A Harmless Little Ruse (Harmless #2)(46)

Whatever’s about to happen needs to be swift.

Bold.

Complete.

I don’t say anything as I stop a few feet from her, waiting. None of this is within my authority. Lindsay calls all the shots.

“I saw.” The wind picks up her words and carries them out over the ocean, the words licked by salt water, diffused into the enormity, made part of the water and sent to parts unknown, where dragons live.

“You did.” I don’t ask.

“I saw enough. I didn’t need to watch the whole thing – oh, Drew. Why didn’t you tell me?”

And there it is. Four years of anticipating that question.

And it’s happening now.

I open my mouth to answer and nothing comes out. I widen my eyes to see her better and my vision pinpricks. I flex my hands to reach for her and I freeze.

I can’t.

I can’t.

I can’t because four years ago, I couldn’t move. All I could do was watch.

And for the last four years all I’ve done is acted.

But I’ve acted alone.

“Don’t answer that,” she says quickly, berating herself. Not me.

“I – you – you deserve an answer, Lindsay.”

“I deserve more than an answer.”

My heart stops, waiting in my chest for orders.

“Drew, we deserve so much more. Who knew? I didn’t. You really couldn’t stop them. Worse – they made you watch. And then they hurt you, too.” She laughs. It’s the sound of chimes on the wind, the sweet release of relief, the mellifluous tone of someone who has given herself permission to feel whatever she wants.

It’s the sound of fresh rain and old love.

It’s the sound of hope.

I brace myself for the inevitable. Salma warned me that Lindsay might ask too much of me. Might try to extract more than I could give. I always said I could handle whatever she threw at me.

Salma’s wise.

“I’m sorry,” I say, my mouth numb.

“Don’t ever say that again. Now that I know the truth.”

Now that I know the truth.

“Don’t you see?” She’s smiling. Smiling. Why the f*ck is she laughing and smiling? Anger and seething I expect.

Not this.

Not ever this.

“See what?”

“You, Drew. You make sense to me.” Her palm flattens over her heart, fingers tickling the base of her throat. “That was the hardest part about what happened to me. The fact that I couldn’t reconcile the man I knew with the man who acted the way you did. You weren’t the same person. But now I understand.” Shallow breaths turn deep as her chest rises and falls, the sound of her inhales and exhales mimicking the ocean behind her.

Her eyes are my moon and stars. “I am so, so sorry for what they did to you.” Even without moonlight, I can see the shine of tears pooling in her eyes. “But knowing the whole truth makes me so relieved.”

Relieved?

“And pissed.”

That’s more like it.

“We’re – you’re – I -- ” A ragged breath turns Lindsay raw and real as a breeze blows her hair across her face, the stray strands not tied up in her pony tail catching in her mouth, shading her eyes for a moment. “For four years I felt like this damaged little thing. The f*cked up little girl who no one trusted. Because I – because you didn’t care.”

“Lindsay.” Her name is a vow coming out of my heart, into my throat. “That’s not true.”

“I know it’s not. I know,” she whispers intensely, stepping toward me, closing the gap. “I know. And this sounds so awful – so wretched – but I have to say it. And if you hate me for it for the rest of my life, then I’m sorry, Drew.”

“Say it.” I brace myself.

“I -- ” She hesitates, swallowing hard, the night air stifling, smashing me into myself, turning me inward.

I reach out and rest my fingertips on her elbows. “Say it,” I whisper, destroyed by touching her, feeling unworthy.

“Now we’re equals,” she says, chin up, eyes blazing.

“Equals?” I choke out. Not what I expected to hear.

“I’m not the only one they hurt. We have a bond that is deeper than I ever imagined. We’re linked in ways that are unfathomable,” she explains, tilting her head as she studies my reaction.

A loud puff of air pours out of me. I’ve been holding my breath.

“This isn’t how I want to be bonded to you. Not from shared pain.”

“It’s not my choice, either. But it happened. It’s there. It will always be there, and those *s are blind to what they really did to us.”

“Blind to what?”

“To the fact that they thought they were taking our power away.” A look of marvel washes over her face. “Don’t you see, Drew? If I could go back four years ago, I’d stop what happened.”

“So would I! In a f*cking heartbeat.” As if on cue, my heart smacks up against my ribs like it’s trying to escape and go backwards in time to fight.

“But we can’t.”

I grab her arms, hard, as if I’m pulling the kernel of what she’s saying out of her. I don’t understand her words. This is the most honest conversation I’ve ever had with a person, and I can’t believe it. “Why are you saying all this, Lindsay? I failed you. I failed you.”