35. Slade
SLADE
“I’m going to talk to my family tomorrow.”
Jude’s brows shoot up. “Do you want me to come with you?”
I curl my fingers around the crystal in my pocket.
“Whatever your reasons… they love you. Please come to them soon.”
Why would Halliday say that to me? Maybe she doesn’t know what I did. They can’t have told her the truth.
“No. I need to do this alone.”
She slides her hands up to stroke my cheeks. “Okay. I’ll be here, though. Whatever happens.”
“Thank you,” I breathe, resting my forehead against hers.
Tomorrow, everything could change. All I can do is pray for it to change in a way that doesn’t rip Jude from me for good.
Because if I go to jail, I won’t allow her to wait for me.
The thought of her wasting her life for me is worse than anything else that could happen.
It was selfish and reckless of me to come here and put her in the middle of all this.
It was a risk I’ll never forgive myself for taking if it all goes wrong and she gets hurt.
“I’m going for a walk. I need some air before I’ll be able to sleep.”
Jude nods. “I’ll keep the bed warm for you, yeah?”
“You do that, New York City. I won’t be long.”
“I’ll be waiting, Cowboy,” she hums.
I lower my lips to hers and we take our time kissing one another with a slow tenderness, savoring this moment, because we both know that after tonight, anything could happen.
I didn’t know where I was headed after I left Jude’s place. I just walked. And now I’m here, standing on Brooklyn Bridge at two in the morning, looking out at what used to be my home.
The view is staggering after all these years.
I used to look up at the towering skyline and feel pride and excitement, knowing my family owned some of these buildings, and I was a part of something incredible.
Now all I feel is a cold detachment, no longer sure which still belong to them, and which don’t.
Maybe they’ve bought more, sold others. I have no idea anymore, a stranger to what was once my family, my life.
Flattening both palms against the tall guard fence designed to keep people from falling—or jumping—into the water below, I peer down into the blackness, wondering what’s a worse way to die, burning or drowning.
Pain tears at my chest as I picture Jude disappearing beneath the surface in front of my eyes after she went off that cliff edge.
Then there’s Mom. What if she was still alive when I ran back with her EpiPen?
What if it was the fire that killed her?
The thought brings me no relief. Death by fire.
That must be the worst. At least in water, there’s a kind of calmness there. At least there is for me.
“Fuck!”
I slam one palm against the fence before looking up at the night sky.
I have to face my family tomorrow and I have no idea how to do it.
How do I walk up to them after three years and look them in the eye knowing what I did?
How are they going to be able to look at me?
Maybe they won’t. Maybe they’ll tell me to do us all a favor and disappear.
What would I tell Jude? I promised her I wouldn’t leave without saying goodbye, but there’s no way I’d subject her to living a lie in hiding like that. No damn way.
Tires screech behind me, a flash of headlights rolling over me before pitching me back into shadows.
A door slams and a deep voice calls out, “You died on water once. Don’t do it to them again.”
What the hell?
Heavy footsteps make their way toward me as I spin around. A giant guy in a dark suit walks toward me.
I narrow my eyes as the stern face of my father’s head of security comes into focus.
“Denver?”
“Slade,” he clips.
The back of my throat goes dry. Until Halliday earlier today, Jude’s the only person who’s called me by my real name in over three years. I never thought I’d ever hear it again from someone who knew me back then.
“You found me.”
“Once I knew it was you we were looking for.”
“Halliday?”
He nods.
His jaw is set and rigid as he regards me without a hint of emotion on his face.
That was always one of his strengths and something I admired.
I could never beat him at cards because the guy can guard his feelings like they’re a matter of national security.
All those years in the military gave him that skill.
I don’t need to ask how he found me. The guy has magic powers once he knows what he’s looking for.
He could have been following me for days and I wouldn’t have suspected a thing.
He’s probably the only one who understands what it’s like to live in the shadows.
Except, his reasons are so he can do his job. Mine are so I don’t hurt anyone.
“So, you and my sister?” I say, choosing to silence the glaringly obvious questions that are threatening to burst from me.
Do they all hate me? Should I climb this fence and jump? Would they toss me over themselves given the chance?
One swift nod of his set jaw accompanies a single word. “Yeah.”
“She finally started speaking to you then, huh?”
“She did.” His eyes glint, the only indication that he’s smiling inside. Dad always told me he thought Sinclair would hit it off with Denver one day, if she just gave him the chance.
“Sullivan?” I ask.
“He’s engaged to Tate.”
“Tate,” I echo, soaking up the information. “And they have a daughter?”
Denver clears his throat. “Molly. But she’s not… Tate’s adopting her.”
I let that sink in. Molly must be Claudia’s. Sullivan was dating her when we went to Cape Town. The timing would make sense. Something obviously happened between them if they’re no longer together.
“And my father? Halliday?”
“She’s been good for him. Good for all of them.”
I nod, understanding my father choosing to marry again wouldn’t be a decision he’d have made lightly. We all saw how hard he and Mom tried to portray a united front to us, their kids. But even before I witnessed her arguing with her lover, I knew they weren’t happy together.
They didn’t look at one another like a couple who loved each other.
Not the maddening, all-consuming love that I feel for Jude. A love that makes you cross oceans on a fake passport, knowing that the only things waiting for you could be jail and a whole load of pain.
But I’d do it all again a billion times just to see her face one more time.
The thought of her waiting in her bed for me tugs at my gut. I’ve been gone hours but been too in my head to return sooner.
I clear my throat. “Uncle Mal? Aunt Trudy?”
I study Denver as he takes his time answering.
His expression turns grim. “Mal took it hard.”
My breath stalls. I’ve stopped myself from looking them up, too scared of how it would feel to see them living their lives without me that I never considered—
“He’s never stopped searching for answers about what happened to both of you.”
I sag against the railing, relief flowing through my veins like a river. He’s still alive. I’m not responsible for another family member’s premature demise.
“And did he get any?” I ask, pushing a hand around my jaw as I stare at Denver.
It’s weird, it’s been three years, but talking to him now, I could believe it was yesterday I last spoke with him. He and I always got on well. He might have worked for the family, but to me I just saw a guy I liked and respected, who I called a friend.
“Some. We know Elaina saw Neil at the marina that day.”
My hands curl into fists at the mention of his name. The way Mom told him she loved him.
“But he wasn’t responsible for starting the fire,” Denver says.
“He went there to ask her to leave us all for him,” I spit.
“And she chose to stay,” Denver says.
“How do you know that?”
“Neil returned to New York. He followed Sinclair… He got close to her…” Denver’s entire bulky frame stiffens like the knowledge of someone getting close to my sister both boils his blood and terrifies him in equal measure.
“He told her your mother chose to stay. That she said she’d never leave her family. ”
Her words I overheard that day ring in my head. “I can’t. They’re my family.” But it doesn’t excuse what she did, or the fact I can’t ever tell her how much it hurt to find out the way I did. It’s a twist in my gut that will never ease. She was lying to us all.
“You said he wasn’t responsible for the fire? That means you don’t think it was an accident.”
Denver’s jaw tightens, and as good as his poker face is, I can still read his silence better than any expression.
“But you already knew that?”
“We don’t know anything. There’s no evidence to suggest it was arson.”
“But you don’t believe it was an accident.”
“No. I don’t.”
He fixes me with an intent stare that tells me all I need to know. My father’s head of security, a man with years of special operations training, who has a gut instinct for these things, knows something doesn’t add up about that day.
But he’s also not said a word about my mother’s death.
Or my role in it.
I narrow my eyes, my next words on the tip of my tongue.
Tires screech through the night like blood-curdling screams, and another vehicle races toward us.
It skids to a halt behind Denver, illuminating us with its headlights.
“I called them,” Denver says, his eyes trained on me like he’s assessing the risk that I might actually scale the fencing and jump off the bridge.
The doors fly open, and they spill out.
One by one.
My father. My brother. My sister.
The background noises of the city blur into nothingness. I can’t see their faces. They’re shadows, lit from behind by the headlights. The irony makes sourness creep over my tongue.
They approach slowly, staring at me like they’re seeing a ghost.
But I’m not a ghost.
I’m a shadow.
Shine a light on me and I no longer exist.
Their faces are all twisted with a mix of shock and pain.
“Three years has made you all pretty damn convincing,” I murmur.
Sinclair’s the first to break the silence. She makes a run for it, stopping directly in front of me.
Her eyes widen as she takes me in, and she sobs out a gasp through a weak, watery smile.
“Slade?” she whispers.
The pain in her eyes is like a dagger to my heart.
“Hi Sinclair,” I breathe.
She slaps me hard across the face.
“You’re dead!” she shrieks. “You’re dead! Why would you do this to us?”
Tears gush down her cheeks, and I take a step toward her, but she shakes her head, and Denver pulls her into his arms before she collapses.
She turns and sinks into his embrace, breaking into sobs. It’s a gut-wrenching sound that will haunt me.
Denver meets my eyes over the top of her head, a silent pain in his as he dips his mouth to her temple and murmurs something I can’t hear. She nods at whatever he says and wraps her arms around his neck, gripping onto him like he’s the one thing that can hold her together.
“You told the world I was dead,” I say into the cold air, my words not directed at anyone in particular yet meant for them all.
Sinclair’s cries fill the night air like a haunting melody, making me hate myself even more.
Why would I do this to them? That’s what she said. She’s talking about Mom. Asking how I could kill our mother. How I could take her away from all of us so cruelly.
“You were dead.”
The clipped, emotionless words have me dragging my eyes from Sinclair to my brother.
Sullivan stares at me, his eyes empty.
My gut cramps. I recognize the look on his face. It’s my face too, after all. And that’s exactly how I look staring in the mirror some days.
Like I hate the man staring back.
He doesn’t want to see me again. That much is clear. I should have stayed gone. Stayed dead. But then I would never have seen Jude again.
I swallow past the burn in my throat as my father takes a step closer, studying me like he’s still convincing himself I’m real.
“Son?” he whispers.
“Dad?” I rasp.
A choked sound bubbles past my lips before I clamp them together. We stare at one another in silence.
“I hear congratulations are in order. A new baby?” I breathe.
The deep furrow of his brow softens and his scrutiny of me eases a fraction.
“Thank you. I never thought that I…” He shakes his head, his blue eyes pinned on mine. “I’d question my sanity right now if it weren’t for the miracles this family has seen recently.”
This family.
The words slice through me. He’s talking about them. Not me. All the things they’ve been doing together. The new memories they’ve been making. New spouses. New babies.
None of which I’m a part of.
“My God, what am I doing—?” he chokes out.
He pulls me into a fierce hug like it just occurred to him that he hasn’t touched me. I lift my arms, hovering them above his back for a moment. His aftershave sinks into my senses, bringing with it peace and warmth. It’s the one he’s always worn. So familiar. So safe.
“Jesus Christ, Son…” he sobs.
“Dad!” I cry, slamming my arms around him and clinging to him like I’ll never be able to let go again. I might be a grown man, but my composure shatters and I weep in his arms like a baby. “Oh God… Dad…”
The emotions of being back with him obliterate me like a wrecking ball. My chest heaves, breathing becomes hard, and my head spins.
My father holds me up, his arms tightening around me.
“I’ve got you, Son. I’ve got you.”
My brother watches us, his expression stark and unnerving.
A stab of ice to my gut.
I hug my father tighter as Sullivan turns his back on us and walks to the cars.
He climbs inside one and slams the door.
Smoke billows up from the screeching tires, accompanied by the smell of burning rubber.
Red taillights glare through the night sky.
And my brother races away.