Chapter 23
CHAPTER 23
T horn had drunk several cups of coffee, eaten breakfast, and taken a good look around the property by the time Damian appeared the next morning.
Jeez, he looked rough as hell. She’d found the empty bottle of tequila on the outside table this morning, and guiltily, suspected she might be the cause.
“How’s the head?” she asked, glancing up as he came into the living room. She’d been curled up on the couch reading a novel, something she hadn’t done in years.
He grimaced in reply.
Wordlessly, she got up, went to the kitchen, and poured him a cup of coffee. He accepted it gratefully and then sank down gingerly on the couch.
“Damian,” she began. “I feel bad about last night. I shouldn’t have dumped on you like that. I mean, I’m supposed to be protecting you, and?—”
“You are protecting me,” he said, then winced as if the words were too loud. He lowered his voice. “You got me out of Las Piedras and brought me here. We’re safe. I’ll probably make it until Friday, so the FBI will be happy.”
She frowned at his tone. “Is something wrong?”
“Apart from the elephants parading around in my head, no.”
She studied him for a moment. He was pissed about last night, she could tell. She might not be as good at reading him as he was at reading her, but she knew when a man was sulking.
It was Jaden. Why did she have to have a meltdown like that right in front of him? Ever since they’d met, she’d been an emotional wreck. It was pathetic, and oddly, not like her at all.
“You speak to Pat?” he asked, changing the subject before she could dwell on it anymore.
“Yeah, this morning. I told him what had happened, and he was understandably concerned. He’s going to look into the possibility of a leak at the office, although I can’t think who it could be.”
“I wouldn’t put it past Alek to try to buy off one of your operatives,” he grumbled.
She pursed her lips. “I don’t know. Pat vets them pretty thoroughly before he hires them. I doubt any of them can be bought.”
He shrugged. “Everyone has a price.”
Her eyes slanted. “Not everyone.”
He didn’t respond. An uneasy silence stretched between them, until Damian said, “I thought I’d clean up the Yamaha today.”
“Are you sure?” If he wanted to wash a filthy motorcycle, that was up to him. “We’re just going to ditch it anyway.”
“The owners will want it back, and I’ve got nothing better to do.”
Another jab, even if it wasn’t intentional.
“Okay, fine. I’ll be inside if you need me. I’ve got a lot of sorting to do.”
“I won’t. We’re good here.”
She gave a weary nod. “Yeah, we’re good.”
Thorn watched Damian leave the room, his broad shoulders tense, the unspoken words between them hanging like a heavy fog. She let out a slow breath, her eyes trailing to the door as it clicked shut behind him.
A part of her wanted to call him back, to explain herself, to make him understand that last night had nothing to do with him.
But she couldn’t.
Not yet.
The old farmhouse was eerily quiet once Damian was gone. Thorn stood in the center of the living room, feeling the weight of the past pressing in on her from all sides. It wasn’t just the house, it was everything that came with it. Every corner, every piece of furniture, every photograph on the wall was a reminder of a life she no longer lived, with a man who no longer existed.
She wasn’t sure how long she stood there, lost in thought, before her gaze finally settled on the doorway to the study. The door was slightly ajar, a thin sliver of darkness spilling into the hall. It was the only room she hadn’t been able to bring herself to enter since they’d arrived. The study had been Jaden’s space, where he’d drafted designs, drawn sketches and sometimes painted. Now, it was just a room full of ghosts.
Thorn crossed the living room, her steps slow and deliberate as she approached the study. She pushed the door open fully, the old hinges creaking. The room was just as she remembered it, though dustier now.
Jaden’s desk sat in the corner, drawings still scattered across the surface as if he’d just stepped out for a moment and would return any second to finish his work. The bookshelf along the far wall was filled with his favorite books, spines worn from use. A jacket still hung on the back of the chair.
Her breath caught in her throat as she stepped inside, the familiar scent of leather and draft paper filling her nostrils. For a moment, she stood frozen in the doorway, her fingers clutching the frame as memories came rushing back—Jaden sitting at that desk, lost in thought, the way he’d look up and smile when she walked in, the sound of his voice as he explained the intricacies of one of his sketches.
Move.
Thorn walked over to the desk, her hand hovering over the surface before she finally allowed her fingers to brush against the papers. They were brittle now, the edges yellowed with age.
She picked up a photograph, her chest tightening as she looked at the image of Jaden, smiling at the camera, his arm around her waist. They’d been so happy back then, so sure of their future.
A tear slipped down her cheek, and Thorn quickly brushed it away, but more followed. She clutched the photo to her chest, her breath hitching as the grief she was barely keeping at bay broke through again.
She cried for Jaden, for the life they’d planned together that had been so cruelly taken from them. She cried for the love they’d shared, a love that had been perfect and flawed and everything in between. And she cried for herself, for the woman she’d been before his death, and the woman she was now.
When the tears finally subsided, she was left feeling hollow, exhausted.
She looked down at the photograph, and carefully set it back on the desk. Slowly, she stood, her legs unsteady as she wiped away the last of her tears.
Enough now.
She knew what she had to do.
It was time.
Thorn found some boxes in the closet and began the task of packing away Jaden’s belongings. She started with the books, carefully placing each one into a box. Each title brought back a memory, and she allowed herself to linger on them for a moment before moving on. She packed away his drawings next, trying not to read the notes scribbled in the margins. It was too painful to think about the things he’d never get to finish.
Finally, she reached for the jacket. She hesitated, fingers brushing against the worn leather. Thorn closed her eyes, bringing the jacket to her nose, inhaling deeply. The scent was faint, but it was still there, a reminder of him.
With a deep breath, she folded the jacket and placed it gently on top of the other items in the box.
Next, she moved on to the bedroom and did the same thing there.
Finally, when she was done, she sealed the boxes with tape and stacked them neatly in the study. That room was empty now, stripped of everything that had made it Jaden’s.
Now, instead of feeling the crushing weight of loss, she felt lighter, as if a burden had been lifted.
Packing away Jaden’s things didn’t mean she was forgetting him. She could never do that. But it was a step—a necessary step—toward healing, toward allowing herself to move forward. Toward allowing herself to live again, maybe even love again.
She was ready to let go, not of Jaden, but of the hold the past had on her. And as she left the study, closing the door behind her, she felt a sense of peace she hadn’t felt in years.
Back in the living room, Thorn paused, glancing out the window. Damian was still outside, working on the Yamaha. She could see the tension in his shoulders, the way he scrubbed the bike with more force than necessary, as if he could wash away the frustration he felt. She knew she owed him an apology, a real one this time.
But that could wait. For now, she needed a moment to herself, to absorb the enormity of what she’d just done. She sank back onto the couch, her eyes closing as she took a deep breath, feeling the weight of the past finally begin to lift.
Now, at least, she could concentrate on the future.