50. Rafe
50
RAFE
I drove through the narrow cobblestone streets of Folegandros, working my way up the craggy mountain road to the house we’d rented. The car was small — also a rental — and I was glad Lilah was in back with Nolan, Jude next to me in the front seat.
Lilah probably thought I was avoiding her because I was pissed about Folegandros, but the truth was, I could hardly face her after her confession the week before. I’d known what we’d done was wrong — before, during, and after — but I’d had no idea the extent of the damage we’d done.
I felt ashamed just thinking it. I hadn’t known because I hadn’t bothered to check, even after we got out of the military and started a business that gave us access to all kinds of information using resources that would have made finding someone like Lilah a piece of cake.
I hadn’t looked for her. I hadn’t looked for her even though not a day went by that I hadn’t thought of her, and I was honest enough with myself to know why: I was a fucking coward.
I’d known when she disappeared from school that the fallout from the pictures was bad. I just hadn’t wanted to know how bad. Now that I knew, I was pretty fucking sure I’d go to my grave with the sound of Lilah sobbing in the living room, telling us how she’d tried to end her life because of what we’d done.
Even now, winding our way up the island of Folegandros, the Aegean Sea unfurled like a sapphire blanket into the distance, a contrast to the stark white houses perched on the cliffs overlooking the water, my chest constricted at the thought of it.
We’d hardly spoken since her confession, because no words existed in the human language to make up for what we’d done, for what an absolute shit I’d been.
“This is us,” Jude said, pointing at a narrow house perched on a cliff at the end of a long dirt drive.
I turned onto the path and navigated the rental — a nondescript economy model because that was all they had — up the bumpy road. The cliff made it look like we were driving into the sky, but when I pulled up to the house I saw that it dropped to the sea below, a treacherous wooden staircase zigzagging down the face of the cliff.
“Wow,” Nolan said, getting out of the car and stretching, “what a view.”
It was quiet except for the sound of the waves crashing against the cliff, the wind blowing in off the sea. I’d chosen the house both for its accommodations (four bedrooms and a pool) and for its privacy. I had no fucking idea what we were getting into here, and when you didn’t know what you were getting into, privacy was the best bet.
Hotels meant other people — front desk clerks, doormen, valets, other guests. If whoever was behind Imperium Fratrum was as powerful as I suspected, they were probably well connected on the island. I had no reason to believe the figures behind the organization knew we were here, but I’d done enough work in the shadows to know it was safer not to take anything for granted.
And while being safe wasn’t usually my priority, I had Lilah to think about now, and fuck if I was going to let anything happen to her.
My breath caught as I watched her walk toward the cliff, her hair flaring gold in the sunlight. It blew around her shoulders as she approached the edge, her hips moving under the baggie hoodie she’d worn with black jeans on the plane.
I hated that as much as I wanted to protect her — as much as I wanted to give her the fucking world — I also wanted to fuck her.
To fucking possess her. For real this time.
And I had no right — no fucking right — to want that from her.
“There are stairs,” she said, walking back toward us. “To the beach.”
She seemed almost excited for the first time since our fight at the house.
“Better get your suit,” Nolan said.
“Can we look at the house?” she asked.
She was like a kid at Disneyland, and I wondered if she’d ever even had a vacation. I was overwhelmed with the desire to take her everywhere, show her everything, introduce her to the world she’d been missing while she’d been fighting for her life all these years.
Jude threw an arm over her shoulder. “Let’s go, boss.”
I envied the fuck out of him. Nolan too. The way they could own their mistakes, the words that seemed to come so easy to them when they talked to Lilah, like they weren't haunted by the past at all, like the ghosts in their head weren’t so loud they drowned out everything in the here and now.
I blamed Sandoval. Or more accurately, I blamed myself for idolizing Sandoval, and that blame prevented me from letting go of what had happened in the military. We’d joined to make up for what we’d done to Lilah and had ended up being part of yet more fucked-up shit.
How the fuck was I supposed to move on from all we’d done, let alone forgive myself for it? And if I couldn’t forgive myself, I sure as fuck didn’t expect Lilah to forgive me.
I watched as she took Nolan’s hand and walked toward the white house we’d rented. Jude was with them, the three of them talking easily, like the past had never happened at all.
But it had. I knew it had just like I knew I’d never — not in a million years — be able to make up for it.
I couldn’t do that, but I could do something else. I could do this for Lilah: bring her to Folegandros, figure out what the fuck was going on with Vic and Mr. Suit and the girls.
Lilah wanted to know. And she didn’t know it, but for Lilah?
Well, for Lilah I’d do fucking anything.