Reveal (Wicked Ways #2)(102)

I cry for things I never had and things I never knew I wanted but now have.

I don’t know how long I sob, but I don’t care.

Al closes the divider at some point to allow me my privacy. To allow me to grieve.

Both needed for me to realize that I have so very much to live for.

And when I’m done, when the tear tracks are stiff on my cheeks and my breath hitches every few seconds and my cheekbone aches like a bitch . . . Al pulls into my driveway with perfect timing.





CHAPTER FIFTY

Ryker

“Anything else, Mr. Lockhart?” Bella looks at me hesitantly as she sets the files I asked for on the edge of my desk.

My shirt’s ripped, and there’s blood on my knuckles. I’m sure I look like a fucking wreck.

“No. Thank you.” I start to sort through the rest of the shit I need to bring, and when I look back up, she’s still standing there with her notepad clutched to her chest and huge eyes like Dorothy facing down the wizard. “Yes?”

“Is she okay? Is Ms. Sanders okay?”

My hands still for the first time since I stormed in here barking orders. Her question is the same one I’ve asked myself on repeat. “She’ll be okay, yes. It might take a while, but I’ll do everything in my power to make sure she is.”

“Good. I’m glad. I like her.” Her smile is cautious, as she never opines on anything about my personal life. “Would you like me to order some flowers or food via Instacart or anything to be delivered to her house so she doesn’t have to leave?”

My head spins with the suggestions. “Can you ask me that later, Bella? Right now I’m having a hard time focusing on anything other than getting to her.”

“Of course.”

“Thank you. They’re good ideas . . . I just can’t . . . thank you.”

“Maybe you should—” She points to the box under the credenza. “Maybe you should bring her those things back. A reminder of good memories . . . or not.”

“Thanks for your help, Bella. That’s all.” I don’t look up. Can’t. Too much shit in my head. Too much emotion on my face. Too much vulnerability for the guy who’s always an asshole.

I move to the box once she leaves, but as I stare at it, all I keep seeing is Vaughn battered and bruised. All I remember is barging into that damn room and seeing him on top of her. All I hear is the desperation and fear in her screams for help.

The rage is so strong I have to refocus on my tasks every few seconds or I get lost in it.

I open the lid and laugh. Stupid mementos I sent her. Kitschy shit that reminds me of before, when from here on out I only want to think of after.

No more Carter. No more fuckups. No more thinking relationships don’t work when I have her. No more wondering if I love her when I clearly fucking know.

The fury grows stronger.

A type of fury I can’t describe and that punching drywall will nowhere near help. My body vibrates from it in such a way that my heart pounds and my pulse roars in my ears. Without thought and with a need to release the emotion, I kick the box as hard as I can.

Shit goes flying.

Stuffed animals and dried flowers and cards land fucking everywhere. All the stuff I never took the time to unpack from the box and go through item by item.

What the hell? What is all this crap?

I look around at the contents strewn around my office like Valentine’s Day threw up. I sent her a few of these items, but the rest? What the fuck is this stuff?

Lucy must have accidentally shoved stuff in here. That’s the logical explanation. She saw my name on the box and figured she’d send me something to make me happy . . . just like the necklace she let me borrow.

She’ll want this all back.

But it’s when I look down at one of the cards at my feet that my heart drops for what feels like the second time in three hours.

We’re good together. You’ll see soon enough why I can’t live without you.

What the fuck is this? I pick up as many cards as I can. A few are from me and were attached to flowers I sent . . . but the others? The others make my stomach churn.

These are not from me.

The dates on the top corners of the cards are from during the time frame we’ve been together, but not a single one of these is from me.

I rifle through them, each one alarming me more than the last.

These weren’t sent by someone who was in love with Vaughn.

More like someone who was obsessed with her.





CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

Vaughn

It feels like ages since I’ve been home when it’s only been hours. And what a difference those few hours have made in my life.

With a sigh, I drop my purse with its broken strap and my cell phone on the kitchen counter. I yelp when I see the figure move into the doorway of my office.

“Joey? What are you doing here?” My hand is over my thumping heart, my fingers holding closed the neckline of the hotel’s robe.

“I have a key for emergencies. Remember?”

“Is something wrong? Is Lucy okay—”

“Fine. She’s fine.”

“Then what’s the emergency?” I ask as I stare at him and fight the sudden unease tickling at the back of my neck.

“You know I don’t care about your other job, right?” His words stop me cold in my tracks as he steps toward me.