The Knight (Endgame #2)(33)

Something holds me back from telling him about my mother’s diary. As if it’s too private to share with Justin. But not too private for Gabriel Miller.

“Help you? Jesus, Avery. You can’t be that naive.”

The words hit me like a slap. “I’m not.”

“You really don’t know, do you? I wondered if Harper told you.”

My blood runs cold. “Told me what?”

“The pictures, Avery. The naked pictures of you. Everyone in the city has seen them.”

I scramble out of bed, bumping into the nightstand in my desperation. Walking backward until I hit the wall. “You’re lying to me.”

“I saw them.” His laugh cuts through the distance, bitter and toxic. “More of you than I ever saw when we were engaged. How messed up is that?”

I close my eyes. “Stop.”

“No, you’re the one who needs to stop. Defending Gabriel Miller? He used you. He bought you, and then he sold you in the form of pictures to the entire city. Everyone’s looking at them.”

My hands go to my ears in a hopeless attempt to block him out. Tears leak from between my eyelids. This feeling of betrayal shouldn’t be here. Of course Gabriel would do this. We’re enemies. Not lovers. And definitely not friends.

Those pictures we took upstairs, before the auction. And Damon assured me that the pictures weren’t released then. Which means Gabriel Miller only shared them after he took my virginity, once I was ruined beyond usefulness. One final blow to my family.

Justin pulls my hands away, his expression less angry. Still fierce. “It’s okay, Avery. I understand why you did it. And I forgive you.”

“You…what?”

“I won’t hold it against you. We can still get married.”

The only thing worse than being hurt by your enemy? Being hurt by someone you once considered a friend. “Get out, Justin.”

He pulls back, confusion warring with denial. “What?”

“You forgive me? I didn’t ask for your forgiveness. And I definitely didn’t need your permission.” I may not launch a thousand ships, but I can damn well defend myself. “If you can’t be there when I need you, then you don’t get to be here when I don’t. Leave.”

Only when he shuts the door behind him do I shatter.





Chapter Twenty-Two





“Daddy!”

He’s already awake when I enter the room, his face pale but eyes lively. “My good girl.”

I lean over the bed and wrap him in a hug, careful not to disturb the wires all around him. He smells like alcohol and soap, but he’s here—solid and alive. “I’m so glad you’re awake.”

“More than awake. I went for a walk today.”

“What? Seriously?”

He chuckles. “For all of five minutes in the hall. The nurse helped me.”

“That’s amazing. You’re going to be walking by yourself soon. I just know it.”

“Maybe so. I feel like Rip Van Winkle. I’ve been asleep for decades, it feels like. What’s happened with you? You look thin. Are you eating well?”

I haven’t eaten since Justin left my motel room two days ago. I kept up the facade in texts to Harper, not wanting her to worry about me. And a little hurt that she knew about the pictures and didn’t tell me.

“I’m fine, Daddy. And look what I found.” I hold up the diary triumphantly.

His face turns impossibly whiter, almost like concrete. “What’s that?”

“It was Mama’s. I found it in the attic. I’ve been reading it a little at a time, savoring it. And it’s so amazing to hear things in her own words. About her family. And about you, too.”

Something flickers across his expression. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

Surprise makes me freeze. “What do you mean?”

“Some things are better left in the past, Avery. Your mother was a beautiful woman. The kind that every man wanted. I loved her with everything I had, but I wasn’t blind to her faults.”

This is the first he’s mentioned of her faults. My fingers clench the worn leather as if he’s ripping the diary away from me. I won’t let him.

“What will I find?” I ask softly.

His dark eyes harden to obsidian. “You would speak to me that way? Especially after the secrets you’ve been keeping?”

Breath rushes out of my lungs. “Secrets?”

“I demanded to know who was paying for the room. And they told me it was coming from your trust. Your trust, which I already know you drained to pay my restitution and medical bills. Which means you sold the house. How could you?”

He thinks I voluntarily sold the house to cover his stay here. That’s a much more innocent explanation than the real one. “But I have her diary, Daddy. Isn’t that better? Her own words.”

“Words can be misleading.”

Apprehension settles in my chest. How can a diary be misleading? She wrote it with no intention that it would be read. She’d have no reason to lie. The only person who had a motivation to lie about the past would be Daddy. His words could have misled me. He had certainly never mentioned a rival to my mother’s hand in marriage.