“Does Colton know about this?” He followed her out, still clinging to her heels as they entered the soaring lobby. At her nonresponse, he swore under his breath, took hold of her elbow, and tugged her to stop.
All around them, company employees scurried about with happy steps, eager to get started on their last day of work before the corporate offices closed for the holiday. Some carried trays and containers of homemade goodies for their departments’ holiday potlucks, where they’d reveal their Secret Santa gifts and compete in Ugly Sweater contests. Today was the day they’d wish one another Merry Christmas and joke about seeing one another next year.
And today was the day that Gretchen, once and for all, would leave it all behind.
Jack searched her face. His expression fell. “You should have told him. He loves you. He—”
“Which is why I’m not telling him. Because he would’ve done something heroic and stupid like plead guilty just to beat Evan at his own game.”
“That should be his decision,” Jack said.
Something snapped inside her. A rubber band that until now, until those words, had securely bundled all the frustration and anger churning inside her. “What the hell would anyone from this family know about that?”
Her raised voice eclipsed the chipper chatter around them. The employees stopped their happy scurrying to stare, mouths open, eyes wide, Christmas celebrations momentarily forgotten because a Winthrop family drama was playing out in the middle of the lobby.
“I learned from the best, didn’t I? How to strike a deal that plays God with other people’s lives? Deals that take away all their choices? Isn’t that the real Winthrop legacy? Using each other, hurting each other, ignoring the pain it all causes just to avoid a scandal?” She threw her arms out wide. “Well, here I am. The scandal of all scandals. The woman who ruined Colton Wheeler.”
People were now also whispering to one another. Jack looked around as if surprised to discover they had an audience. The elevators opened again behind them, and her father walked out. Her mother was right behind him, literally clutching her pearls, her heels making a frantic click-clack on the shiny floor.
Someone must have called them. Alerted them to the shameful Christmas pageant being performed in full view of the loyal congregation.
“For heaven’s sake,” Frasier hissed as he neared. “What the hell is going on?” He glanced at the gathered crowd and barked an order no one would dare disobey. “Get to work. Now.” The ranks scattered like good little soldiers. “We need to take it someplace private,” he continued.
“No need. I’m leaving.”
“Where are you going?” her mother asked.
“Go ask Evan. He’ll be happy to fill you in.”
“Honey, please,” her mother whispered. “I know you’re upset. We can talk about this.”
Gretchen swore she wouldn’t cry. Wouldn’t show any emotion at all. But a tear found its way to the corner of her eye and then dripped down her cheek. Gretchen swiped it away. “I needed you to talk about it when I was nine, Mom. You wouldn’t listen then, and he broke my arm.”
The color drained from her mother’s face.
“I needed to talk to you about it when I was ten, when I was eleven, when I was twelve. All my life, I’ve tried to talk to you, and you refused to listen. You refused to see him for what he really was and what he was doing to me.”
“I didn’t know,” her mother whispered.
“Yes, you did. But you made excuses. You justified it. Anything to protect the image of the family, right? Because how would it look if anyone outside the family found out that you’d birthed an abusive psychopath? It scared you more to deal with his bullying than to face how it was affecting me.”
“Honey, please. I’m begging you . . .”
“And I am begging you to leave me alone.”
Gretchen stepped back, away from the memories and the pain. Away from the betrayal, the lies.
She looked at Jack and rested her hand against his grizzled cheek, rough with whiskers and fatigue. “Goodbye, Uncle Jack.”
He tried to follow her to the door. She heard his steps. But they stopped halfway.
It was as if he knew it was useless.
Because this time, she was running away for good.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Colton heard voices. Faraway voices.
Again.
“I think he’s dead.”
“Poke him with a stick or something.”
For fuck’s sake. Colton grabbed the nearest pillow and threw it over his head. It was immediately yanked away, and he found himself squinting into a canopy of faces. Malcolm, Mack, Noah, and Vlad all stared down at him as if conducting an autopsy.