Beautiful Ruins

Chapter 24

MAE

“Knock, knock. ”

Shutting off the kitchen faucet, I still, frozen in fear, while I strain to make out the faint taunt that drifted down the hall. The house rests in complete darkness, albeit the soft, warm glow of the range hood illuminating enough space to prepare a pot of tea.

Quietly lowering the cup into the sink, I ease back into the shadows. From there, I listen, waiting for the unexpected midnight caller to round the corner.

Marco’s warning from earlier in the week had me double-checking all the doors and windows on the regular, so I know for certain I’ve locked the rest of the world out. No one should be in this house except me, and the favor requested from Damon—which I had reluctantly agreed to—isn’t expected to take place until the weekend.

My senses hone into the sound of something small and hard dropping on the wooden floor. It bounces twice before silence ensues. Inching farther back, I search the inky surroundings, knowing full well I’m not alone.

“Marco?” I dare, the name bouncing off the walls despite it being a whisper. “Marco, is that you?”

“Guess again.” A polished voice—one from my nightmares—has me drawing a sharp breath in panic.

Lurking from behind the kitchen wall, Carlson emerges as if he has every right to be in my house. Trespassing where he doesn’t belong didn’t stop him then, and it’s not stopping him now. When his eyes find mine, a disturbing smile forms. The predator has found its prey.

“Hello, darling .”

“What are you doing here?” The quake in my voice betrays me, and I hate that it will provoke his hunt.

“ My question first. Who. Is. Marco ?”

“It’s none of your concern.”

He tuts. “My brother’s been dead for only three weeks, and you’ve already moved on?”

I don’t owe him an answer, but I do want to come out of this alive. “If you must know, he’s a friend.”

With each calculated step designed to strike fear in my heart, Carlson stops at the island, something opportunistic catching his attention. The knife . It sits on the wooden cutting board, untouched since Peter prepared his last meal. Now, I wish I’d had the sense to take it in hand before cowardly retreating. Carlson toys with it, the blade catching the light.

“Just a friend, huh?” Met with my silence, he draws his weapon high and brings it down with such force, the blades tip sinks an inch into the thick cutting board. Typically the composed and calculating brother, his unhinged attempt to frighten me is working. It makes him difficult to read or predict which personality I can appeal to. “It’s just gone the stroke of midnight, Mae. Why would your friend be snooping around your dark house?”

The words slip out before I think better of it. “I could ask the same thing. I don’t recall inviting you.”

Carlson will either get off on the hostile exchange, much like his brother used to, or it will simply fuel his perverse desire to hurt me. “Touché, but just because Peter is dead, doesn’t mean we’re no longer family.”

“Family? Is that what I am to you?”

“Darling, what would you prefer we be? Lovers? ”

The suggestion sees me spiral. All the times I was conscious and aware of what he was doing to me, and all the times I wasn’t, are sickening memories that will forever haunt me. “You need to leave.”

“So soon? I thought perhaps we could have a chat, just you and me?”

“I have nothing to say to you.”

“ Nothing? Nothing you want to get off your chest?”

“ Please , just leave.”

He takes another step closer, smiling like I might just fall into his arms without having to drug me first. “We’re in this together, Mae. Don’t forget that.”

“In what?”

“Our stages of grieving. You lost a husband, I, a brother. We can be each other’s shoulder.”

Except, ‘comfort’ will come in the form of rape. A caveat I’ll be expected to turn a blind eye to. It might, however, be the one thing that will keep me alive, at least until sunrise.

So, I say the last thing I mean. “Okay.”

His taunting smile turns suspicious. “Okay?”

“You’re right. I could use a friendly face right now.”

Carlson, unblinking, hopes to catch any hint of a lie, anything that would play him for a fool, and I feel every second of his silent threat. With a small, sinister smile, he continues with the agenda, and that’s to seek my confession first, payback later. “As you would have noted, I didn’t make it to the funeral.”

Thank you, Damon.

“I was rather surprised to not see you there.”

“Is that right?” He circles the counter so it’s no longer a barrier, and it’s then I notice the damage he’s sporting. A black eye that had previously gone unnoticed in the shadows, the bruising extending to his temple and cheek. A nasty fifteen-centimetre-long gash lines his forehead, and there’s swelling around the lip he continues to toy with. But it’s the shift of his weight, the discomfort I’ve seen before when Peter boarded the plane. He’d walked with an unnatural gait, and now seeing Carlson doing the same, it has me believing both brothers have fallen foul with a mutual friend .

“What happened to your face?”

He looks to the floor, and the laugh that fills the space between us has my blood. “I seem to have attracted the unwanted attention of some degenerate thugs and an overgrown Swedish freak with a suitcase of tricks.” Carlson watches me twist the ring on my finger, an anxious trait he’s aware I possess. “You don’t happen to know anything about that, do you, Mae ?”

A response, delayed a fraction too long, reveals the lie before it’s even left my mouth. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” I have an inkling, and I want all the details. I want to know if they were made to scream and beg for mercy.

“Mm…” My brother-in-law cracks his neck, the intention having the desired effect. “Those eyes of yours, they don’t know how to lie.”

“Except, I’m not lying. I’m grieving. That’s expected when suddenly widowed.”

“My darling, I know you better than you know yourself.”

The comment is designed to break me, and it almost does. “How I mourn my dead husband is entirely up to me.”

“You’re right.” His tone suggests otherwise. “But I suspect you would only be trembling because you know something you shouldn’t, Mae. Am I right?”

“No.”

He winks, and just like that, it’s game on. “Wrong answer.”

Wanting a taste of my fear, Carlson lunges. I shriek and turn sharply to flee into the darkness but my arm is snagged. With his fingers digging to the bone, I’m thrown against the wall, my lower body pinned by his.

The power struggle has him turned on, and the feel of it makes me sick, my whimpered revulsion meaning nothing to him.

“Tell me the fucking truth, Mae. Why are you running if you’re not scared?”

“Get off me.”

With no intention of doing so, he spies something else of interest, his knuckles grazing the wound dressing on my neck. “What happened to you?”

I jerk away from his touch only to have his hips press harder against mine. “I slipped.”

“Where?”

“On the rocks at El Matador.”

“Why didn’t you come to see me?”

“Why would I?”

“Because I’m your family doctor, Mae. I’d look after you better than any other.”

His tender cinnamon kiss, as deep and passionate as a lover would crave.

The knife wound on my neck that he’d stitched perfectly neat .

The scent of him all over me when I awoke, dressed in the purity of white , from a drug-induced sleep.

He wanted me to know what he’d done.

This is his fucked-up version of ‘looking after’ me.

“Come to think of it…” he continues, “… perhaps another home visit is in order. We can do one right now.”

I tremble under his narrowed gaze. “I have no reason to see you.”

“Well, you must have been seeing someone all this time. Who’s better at looking after you than me?”

Literally anybody else on this damn earth.

“I opt to see a female doctor for certain things. I know you can understand that.”

Then he proves that he doesn’t.

Carlson touches the dressing once more, this time with the intention of hurting me. The stitches pull under pressure, and I wince at the damage he could so easily inflict. “It’s your neck, Mae, not your cunt, although I can definitely look after that too.”

The violent urge to vomit has me pushing hard against his chest. “Let me go , Carlson.”

“Or what?” Amidst the struggle, his hot breath irritates my skin. “Or. What ?”

Hellbent on retribution from his night with the Swede, this is what he came here for. “You can threaten me all you like, but I know what you’ve done, you sick fuck!”

The victory is his, my admission now an excuse for the rage that’s to come.

“And how do you know, Mae?” When I don’t respond fast enough, he circles a hand around my neck, squeezing hard enough for me to think this is my end. “How the fuck do you know?”

“Because Peter filmed everything,” I say, gasping for air.

The corners of his lips pull into a smirk. “ Everything ?”

Despite my most recent request to see the video, Damon, through Marco, has still outright refused to allow me access. A flat-out no . It’s not even up for discussion.

Perhaps he’s right in how he’s going about protecting me.

Even without viewing it, I know enough of the vile details to haunt me into my next life.

Damon’s thirst for revenge was partly because he knew I would never be able to do it myself. But he did and is doing it for me now.

‘I want war, Mae!’ he’d said in Dubai, and while, at the time, I couldn’t understand the magnitude of such a declaration, I do now.

“Every disturbing, fucked-up thing you did to me, your beloved brother has it all on camera.”

His slow nod is one of twisted satisfaction, but in his unsettling eyes, I see the unmistakable fear of such evidence further falling into the wrong hands. “They’re all wonderful core memories of mine,” he says with layered spite, “and there isn’t a day that I don’t get off on the memory.” With revenge coursing through his veins, Carlson tightens his grip, relishing in my nails clawing at his arm. “So, who have you told, darling ?”

“No one.”

“Don’t lie to me.”

“I’m not.”

“You think it’s a coincidence those freakish fucks are wreaking hell on my life? I just spent two nights in ER after having my asshole ripped open with a large ceramic pine cone.”

Jesus...

If I weren’t so horrified, I’d laugh.

“I can tell, Mae. I can tell by the way you’re shaking that you most certainly had something to do with it. So, you better damn well believe I’m here for answers.”

His grip loosens, but he holds firm, barely keeping me alive for the thrill of it.

“I don’t know what sick fetish circle you’ve been running in.” I meet his stare head-on and think of Damon and how he’s so brilliantly orchestrated the punishment. “Perhaps it’s a simple case of you screwing over the wrong person.”

I don’t need any extra light to know his expression just darkened. He, like Peter, loathes the finger being pointed at his own indiscretions. “Look at you coming in strong for someone who claims to know about the video but nothing of the aftermath. Fight all you want, darling Mae, but I believe you only to be innocent when lying drugged on a bed.”

My hands ball into fists, longing to blacken the other eye. “I don’t care what you believe.”

“ And I have no fucking doubt you haven’t seen shit of what I’ve done to you. But someone has. Someone who’s been whispering in your ear. Someone clearly not your husband.”

“You’re wasting your time. I can’t give you the answers you want because I don’t have them.”

“Then, you better start thinking real hard. I’ve got payback of my own to initiate.” Carlson wraps his hands around my forearms and throws me onto the wooden floor, my wrists spraining on impact. Thankfully, he doesn’t advance, but I soon realize it’s only because I now have nowhere to run.

Using the chaise lounge to help me up, I turn to face the monster standing in my living room. “You’re not mad, Carlson. You’re just disappointed you didn’t give me a private viewing.”

“Now there’s a brilliant idea.” He twists a lock of my hair around his finger. “And I suspect that you might actually enjoy watching what I do to you.”

Sick fuck.

“Not near as much joy as knowing that where you’re going, there’ll be no escaping what your prison buddies will do to you . Except, you won’t be unconscious unless they beat you that way. And when word spreads about what atrocities the trusted doctor committed against his own sister-in-law, I hope they spare you no mercy. Through it all, while you’re being fucked in the toilet stalls, I want you to think of me. Perhaps in experiencing the horror for yourself, it might just humanize you.”

Carlson tuts. “Don’t go trying to find some good in me, Mae. I promise you won’t find any.”

Don’t I know it.

“You should keep that in mind. A judge would love to hear those exact words when determining your sentence.”

His teeth gleam in the street light filtering through the window, his smile widening when noticing the blood from the reopened wound dripping down my neck. “Go ahead and threaten me some more, darling. I’m rather enjoying this side of you, Peter, so diligently kept in check.”

“There are no threats, Carlson. Only what’s expected as a natural consequence for what you did to me at the motel and in Big Bear.”

The grin widens, and my hate for him grows. “You were beautiful every time. So serene and delicate. I had you all to myself. All that time to prove my love, and you just took it all like I knew you would.”

“Because I had no fucking choice!”

“You didn’t need a choice. I looked after you, Mae… that’s all that should matter. I did what your husband was incapable of doing. He fucked out of anger. I fucked out of love for you .”

He’s completely insane . “This isn’t love, Carlson.”

“Isn’t it?” he bites back like I’ve hit a nerve. “Because it always has been for me.”

Always? “What? What does that even mean?”

“It means, all this time, you should have been mine, Mae. I had you first .”

There they are, those same words engraved into memory.

“Sounds familiar, doesn’t it?” Carlson closes in. He can feel the rapid pounding of my heart as much as I can smell his cologne, strong in oak and pepper. Wrapping an arm around my waist, he steadies my sway, and then his lips graze my ear. “I whispered those same four words every time I fucked you.”

A declaration that’s followed me into the purgatory they’ve created.

“Why?”

“Because, my darling Mae, Peter wasn’t the first Cooper brother to fuck you.” He kisses my tear-soaked cheek with sickening intimacy. “ I got in first.”

What…

“You’re lying.”

“I wouldn’t lie to you.”

Omission —a mere technicality everyone in my life is a master of.

“Then it’s not possible.”

“And yet…” he exhales heavily, seemingly pleased with himself, “… it was. And if I’m to be perfectly honest, it was far too easy.”

Carlson, further drawing me into the web he’s so artfully spun for me, serves to cloud my memory. No matter how hard I try to rewind the timeline, I’m left more confused and questioning every event, every chance meeting, every face in the sea of faces. But still, I can’t place him, and the more I try, the angrier it makes me.

“ Fuck you , Carlson. Enough of your twisted games.” I may swipe angrily at the falling tears, but I’m dying inside. Every word that comes out of his mouth, he’s stealing another piece of me, but if he dies taking those secrets to the grave, my soul will never rest. “Just tell me when.”

“You really want to know?”

No. “Yes.”

“ The Fall , darling.”

“The what? ”

“The. Fall.”

I barely notice the tender way he strokes my hair. “My exhibition? You assaulted me the night of my exhibition?”

“That’s right.” Biting his bottom lip, he exalts in the revelation.

No!

I recoil, desperately needing an escape before he and his sick confessions kill me. Having none of it, Carlson’s fingers claw into my jaw, turning my face back to meet the abhorrent monster he is. Even in the dark, with just the street light barely illuminating his features, I see the same eyes I said I do to. They look just like Peter’s. Except these— the palest, soulless gray I’ve ever seen—will follow me long after I’m dead, continuing to haunt me well past this life and into the next.

“I don’t believe you!”

“We’ve got time. I know you’ll figure it out.”

He’s wrong. He simply couldn’t have. But he did. And I don’t need any time.

The Fall was the name of my first art exhibition in New Hampshire when I was a single woman returning home after my training with Francios Dupont to attend my dying mother.

But how?

Carlson strokes my cheek with his knuckles. “My darling, think back to when it all began.”

I don’t need to. I’m already there, reliving it in what feels like real-time.

The evening was in full swing with a better-than-expected turnout. I was a fresh face in the industry, but the exhibit drew a heaving crowd, making it hard to move throughout the gallery without bumping shoulders. I celebrated, accepting my second glass of champagne and sipping at it in between discussing aesthetic choices with buyers and art dignitaries. It may have been bitingly cold outside, but amidst the sea of bodies, I was overheating. Only when the room began to spin, faces a blur, did I excuse myself, clumsily pushing through the crowd. I needed to vomit. My mother had passed only two months before, and the anxiety and stress leading up to the exhibit had taken its toll, the adrenaline waning as soon as people filtered through the door. In its place was exhaustion, that rush that was keeping me upright, threatening to see me crumble.

“It’s coming back to you, isn’t it?”

Salty tears pool in the creases of my mouth. “I would have known.”

“Like you knew on all the other special occasions?”

He’s right. “How was I to know? You took advantage of me.”

Carlson shrugs as if it was all effortless. “I’m in the right profession to do so. A man of trust. A man who’s meticulous in everything he does. Don’t blame yourself, darling. There was nothing you could have done to change your fate.”

“But how? How did you do it?”

“The devil’s in the detail and in the art of distraction.” I’d provided the perfect environment for him. “Everyone wanted a piece of you that night, and you barely registered who handed you the champagne because, at the same time, you turned the other way to see whose hand was curving over your hip. You searched the crowd, but you didn’t notice me staring straight at you. I watched you drink. Each sip was destined to bring you closer to me. I smiled when you disengaged from those wanting inside your creative head, how your eyes grew heavier with each breath. When I saw you push through the crowd, I knew it was time.”

“But as soon as I felt unwell, I went straight home.”

Carlson’s face alights. “ I know. Details, Mae. It’s all in the details.”

The gleaming black sedan.

The ride-sharing.

So, that means…

“ You were my driver!”

“Technically, no. But yes.”

I hadn’t cross-checked the license plate— my fatal error .

“I watched you stumble out through the back exit, and I lowered the window enough to call your name. Your eyes were glazing over, so I got out and helped you in. I checked your purse and confirmed your address, then, through the rearview mirror, I watched as your body folded onto the back seat. So perfect. So serene. You were limp in my arms when I carried you up the stairs to your apartment. Once I locked us in, I had you all to myself for the very first time. And I promise I didn’t waste a moment.”

“You’re sick , Carlson.” Suffocating from the weight of his confession, I shove violently at his chest, but he stands firm. “What you’ve done to me is so disgustingly sick.”

He offers a meager shrug in way of compensation. “Maybe, but it was oh so worth it .”

There I stand, still fighting the need to vomit and struggling to reconcile his version of the night to my own. I’d awoken the next day at noon, sore everywhere, my head throbbing, but I was still fully clothed, with shoes on and hair barely a mess. Since I’d blacked out, I surmised my body aches were from a possible fall. Never once did I think…

“I’m methodical,” he murmurs as if reading my thoughts. “I took as much time cleaning you afterward as what I did fucking you.”

“Stop, please. ”

A gentle caress of Carlson’s fingers sees him brushing a lock of loose hair behind my ear. “My darling Mae, putting you back together again was like dressing the finest doll.” His sharp inhale takes him back to that very moment. “Every time, I looked forward to that part of the night as much as I did removing your clothes, and since my brother knew better than to interrupt our special time together, I didn’t mind him watching. You meeting him two days after our first night in New Hampshire wasn’t ideal, if I’m to be truly honest. I had plans for us, Mae. Plans that would see you fall in love with me as much I love you.”

Fate had conspired against me that week. It introduced not one but two completely unhinged psychopaths into my life and left me to deal with the depravity that unfolded. “So, my husband lent me out to you to make amends?”

“It was so much more than that.”

“No, it wasn’t! You wanted to stake your claim every chance you could, and somehow, you managed to convince your brother that he owed you that much. This is fucked up, Carlson. Don’t you see? This is some sick , twisted obsession.”

Fingers wrapping around my upper arms, he jerks me close to his face. “Peter didn’t love you, Mae. He was a whore-fucker who fucked them good and well whenever he had the chance. He didn’t deserve to be the one who slept beside you every night. It should have been me . I’m the one who’s loved you from the start.” There will be no reasoning with him. He’s completely and utterly deranged. “With him gone, darling, I can have you all to myself. And for you, I can give you what you want.”

“Really?”

“Anything.” Hope alights his face the second before I wipe it clean off.

“Okay, then, you despicable, delusional fuck , I want you to burn in the fiery depths of hell right alongside your piece-of-shit brother.”

Taking the palpable hatred I have for him, Carlson inhales sharply, his jaw setting a hard line of newfound contempt. Above all else, it’s his voice, coldly detached from the man who’d professed his undying love only minutes ago, that sends a shiver of fear up my spine. “It didn’t have to end like this, Mae.” His fingers around my arms dig to the bone. “I could have made you happy.”

Rage I’ve seen and felt before from his brother has Carlson hurling me onto the chaise, my shriek loud enough to stir the neighbors. Within moments, he’s on me, both hands circling my neck. But, as quick as he was there, he’s gone, my body unexpectedly alleviated of his weight. The room around me erupts into certain chaos. Coercive commands clash with protests and profanity as two large shadows wrestle a third in the dark. The room suddenly illuminates, and the duo, who could easily pass as former Deltas, pin an enraged Carlson face down on the floor.

Clutching the torn strap of my dress, I watch the scene unfold as the man who was only seconds away from becoming my killer, bucks against the knee pressed into his back, his wrists zip-tied so tight his straining hands have turned deep purple.

“Get the fuck off me!” Spittle shoots from his mouth before his bulging, hateful eyes find mine. “Well played, you fucking bitch.” The bearded, burly Delta on his feet, lands a brutal kick to Carlson’s ribs. While I wince from what looked like a crushing blow, it’s a damn near beautiful sight watching him now being the one restrained against his will and gasping for air.

In one swift motion—made easy by the men behind it—the bastard is hauled to his feet, nostrils flaring like a raging bull.

“So, you filthy fuck.” An oddly familiar voice has me turning to find the Chief of Police, Frank Brunello, standing in my living room. “Looks like you’ve dug yourself quite the hole.” He holds up his iPhone and plays a snippet of footage of Carlson’s confession, one they were certain they’d never obtain had they taken him into custody too early. Damon’s hunch had been right, and it was critical for him to gather as much irrefutable evidence before this saw its day in court. Not because what he had wasn’t already enough, but because Damon was convinced that—where Carlson was involved—there was much more to the story. Now they have it. Proof that the sick son of a bitch had begun committing his sickening crimes well before a camera-happy Peter started filming the assaults. While the latest footage is grainy and dark, Carlson’s voice couldn’t be clearer.

You’d think his predicament would be enough to rattle him, after all, everything he’s ‘meticulously’ curated in his life has just imploded. Yet, a bizarre and victorious grin spreads like a disease across the fool’s face revealing teeth coated in watery blood. “Since you’re all so keen for details…” He leers. “I highly suggest watching the collection of videos my brother had the good sense to film. You’ll have yourselves a much better view.”

My fist sails through the air before I can stop it, white knuckles connecting sharply with his nose and earning a sickening crunch. “Go fuck yourself!”

Pursing his lips into a thin line, Carlson drops his head and releases a deep, agonized groan, pain layering upon pain from days earlier.

“Nice shot.” Joining Frank’s side, a visibly tense Marco offers a faint smile, the stress of the sting written across his face. “You okay?”

“I am now.”

He nods because no words need to be spoken. I take his hand in mine and give it a reassuring squeeze because knowing him how I do, the only thing going through his mind will be of the detrimental effect Carlson’s latest confessions will have on me.

“I fucking knew it.” My attention is dragged back to Carlson observing the interaction, now believing with the utmost disdain that he was right about Marco and I having a relationship simply because it was the first name I called out into the darkness. His stony gaze meets mine, and it’s remarkable just how much he mirrors Peter in all his various stages of rage. “You think putting me behind bars will keep me from you?”

I almost feel pity for him. So far gone is Carlson, he wouldn’t even know what resembles reality anymore. “It’s a solid start.”

His gaze leers over my body one last time. “I always loved your naivety.”

“Get that fucker out of here,” Frank orders his men.

Keen for the last word, Carlson jerks in their tight grip. “I’ll find you, my darling Mae. I’m not done with you yet. You betrayed me and I can’t… won’t ever allow you to forget that.”

“She had nothing to do with it,” Frank asserts before the fool is dragged through the door. “But one day, you’ll have the displeasure of meeting the guy who did.”

~

“How did Damon know Carlson would be at my house at that very moment?”

It’s now two in the morning, and we’re sitting in the kitchen with repositioned counter stools in front of the warm light of the range hood because anything brighter will certainly hurt our tired eyes. Marco gently pulls the ruined, blood-soaked bandage off my neck, and inspects the new damage to the wound. One look at his face, and I can only imagine it’s as bad as it feels. It was on its way to being fully healed before that asshole sunk his fingers in.

“Damon had you both under surveillance ever since your return home, and Frank and the team have made themselves available twenty-four-seven in the likely event of you receiving a late-night prowler.”

The plan had been for the weekend. An invitation was to be sent from my phone requesting Carlson and I meet for the first time since Peter’s death. Yet, while we hadn’t the chance to initiate, everyone involved seemed more than prepared for the sting that went down tonight.

“He had it all covered, huh?” I muse, feeling that familiar sense of loss and guilt warring in my heart.

“Damon’s not one to shy away from taking chances as you know all too well. But with you, there are no variables.” I watch as he lays out his medical kit on a sterile pad. “So, when we saw that Carlson had made some particularly interesting online purchases, it became evident he was putting his own plans in motion.” Marco opts not to elaborate on the details of Carlson’s shopping cart, and I decide it best not to ask. “With his confession and all the videos as evidence, your public involvement will be minimal. That’s what Damon wanted.”

The desire for vengeance consumed him, and no matter the cost, time spent, or resources used, Damon Shaw ensured the Cooper brothers got what they deserved.

“Is there anything he doesn’t excel at?”

“Not much. Here.” Marco hands me a dish towel. “Wring it between your hands. This will hurt a bit.” I do as much and hold my breath as the anaesthetic syringe pricks my neck three times over. “That man has been consumed with revenge ever since he learned of what they did to you,” he continues while taking care in cleaning the wound. “Now you’re safe, and Carlson will be going to jail for an awfully long time.”

After a long self-reflective pause, I address my error in judgment. “I understand now why Damon did everything the way he did.”

“You’re his top priority, Mae. He’s made it his business to protect you.” Disposing of the bloodied tissues, he returns to find me wiping away tears. “I’ve known that man a long time, and I’ve never seen him like this.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’ve never seen him so in love. He’d set the whole world on fire if it meant smoking out the assholes trying to hurt you.”

The last three weeks without Damon have been excruciating. The ache I’ve tried so hard to bury in a shallow grave returns, and as the emotion swells painfully in my throat, it takes no prisoners. “I was so awful to him before I left.”

“No, you weren’t. Your response was perfectly justified, given how it all came to light. Could Damon have handled it differently? I’m not so sure he could have, not without sacrificing the justice you deserved.”

“I truly wish I could find comfort in that, but nothing can change the fact I labeled him a predator, just as I did Peter and Carlson.” Biting my bottom lip as Marco stitches my neck, I barely stop the sob from erupting from deep inside me. “Damon didn’t deserve to be tarred with the same brush as them. But I did it because I knew it would hurt him. And a piece of me wanted Damon to feel how I felt. Betrayed .” Accepting tissues from Marco, I dry my cheeks. “No matter how much I wish the words could be unheard, or how I could correct myself before saying the unthinkable, the pain in his eyes still haunts me. So, I don’t blame him for being upset.”

“Mae, he’s not upset with you. He’s just…” Marco hesitates, resigned that he’s said too much already but can’t not elaborate. “Damon understands that the influence he has over your life has come with its own path of ruin. He’s struggling to reconcile, having to turn your life upside down in order to save you from it. I’ve heard it firsthand how much that man regrets pulling you into a world he created that ultimately hurt you. He simply doesn’t want history repeating itself.”

It takes me a moment to reply because that ache turns into immediate regret. “With what happened to his mother?”

Gently smoothing on a new bandage, Marco’s solemn face is hard to take. “Not long after introducing you to his world, he almost lost you in the most horrendous way. That’s a jarring realization and hits a little too close to home for him. If you died that night, Mae, that man would never have recovered.”