Chapter 28
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Dahlia
I figured Echo had money.
The car he drives gave it away. It’s sleek, expensive, and rare.
Something you can only buy when you have more than enough to spare.
His clothes were also a tell. He never wears flashy designer logos or those god awful all-over-print patterns, but you can tell that everything he wears is expensive.
Even without touching it, the quality of the fabric stands out.
But this? This is insane. I stand in the middle of his room, trying to wrap my head around it.
The house is massive. A sprawling estate with security gates, cameras at every angle, and grounds that look like they belong in a magazine. His room alone is bigger than my entire apartment, Fallon’s room included.
He never gave off the impression of someone who lived in a mansion.
He’s too understated. Too controlled. And he never flashed his money around me.
But the marble floors, the floor-to-ceiling windows, and furniture that probably costs more than most people make in a year. All of that tells a different story.
Echo isn’t just comfortable. He’s wealthy. Old money, maybe. Or new money so well-established it might as well be old. Either way, it’s a reminder that I don’t really know him. Not as much as I thought I did.
I move slowly through his room, taking everything in.
The walls are painted a deep charcoal gray, almost black in the low light.
A king-sized bed dominates the center of the room, covered in dark sheets and a thick comforter that looks ridiculously soft.
There's a leather chair in the corner, worn at the arms as if he actually sits in it, and a bookshelf lined with titles I can't quite make out from here.
Oh, and the smell. It’s him. That stupidly addictive, clean, woody scent clings to everything. The bedding, the air, the space itself.
I walk toward the dresser and let my fingers trail along the edge. He’s always the one asking questions. Always the one learning about me, but here, I finally get to learn more about him.
On the dresser, there’s a framed photo. I gently pick it up and stare at it.
It’s a picture of three boys and a younger girl.
They’re standing in front of this house, or at least it looks like it, with their arms slung over each other’s shoulders.
The girl is laughing at one of the boys.
The other boy next to him is smirking. And Echo. Echo almost looks… happy.
It’s so different from the version of him I’m used to that it takes me a second to recognize him. That must be his family.
I set the photo down and move toward the window. The view overlooks their perfectly manicured backyard and their Olympic-sized pool that looks like it’s never been used.
I walk back towards the bed and press my fingers into the plushness of the comforter.
Who are you, Echo? And why did you bring me here?
I’m just about to take a seat on his bed when I hear voices. Faint but animated. Coming from somewhere down the hall. They’re not yelling, but they’re not quiet either. There’s an unmistakable edge to both of their voices.
I move toward the door and press my ear closer, straining to hear.
“You brought someone home.”
The voice isn’t familiar. It’s male, deep, and authoritative in a way that puts me a little on edge.
“I did.” Echo replies, and even through the door I can hear the defensiveness in his tone.
“You’ve never done that before.”
I should stop listening. I should give them privacy. I should focus on literally anything else. Instead, I find myself inching the door open a hair.
“There’s a first time for everything.” Echo says.
“Who is she?”
There’s a pause, then.
“No one.”
Echo’s answer lands like a punch to the gut, but it shouldn’t. I shouldn’t be anything to him. In fact, everything I’ve been doing up until this point was designed to make sure I stayed just that. So why the hell does hearing him say that sting so much?
Before I can fully process my thoughts, the other man speaks again.
“You don’t bring ‘no one’ into our home, Echo. You don’t miss work for ‘no one.’ And you sure as hell don’t look like you’ve been put through hell for ‘no one’.”
I press closer to the crack in the door, my heart hammering.
“I’m worried about you.” The man continues. “You’ve been different for weeks now. Distracted. Making mistakes. Briggs told me about the interrogation. Said you weren’t focused. Said the guy almost got away because you were in your head.”
My stomach drops because he’s talking about me, about how I’m affecting Echo, about how I’m making him mess up at work, making him lose focus on things that are probably life-or-death in whatever world he operates in.
“That’s not you, Echo. You don’t make mistakes. You don’t lose focus.” He pauses. “This girl, she’s got you twisted up in a way I’ve never seen before.”
“I’m handling it.” Echo says, but his voice sounds strained.
“Are you? Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you’re barely holding it together. And that scares the shit out of me.”
Another pause. Then.
“Look, if you care about her-”
“I do.” Echo’s voice cuts through, sharp and certain. “I care about her more than I should. More than is smart. More than-” He stops, and I can hear the frustration in the pause. “Fuck.”
This is exactly what I was afraid of. Exactly what I’ve been running from since the night we met, and hearing it spoken out loud makes it real in a way I can’t ignore.
“How bad is it?” The other man asks quietly.
“Bad enough that I can’t think straight when she’s around. Bad enough that I haven’t slept in weeks because I’m too busy making sure she’s safe. Bad enough that-”
He doesn’t finish, but I can hear what he’s not saying, can feel it in the weight of the silence that follows.
“Someone who can make you lose focus like this?” The other man says, his voice taking on more gentle tone. “That’s someone who can destroy you if you’re not careful.”
Destroy.
The word echoes in my head, bouncing around my skull until it’s all I can hear.
I’m destroying him.
Christian couldn’t think straight around me either. He lost focus in school. Made mistake after mistake until he made his final one. All because of me.
And now, without even realizing it, I’m doing it again to Echo. I’m making him lose sleep. Making him distracted. Making him unable to do his job properly. Making him vulnerable in ways that will probably get him killed in whatever dangerous world he lives in.
This is exactly what I swore wouldn’t happen.
I promised myself after Christian that I would never let myself care about someone like that again, would never let my feelings turn someone into something dangerous and broken and self-destructive.
But here I am, doing it anyway, letting Echo twist himself into knots over me while I pretend like I don’t see what’s happening, like I don’t notice the way he’s unraveling.
“Does she know?” The other man asks. “How you feel?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because she’s not ready to hear it. She’s scared of this, of me, and if I tell her, she’ll run.” He pauses. “So I’m giving her time. Letting her come to it on her own terms.”
My throat tightens because he’s right. If I had any idea he could feel this way about me, I would’ve ran. I would’ve never admitted I was attracted to him and I definitely wouldn’t have had sex with him.
“If whatever this is puts you or our family at risk, you need to tell me.”
He’s talking to his brother.
He has to be.
“It won’t.” Echo replies.
“You can’t promise that.”
“Yes, I can. I’ll make sure of it.”
More silence, and then his brother speaks up again. “For what it’s worth, if this is you happy, then I’m happy. We all are. I just hope she’s worth it.”
I step back from the door, not wanting to hear his reply because I already know the answer.
I’m not worth it. I’m not worth the trouble, or the risk, or the fucking danger. I’m just not.
I sink down onto the edge of his bed, feeling numb and completely out of body.
I can’t do this to him.
Echo steps into the room and I force myself to look up, even though every instinct is screaming at me to run.
He stops when he sees me, his eyes scanning my face like he’s trying to read something there. I wonder if he can see it. The guilt, the fear, the knowledge that I’m destroying him just by existing in his space.
“You okay?” He asks.
I nod even though it’s a lie. “Fine. Just tired.”
He doesn’t look convinced as he watches me with those intense green eyes that see too much.
“Come on.” He says, reaching his hand out for mine. “Let’s get out of here.”
I stand without argument because what else am I supposed to do? Tell him I overheard? Tell him I know I’m destroying him and I need to leave before it gets worse? Tell him that everyone I care about ends up broken and I can’t watch it happen again?
No.
I follow him out of the room, down the hall, and back to the car, and I don’t say a word, like the fucking coward I am.
I can tell myself that the timing is wrong, or that I’m still processing, but the truth is, I don’t say anything, because I don’t want to. And that, above everything else, is the most selfish thing I’ve ever done.