40. Conal
CONAL
It’s a rare day of bad weather in Vegas, with leaden gray skies and rain pelting the windows serving as a perfect accompaniment to my mood.
I’m pacing the house, slowly going out of my mind.
I can’t focus. Music has always been my joy, my escape, but all I can think of now is how badly I’ve fucked up.
How could I have let this happen? How did I lose Hazel’s trust?
I know how—because she overheard me talking to Alan. But she didn’t believe me when I told her there was more to the story, that our marriage is anything but a joke.
“I knew I didn’t belong in this life.” Her words haunt me. I had no idea she felt so insecure, so out of place. I know our lifestyle is far from ordinary, but she seemed to be adapting amazingly well to all of it—me, my brothers, our work, and everything that comes with it.
I swear, if I get another chance, I’ll make sure she never doubts me again.
My phone rings. It’s an unknown number, and I almost don’t answer it, but maybe it’s Hazel calling from someone else’s phone.
“Conal? This is Ember.”
“Ember.” My hand grips the phone so tightly I have to consciously relax it before I break the damn thing. “Have you—have you talked to her? She won’t answer my calls.” I sound pathetic, but I can’t bring myself to care.
There’s a pause, and when she speaks again, Ember’s tone is strangely gentle. “Conal. Do you love my sister?”
“Yes,” I croak. “Fuck yes. With my whole heart.”
She doesn’t sound at all surprised when she says, “Then what are you prepared to do about it?”
There’s only one answer, and I don’t hesitate to give it. “Anything.”