did as an excuse for betraying him.” A shuddering breath falls out of me, highlighting my defeat. “I’m sure you’re going to tell him, but—”
“I would never.” Her face is so innocent with that statement, like she couldn’t imagine telling Gage what she knows. “Your secret is safe with me.”
“Why would you do that? What if he ends up hating you for keeping it from him?”
“He won’t,” she spouts with utter confidence. “He knows me. It’s not my story to tell, and Gage appreciates loyalty and integrity.”
Instead of filling me with bitterness that she thinks she knows him, I’m bursting with pride because I know that about him too. “Those were qualities Josh appreciated. I’m not sure there’s much else that’s the same, but that is.”
“That’s where you’re wrong. I may not have known Josh then, but he’s here now. When I met Gage, that part of him was buried so deep. He hated me simply because I was female. He was such a dick.” She laughs. “I mean, seriously, such. A. Dick. But then, little by little, this softness emerged. He’s helped me through some really difficult times. He befriended Celeste, found ways to relate to her. He’s so sweet with Rena. And he’s amazing with my daughter.”
“Great—”
“I’m not boasting,” she cuts me off before I can unleash too much disrespect. “I’m trying to say, that man you knew is in there. His guard is up with you, but I think if you chose to break through it by being vulnerable, you’d see he’s the same, maybe even better than back then. He’s fought so hard for this life, and he shows up for his family again and again. If you forfeit your pride, you might gain a whole lot in return.”
Family means sacrifice.
“And if I stab him again?” I ask, half teasing since she said she’d shoot me the first time.
“Well”—she pops her shoulder as her arm flies out in surrender—“no one in this house is stable. You’ll fit right in.”