Beard Necessities (Winston Brothers, #7)(69)

His chin lifted slightly, and I watched as he rebuilt the wall between us. I watched it with my own eyes as my stomach sunk. Brick by brick. Until it was him in his fortress and me left standing outside.

“Who told you?” His voice turned cold, aloof, and it sent chills down my spine.

“No one. No one told me,” I said quietly, gently, but making no attempt to hide my fatigue. I was so tired. Bone-deep exhausted.

“You don’t want to tell me.”

“No. I’m telling the truth. I overheard two of your siblings talking, I heard my name, and I was suddenly eavesdropping before I knew what was happening, like I was stuck, couldn’t move. That’s how I found out.”

“Who was it?”

My mouth curved into a sad smile. “I’m not telling you because it doesn’t matter. What matters is, why didn’t you tell me?”

He said nothing. And because he’d barricaded himself so completely, I had no idea what he was thinking.

“Fine.” I glanced behind him, ignoring the sharp ache in my chest. “You won’t answer that question, then here’s a few others. Why do you have that tattoo? What is it covering?”

Silence.

“Okay, how about this one. Did Ben know what you did for me?”

I hadn’t expected him to answer this either, so when he immediately said, “Yes,” I flinched.

I turned away, holding my stomach. Even if Ben hadn’t known what Billy did to secure my safety, Ben had still lied to me. But now? Now there was no way around it. Ben had taken credit for Billy’s suffering. I felt sick. I’d suspected, I’d hoped Ben didn’t know, but hearing it confirmed felt like a punch in the stomach.

Blindly moving forward, I encountered the bed. I sat on it. “I can’t believe he—he lied to me.”

“He knew the whole time.” Billy’s voice from somewhere behind me was monotone, lacking in all emotion. “He even visited me when I was in the hospital. When I questioned him about where you were, he acted like you were unreachable but safe. And then, over a year after that night at the jam session—over a year after the night of your engagement party—he sought me out to talk about it.”

“To talk about it?” I twisted to look at Billy over my shoulder. “What did he say?”

“I didn’t want him to tell you, he was in agreement. He thought I was going to.” A slight crack manifested behind his granite exterior as he looked at me. “But I had no idea until you told me in Florence that he’d lied to you like he did. I had no idea he’d told you his family was the reason Razor left you alone.”

Incredulous, I asked, “What did you think Ben would say? When I asked him? He had to convince me it was safe to come back to Green Valley. And since neither of you were going to tell me the truth, of course he lied.”

“You’re defending him?”

“No. I’m not. I’m just asking what you expected. If you refused to tell me the truth, why are you surprised that he lied?”

“Ben wanted what was best for himself, so he made decisions for you, that’s why he lied.”

I turned completely around, facing him, anger finally awakening within me. “Then what’s your excuse? You—both of you—took away my ability to make decisions. You took it out of my hands. I didn’t have all the information, Billy.”

Billy’s jaw ticked, his eyes shuttering again as he ground out, “Then I guess Ben and I have more in common than I’d like to admit.”

Again, his words lacked any emotion, and behind his gaze a cold kind of certainty, a resignation had settled.

I hated it when he looked at me this way, like he thought he knew everything going on in my head and he just assumed whatever action would hurt him most would be the course of action I’d take. Even more, I hated that—until recently—his assumptions had been mostly right.

Because I never knew, because he never told me. I did the best I could with the information I had.

“You know what? I surrender.” I stood. I lifted my hands, showing him my palms. “I used to say you and I brought out the worst in each other. We do. Because you want me to live down to your expectations. You want to believe the worst of me. You watch me stumble and fall, and instead of offering a hand, you stand at the sidelines and congratulate yourself for calling the game.”

Halfway through my little speech, Billy started shaking his head, his eyes glassy. And when I finished, he turned and he walked away, crossing to the door.

Realizing his intention to leave, I sprinted after him, past him, and blocked his path, demanding, “Where are you going?”

He wouldn’t look at me. “This conversation is pointless, we’re done.”

“No. We are not done. We are having this conversation. We are in the middle of this conversation. It is happening whether you like it or not. No wonder you hated me so much. No wonder you resented me so much.”

His stare, now incensed, cut to mine, “I resented you because you were in love with me and you wouldn’t be honest with yourself. I resented you because you chose guilt over us—time and time again. Ben wasn’t the third person in our relationship, Scarlet. Your guilt was. We’re not doing that. I don’t want your guilt.”

Billy turned and paced away, again stabbing his fingers through his hair.