Chapter Eighty-Seven
SUNNY
I walk into the warmth of Tyler’s home and shut the door behind me. Leaning back on it, I huff out a slow breath trying to steady my nerves.
My whole body is shaking as the nervousness coils around my ribs, making each labored breath difficult.
The idea of staying and maybe, just maybe building a life here has been slowly plaguing my mind. But as the days on my calendar get less and less, the thoughts consume me. Along with the unsettling feelings that come with either option.
Ever since the phone call, my entire being has been split in two moods; the need to run and the need to stay. I cling to both desperately, unsure of which to let go of.
Nothing about my leaving feels right. I chalk it up to nerves.
And I have to admit that, while I’m so fucking nervous, a small sense of relief blooms in my chest at the possibility of staying.
Of talking with their lawyers, having Tyler promise to do this the right, legal way.
Living a life that no longer has limits, rules, or a plan.
If we can do that, then maybe I can stay. Build a life in this place that has somehow become home. It creates options that never would’ve existed otherwise.
Before, I didn’t think I had a choice. Maybe because I didn’t believe I deserved to have one. But now, I know I do. I have a choice. And I choose to stay.
“Tyler?” I call shakily as I remove myself from the door. I place the keys and my phone down on the kitchen island.
“I’ll be down in a minute, little fire.” I hear him call, the shower shutting off.
I shift on my feet, glancing around the townhome that has somehow become my home, too.
Watching the fire in his black marble fireplace, my gaze is pulled to his office, noticing the door is ajar. I sit for a beat, then immediately walk over to the beckoning door. Like something in there is summoning me to it.
I peek my head inside the dark room. Four massive computer screens light up a mess of paperwork on his desk.
I chuckle because Tyler is the farthest thing from messy. Seeing those scattered papers is foreign.
A wall is lined with books like a library while the other is decorated in fancy weapons, each having their own light to display them.
A keypad sits on that wall to open what I’d assume to be a safe filled with other weapons. Disguised as a painting to lead to the safe, which makes sense why it’s locked when he’s gone.
The wall behind his desk is all ceiling to floor windows giving off a view of the city. It’s warm and looks like your typical office, but something echoes eerie and deadly, too.
The computer screen saver switches pictures. First a picture of Sam and Tyler as kids on the beach in Cape Cod. The next a selfie of me and Tyler. I smile at it. It’s sweet he has me as a part of his screen saver.
It clicks to a picture of all of us at Martha’s, sitting in our usual booth. One Tyler took of all of us. And I smile at that too, because maybe, just maybe we can all have more nights like that.
The idea of staying sounds more freeing than running.
But then the screen shines down on the paperwork on his desk, bringing light to a familiar name across one of the papers. My name. Then I notice my name on all the papers.
The air is lost from my lungs and I’m convinced my heart stops beating entirely. While my mind is telling me, screaming at me to turn around and walk out, I rush to the desk.
I look at all the pages on his desk, filled with my previous name, current name, Ryan’s name, his parents, their car accident that killed them.
Both of our entire lives, scattered across Tyler’s desk. I move his mouse on his screen to see just more details of my entire life spread on the screen.
I can’t stop looking, regardless of the fact I already know what this all is. Regardless of the fact that fiery rage is fueled with each violation of my privacy I see.
Every single bill in our names, all the places we lived, GPA’s, jobs, sports, criminal records, travel, our marriage license, ways to get it annulled, divorced, emails with judges, lawyers, bounties, investigators, his security, every location Ryan has been to since the moment he left our hometown.
Which happens to be every single city Tyler has gone to on his business trips.
I bring a shaky hand to my mouth, trying to stifle the screams I want to unleash. He’s been his own personal investigator, a bounty hunter, a predator tracking down his fucking ultimate prey.
He promised and he broke it.
He shattered every sliver of trust I’ve gained in him since the moment we met. The pieces of my broken heart that somehow got sewed together by that thread connecting us starts to unravel, releasing all my jagged edges that causes internal bleeding to my soul.
How can I possibly stay and expect him to make a promise when he can’t even keep all the others he made to me?
He broke his fucking promise.
Sucking in a breath, I take steps back, realizing the violation of my life in front of me. This whole time, this whole time he’s not only been lying to me but investigating me. Investigating Ryan. Mapping out all the ways to find him and kill him. Even when he promised not to.
Everything you could know about my life sits on this desk.
I was ready….I was ready to try.
For him.
For me.
For us.
Ready to stay. But he broke his promise to me. It wasn’t the first, and it clearly won’t be the last. How can I derail my plan, put myself at risk for someone so willing to betray me? And who will most likely continue to.
I see the medical records and police reports of that night, the pictures of the face I wished I didn’t have to see again. The face of a broken, battered girl. The face of the girl who died that day. My whole life, right here.
A sob escapes my throat as I hold up the pictures of my injuries from that night.
The photos I wished no one else would ever see.
The bruise along my cheek bone, the gashes all over my face.
The bruises on my thighs from his knees pinning me down.
The handprints on my hips and the bruises on my ribs.
The busted lips. The blood coating my face.
The scar on my neck from when he strangled me with my own stethoscope.
The hollowness and death that sat in those eyes I don’t even recognize.
I don’t recognize that girl.
That’s not me. That girl, she died that night. And I wanted her to be left there. Yet somehow, Tyler resurrected her.
I know he will say he did this because he loves me, but that’s what Ryan said, too. And just because someone does something in the name of love doesn’t make it right.
It doesn’t make it hurt less.
“Sunny.” I hear his voice. It’s breathy. It’s panicked. It’s fearful.
As he should be.
He stands in the doorway, his chest moving up and down rapidly as he holds a hand up in surrender. His wet hair slicked back as if he ran his hands through it. Wearing a white t-shirt and gray sweatpants, looking as devastating as I feel.
I drop the picture back onto the desk and meet his stare.
We don’t say anything.
We don’t move.
The silence looms over us. He’s too scared to do anything in fear I’ll run for the hills.
That’s exactly what I do, I fucking run.