12. Rosalie #3
His lips twitched in the corner, his dark eyes still filled with sadness.
“I know, but it’s time I said the words to you.
I didn’t treat you the way you deserved.
I lost myself in this fucked up world. I knew I was falling hard and fast into it, then when I landed, I crashed to the ground and was broken.
I-I tried to pick up the pieces, but there were just too many, so I had to let some go.
I had to let you go.” His voice cracked.
“I’m so sorry. I’m sorry for your pain. Your anguish.
The way I made you feel. I’m so fucking sorry for Fox.
I always felt inferior to him, and I was selfish and an idiot.
You two just had this connection I wanted so badly.
When I got the chance to claim you, I did it.
I put my ring on your finger. It wasn’t right.
I knew it then, and I know it now. The last five years have been killing me.
I-I wish I’d died, not Fox. Never Fox. He was my brother.
A best friend. And he was yours. I took that away, and I can never forgive myself for that or what I did to you.
Fuck, I am so goddamn sorry. I don’t know what else to say but that. ” He wept softly, his big body shaking.
I said nothing for a moment before I reached out and took his hand in mine.
“I-I have to tell you something.”
He stared at me, his cheeks tear-stained. “OK,” he whispered, his voice trembling.
“Fox…Fox is alive.”
He stared at me for a second, confusion on his face. “What?”
“He’s alive. H-He… Matteo gave him a coin to push. It was a tracker. I didn’t know about any of it until I saw Fox again. It was months later. Matteo kept him. Helped him heal.”
“No.” Enzo shook his head. “No. I-I was there. He was dead. I-I checked him myself. His lips were blue. H-He had no heartbeat. I-I was even at the morgue. He was there. He was there, Rosalie! He’s dead! Fuck.” He reached out and placed his hands on either side of my head. “Are you OK?”
“What?” I frowned at him as he held my face.
“I know it’s been hard on you. Losing him. If you need help dealing with it—”
“Enzo, Fox is alive. I-I don’t need help. I came to tell you.”
“Fox is dead, Rosalie. We buried him.” He continued to gently cradle my face. “He’s dead. He’s gone. You have to accept that—”
“Fox is Evan, Enzo!”
He continued to stare at me, his dark brows crinkled.
“Fox is Evan,” I repeated. I launched into the full story, right down to seeing him again, and how both Ethan and Cole now knew he was alive.
“A-Are you serious?” He let his hands fall away from me.
“Yes,” I choked out. “He’s alive.”
“H-He’s alive?”
I nodded.
“H-He’s been with-with you? All this time?”
“Yes.”
“He came into my home. I-I didn’t recognize him. He destroyed our house. That… no. That wasn’t Fox. Rosalie, please. Leave here and get some help, OK?”
“Enzo—”
“I’m worried for you.”
“My husband is a writer,” I whispered. “He writes my favorite books. His name is Evan Beyers, but he was once Fox Evans. Constantino De Santis. His father is Santino De Santis. Kurt Evans. The Carpenter. I’m not crazy.
I’m not lying. We married. We live together with Anson and Klaus as a new family. We started over. Evan is Foxy.”
Enzo let out a shaky breath, more tears falling.
“Really?” he choked out.
I nodded.
“You swear to me?”
“Yes.”
He cried softly, his head in his hands. I let him, not knowing whether to comfort him.
Finally, his sobs subsided, and he wiped his eyes.
“Enzo?” I ventured softly.
“Why did you come to tell me?” he whispered, staring at me, his long lashes still wet from crying.
“Because you needed to know.”
“Why? What does it change? He didn’t want us anymore. He left. He took you with him.”
“You let me go,” I said softly.
He shook his head and let out a bitter laugh.
“Enzo…?”
“This has to be a fucking nightmare,” he said, shaking his head again. “I’ve lost my fucking mind down here.”
“It’s real—”
“It’s real?” he asked. “It’s fucking real?”
I shifted away from him as he laughed like a maniac.
“For five fucking years I have punished and tortured myself with thoughts of you and him. With fucking regrets! And I didn’t goddamn have to?
” He laughed louder. “He was alive, with our girl, living the life I only could dream of. A life, a never was, that I never fucking had. Five fucking years, Rosalie! FIVE! I have drunk. Done drugs. Contemplated killing myself just so I could apologize to him in person. Hated myself for NOTHING!”
“Enzo, please—”
“What did you want this to accomplish? Huh?” he asked. “What are you looking to get out of this?”
“I wanted you to know. He wanted you to know. He told Cole yesterday—”
“Get out,” Enzo said in that soft, dangerous voice of his. “Get the fuck out, Rosalie.”
“Please—” I got to my feet.
“I hate you,” he choked out, getting up. “I fucking hate you. Leave before I do something neither of us can come back from. And tell your fucking husband that if I see him again, I really will kill him this time. Then you can fucking mourn that!”
I backed away from him and pounded on the door to be let out. The door swung open, and I darted out, my heart in my throat. The guard shut the door, but not before I heard Enzo’s anguished sobs and a crash like he’d thrown the chair that was in the room.
“He’s dangerous,” the guard said. “Monsters like him deserved to be locked away.”
“He’s not a monster,” I whispered as Dante walked down the hallway toward us. “I am.”