32. Wyatt
Chapter Thirty-Two
WYATT
Regret didn’t even come close to describing the bitter taste crawling up my throat. My guilt and anger were corrosive, eating away at the thin layer of self-control I had left. The memory of Gage’s face, tight with pain and self-doubt, was seared into my brain.
I’d done that to him.
My temper had blindsided us both. The fragile calm I’d maintained since dropping my badge had vanished the moment Gage walked out of that jail free. Once he was safe, the holding pattern I’d been forcing myself to keep finally broke. He hadn’t deserved what I threw at him.
I wanted to go after him, to make it right, but something held me back. I’d promised to always be on his side, yet at the first test, I’d made him feel like a burden.
My keys were in my hand, but the thought of sitting alone at home, consumed by guilt, turned my stomach. I stood there in the foyer, rooted to the spot, while moonlight poured down from the arched windows. A great chandelier twinkled overhead, barely swaying in the still air, and somewhere deep in the house, a grandfather clock chimed.
Voices murmured faintly from the foster wing, pricking my ears, and I was halfway down the hall to check on Ivy before I remembered it wasn’t my job anymore. Fuck it. The kid deserved to know what was happening. Fear had ruled her life long enough.
Warm, yellow light spilled into the hallway from the second kitchen. The cozy space was a stark contrast to the grandeur of Eden House. Whitewashed cabinets bore scuffs and marks from years of use by countless children. Cast-iron skillets hung above the stove, and the air smelled of chocolate and butter. A ceiling fan spun lazily overhead, stirring the fragrant air as I stepped inside.
Ivy stood at the counter with her hands and face dusted with flour, scooping batter into a pan. Loretta hovered nearby, head bent so close that it was impossible to tell where her frizzy hair ended and Ivy’s began.
“You girls starting a bakery back here?” I teased, taking a dramatic sniff of sweet, chocolatey air.
Ivy jumped, dropping her spoon, but to my surprise, she didn’t shrink back or hide behind Loretta like she usually did. The startled rabbit vibes she’d carried since the first time we met at the hospital were absent. Instead, she straightened her shoulders and fearlessly met my eyes.
“We’re making brownies,” she said, wiping her hands on a dish towel. “Loretta said we could use something sweet for breakfast tomorrow.”
“For breakfast?” I raised a brow and glanced at Loretta, who gave me a knowing smile.
“Sometimes a little sweetness in the morning makes the rest of the day easier,” she said with a wink. “I need to fetch some eggs from the main kitchen. Make sure Ivy doesn’t add marshmallows while I’m gone, you hear?”
“Why is it marshmallows where you draw the line?” Ivy shouted after Loretta, who bustled past me in a cloud of floral perfume.
Her grin lingered until the shuffle of Loretta’s sneakers faded, and then it vanished. Like she wasn’t a little dandelion fluff of a girl, she squared up with me, straightening her shoulders and lifting her chin.
“Gideon was in here a few minutes ago,” she said. “He told me Mason says the charges were dropped.”
“For Gage, yeah,” I assured her. “Paulie’s cuffed to a hospital bed with an armed guard, and once he’s medically cleared, he’s heading straight to jail. He won’t be coming after you again.”
At least, he wouldn’t so long as the DA held up my deal with Vanderhoff. But she didn’t need to know that. She deserved some space to breathe and be a kid again—just like Gage had when Boone took him in. It wouldn’t erase her past, but maybe it could give her something better to hold onto.
“I guess it really is about who you know in a place like this, huh?” she said, letting out a bitter laugh as she scraped the last of the batter into the pan.
“How are you holding up?” I asked, watching her closely. “After everything?”
She paused, absent-mindedly licking her wooden spoon, as if the question had caught her off guard. Her mouth twisted a few times, trying out different shapes of smiles, and then she lifted her gaze to mine. “I’m good,” she said hesitantly. Then she cleared her throat and spoke again, stronger this time. “Better than good, actually.”
“That so?” I asked, keeping it light as I leaned across the counter to swipe a fingerful of batter.
She swiped at me with her spoon, but only half-heartedly, like she was afraid it would actually hit me. Then she set the spoon aside and took a deep breath. “You know, all my life, I’ve never seen anyone do what Gage did for me today. People talk. They do paperwork and give you rules they expect you to follow even when everyone else breaks them. But no one actually… no one puts themselves on the line. Not for someone like me.”
“It made you feel safe?” I guessed.
She shook her head, smiling in a way that revealed a dimple I hadn’t noticed before. “No. It made me feel important. Worth something, you know?”
A knot tightened in my throat. Her words hit harder than I expected. Important. Worth something. Everything Gage refused to believe he was to me. He wanted someone who saw him as more than just trouble waiting to happen, someone to choose him, without regret or hesitation. I’d let my anger drive a wedge between us, confirming what he already believed—that he wasn’t enough. Without Ivy, I might never have understood. Gage didn’t want saving; he wanted to believe he was worth any sacrifice.
“You’re worth something, Ivy,” I said hoarsely. “Don’t let anyone make you feel otherwise.”
Her smile widened, but before she could reply, Loretta breezed in with two egg cartons stacked in her arms. “There now,” she declared, tucking the cartons into the refrigerator and bumping the door closed with one ample hip. “Scrambled eggs will make the brownies a nice, balanced breakfast. Why don’t I finish up for you here, hon? It’s already past lights-out. Pop that pan in the oven and then you can head upstairs.”
I left them to their work, closing the door to the foster wing behind me and checking the latch before I headed toward the front of the house. Gage didn’t want to see me right now, but walking out of the house with so much unsaid felt wrong.
A flicker of light caught at the corner of my eye, seeping from a dim, rarely used corridor. If memory served, it led to the family’s private chapel. They didn’t use it much. Gideon spent most of his time at Our Lady downtown, and Boone had only been mildly religious at best. But tonight, someone had lit the votive candles. It felt like a sign.
Unlike most folks in the parish, I wasn’t particularly religious, but right now, I wasn’t looking for Gideon the priest. I was looking for the older brother, the man who knew Gage better than he knew himself. If anyone could offer clarity, it was him.
The chapel was modest, built originally for the Jesuits who established the estate. Over the centuries, a narrow corridor had been added to connect it to the house, blending its humble origins with Beaufort opulence. The stone floor and rough wooden pews were original, and the influx of family money showed in pops of detail: stained-glass windows splintering moonlight into blues and golds, the intricately carved pipe organ in one corner, and the gilt filigree processional cross above the altar. The scent of old wood and beeswax lingered in the air, heavy with centuries of devotion.
A man in black was kneeling in the first pew, but he was no priest. Not even close.
Dominic’s eyes were closed, and his hands were clenched so tightly in prayer that his knuckles were blanched into white peaks. I knew by the tightening in his shoulders that he noticed my approach, but he was hellbent on finishing his prayer. He made the sign of the cross, murmuring under his breath with such reverence I’d swear he almost believed what he was saying. Too bad everything I knew about the man told me otherwise.
It wasn’t until the amen that he finally turned his head to look at me, but he didn’t rise. He just watched me over his shoulder with that creepy, unreadable expression that made my skin crawl.
“Never pegged you as the religious type,” I said awkwardly.
He stood so fluidly I knew he’d never had cracking knees a day in his life, then slid his hands into his pockets and turned to face me fully. “Even the worst sinners find their way to a higher power now and then,” he said wryly.
“Yeah? What sins have you committed recently?” I couldn’t resist asking, even though I had no power to do anything about it anymore.
The light in his eyes was shockingly bright—almost insane—when he lifted his gaze to the stained glass. “I’m not here for past mistakes. I never regret anything once I’ve made my mind up to do it. But sometimes even I need guidance.”
His honesty was unsettling. Since when did he open his private thoughts to anyone? Especially me?
“Some things can’t be fixed by prayer,” I said, crossing my arms and refusing to budge from the doorway. “Especially the premeditated kind. Let’s not pretend your version of guidance doesn’t leave a body count.”
“And let’s not pretend your version of justice hasn’t done the same,” Dominic said, flashing a smile that was ice cold and humorless.
“At least I know the difference between right and wrong,” I growled, too exhausted and heartsick to tiptoe around his usual relativistic bullshit. “That’s more than I can say for you.”
“Oh, I know the difference,” he said wryly, keeping his hands tucked in the pockets of his pricey slacks and leaning against the pew with one ankle crossed over the other. “But someone has to make the hard calls when no one else is willing. I can take the hit and shoulder the guilt…because the alternative is worse.”
“You’re planning to do something you shouldn’t,” I said, cutting to the point.
He tilted his head, sizing me up with the eyes of a shark. Candlelight filled the hollows of his face, casting deep, ominous shadows. He looked like a man on the edge of a cliff, and the only thing that scared him was the height of the jump he’d decided to take.
“That’s not even a question.” Dominic’s lip twitched. “The question is how far am I willing to go? I have very few hard lines, Deputy, but one I’ve never dared cross is doing anything that might hurt one of my brothers.”
A chill ripped through me.
Dominic always spoke in riddles, but this time felt different. Whatever decision was weighing on him, it was enough to unnerve him—and that terrified me more than anything else.
“What’s different this time?” I asked warily.
His eyes drifted to the golden crucifix above the altar. “That’s what I’m here to figure out.”
His gaze shifted, tracking movement just over my shoulder, and the subtle change in his expression set my instincts screaming. The hair raised on the back of my neck, and I started to turn—but it was too late. Blinding pain exploded through the back of my skull, white-hot and absolute. My legs buckled, and all I saw was darkness.