“Don’t do this, Eveline,” he says, bringing up his pistol.
“You would shoot me?” Another traitorous tear falls to the floor.
His jaw clenches but he doesn’t move his aim. “I won’t let you kill him.”
“So it’s like that then?” My mouth tilts up.
He steps to the side, blocking Seth. “Yeah, pretty girl. It’s like that.”
My finger sits on the trigger and I step toward him until the end of the barrel is pointing directly at his chest. He lowers his arms, like he’s accepting death if I choose to give it.
“Drop your weapon!” His friend yells. “I won’t tell you again.”
But I ignore him, craning my neck and staring into eyes I’ve never really known. “Will you let him kill me?” I whisper.
He looks down at me, his Adam’s apple bobbing with his swallow.
His silence is all the answer I need.
“Do it then.” I turn around and walk away, my heart in my throat, half of me wishing he’d just finish the job now and shoot me in the back. But nothing happens. So I leave, a heavy type of numb dropping into place like a curtain, shielding me from anything other than darkness.
36
NICHOLAS
My cover’s blown.
Obviously. So I’m officially pulled from the case, and now I’m sulking in my apartment—my real apartment—the decision on whether to tell my department everything I know sitting so heavy on my chest that I can’t breathe.
Last night, I had made the decision, sure I was doing the right thing no matter how much it hurt. No matter how much it tasted like I was betraying the only person who had never let me down. But when I stared Seth in the face, I couldn’t push the words off my tongue. And when Eveline busted down the door and looked at me as though I had killed her spirit?
That’s when I knew.
I would pick her a thousand times over even if it meant rotting in hell.
I let her walk back out of the door, because I don’t deserve to keep her, and I broke down telling Seth everything. Everything except who the supplier is. Then I came home to my sister, not knowing where else to go.
Rose sits at the small round table across from me, a steaming cup of tea in her hands. She purses her lips as she watches me. “You look like shit.”
“Feel worse,” I grunt.
She sets down the mug, reaching out to grab the top of my hand. “Well, it’s good to have you home.”
I run my fingers through my hair, the cavity in my chest rattling. “Yeah. Feels good to be here.”
Except it doesn’t feel good, because this doesn’t feel like home anymore. I don’t think I knew what home was until I found it in her.
“You wanna talk about it?” Rose asks.
“Have you ever been in love?” I blurt.
She sits back in her chair, her red brows shooting up. “Uh…yeah.”
I look up at her. “What’s it feel like?”
“So that’s what this is,” she breathes. “A broken heart.”
Is it? I laugh, bending until my forehead rests on the table. “No, I just… I don’t know.”
She takes a sip of her tea. “I get it, dude. Love fucking sucks.”
“How do you know it’s real?” I whisper, stomach twisting.
“Does it hurt?”
“Like a bitch.”
She smacks her lips. “Then it’s real.”
I don’t say anything, just roll my head back and forth against the cool wood, hoping somehow it will reach inside me and soothe the burn.
“So who fucked it up, you or her?”
“Her. Me.” Another empty laugh pours from my mouth and I sit back up, tugging on the roots of my hair. “I don’t fucking know.”
Rose sips from her tea. “Who is she?”
“She’s this woman—”
“Yeah, I got that,” she cuts in.
I smile softly, biting down the pain that’s breaking me apart when I picture Eveline’s face.
“She’s… she’s everything.” I shake my head. “But she’s not a good person.”
Rose hums. “I find it hard to believe my brother would fall for someone who isn’t worth loving.”
The back of my throat swells until it burns.
“Does she love you?”
“She said she does… did. But I don’t know.” I shrug. “It’s fast.”
Rose’s nails tap against the side of her cup. “You know, I’ve never thanked you for saving me.”
“Don’t thank me,” I mutter.
She swipes her hand in the air. “Don’t do that martyr shit with me, Nicholas.”
“I’m not.” I scoff.
“You always do,” she says. “You’ve shouldered the blame for every single thing that’s happened in our lives when none of it was your fault.” She leans in, her eyes sharp as they stare into mine. “Do you hear me? None of it.”
I press my lips together, trying to hold back the sob that wants to escape.
Her eyes water. “I’m the older sibling. I’m supposed to be the one to protect you. And if you don’t know what it feels like to be loved, then clearly, I failed in that.”
“No,” I say. “The people who put that poison on the streets failed us both. You did the best you could.”
“And you’re doing the best you can too,” she replies.
“Am I? It’s my job to stop them. How can I live with myself for loving someone that represents everything I lost?”
“Oh, Nick,” Rose sighs, resting her chin in her hand. “Did you know I sold once upon a time?”
The breath whooshes out of me and I collapse against the back of my chair. “You… what?”
She nods. “Yeah. I was fucked up, and desperate, and sometimes, it was the only way I could keep enough in my pockets to survive.”
“You were sick. It wasn’t your fault.”
“I knew exactly what I was doing.” She wipes the tears from her cheeks. “Do you hate me now?”
Grabbing her fingers across the table, I squeeze. “Of course not.”
“Right. Because I’m still me.” She sniffs. “We’re all just out here living, you know? Roaming under clouds that are a thousand different shades of gray. But you can’t help who you love, Nick.”
Nodding, I stare down at the table, my rusted heart trying like hell to pump in my chest.
“I’ve watched you exist for a long time now. You go through the motions and you… you pour yourself into your career, trying to make up for mistakes that were never your weight to bear in the first place.”
My bottom lip trembles and I grit my teeth.
“You aren’t to blame for the decisions other people made. The decisions I made.”
I meet her gaze.
“And neither is she.”
“You sure about this?” Seth asks, his tone low and deep.
I blink at him, not saying a word—not having any words—because what else is there?
What’s left for me to say?
I spin around in the desk chair I haven’t sat in for months, staring down at the few framed accolades and the screensaver dancing across the monitor. It feels foreign, as though Nick Woodsworth doesn’t really exist. Like he never really did.