Brave Enough (Tall, Dark, and Dangerous #3)(59)

Besides that, there are the circumstances of our union—as well as our breakup—and the fact that they’re looming around every corner. I know that the only thing that I can do, the only way that I can survive, is to cut ties and start over. I have to get out of here. Away. Way away. However I can. It’s the only thing that will save me at this point. I can’t be here anymore. In this world. So close to Tag in so many ways, yet so far from him, too.

I refuse to ask my father about my trust, about whether he’s decided to change his mind. I don’t need his money when it comes with conditions. Instead, I spoke to a realtor yesterday about selling my place. It should give me enough money to relocate and start over, to buy a modest little house somewhere else. Anywhere else. I have no real ties here. My parents aren’t involved in my life in any way that necessitates me being local. They have a way of keeping tabs on me no matter where I’m located. The only other thing keeping me here is Safe Passage. I’ve good people in charge there, though, so I believe the kids and their best interests will be in good hands until I feel like I can come back here and pick up life again. If that ever happens. Until then, they’ll be fine.

The last loose end is Chiara. I know Tag can’t take it from me. My father had that tied up long ago to prevent anyone from being able to take it. Tag just didn’t know that. There’s no way he could’ve. But that’s not the point anymore. His mother’s home—his home—meant enough to him to go to all this trouble. And I would never want to hurt Stella. She’s always been good to me and she deserves to be able to live out the rest of her life, however short or long that might be, in her home. But at the same time, I want nothing to do with it. Everything surrounding Chiara is too painful now, too bittersweet. I’ll never be able to move on if I don’t let it go and, by extension, let Tag go. So I’m going to sell it to him. Like he wanted. Only I will insist that it be put in Stella’s name. She’ll undoubtedly will it to him when she passes, but at least I’ll have that satisfaction in the meantime.

I haven’t told Dad yet. I even used a different attorney to have the paperwork drawn up. As soon as it’s ready, he’ll call Tag and present the offer—the only offer. He can take it or leave it. I have a feeling he’ll take it, though. And then we’ll be over. Officially. Truly. Definitively.

And I’ll be alone.





THIRTY-TWO


Tag

“You need sleep, son,” Mom says, rubbing my back as she passes. I’m slumped in a kitchen chair with my throbbing head in my hands.

“No shit,” I mutter.

“Language.” Her soothing circles become a stinging slap before she walks away. “Have you talked to her?”

“Not since I put Michael on his ass. She probably hates me.”

“Whether or not you’ve earned it, I can’t see Weatherly hating you. I knew when I saw you two together that she loved you. And real love, true love doesn’t die that easily. Even when we want it to.”

“I just don’t know what else to do, Mom. I’ve told her how I feel. I’ve apologized every way I can think to apologize. I’ve begged. I’ve pleaded. I don’t know what else I can do to convince her that I love her. That I need her.”

“She doesn’t trust you, you know.”

I resist the urge to repeat my previous “No shit.” “I realize that. But I can’t very well earn back her trust if she won’t see me, if I can’t be around her.”

“No, but you can show her that she’s worth more than anything to you.”

“I have. Or at least I’ve tried.”

I sit up and lean back, letting my head drop onto my tense shoulders. After a few seconds of silence, I see Mom’s face pop into my field of view as she bends over me, a stern expression in place.

“Try harder.”

“How?”

Her smile is confident and amused. “It’ll come to you.”





THIRTY-THREE


Weatherly

I’m waiting with my bags by the door for the courier to arrive. He’s bringing me some paperwork to sign. Tag accepted the offer, but evidently he has a caveat of his own, one that requires my attention before I leave. It’s my last piece of business in Atlanta. From here, I’m going to Missouri. Someplace distant. Someplace different. Someplace I can hide until I heal. If I heal.

At the ring of the bell, I open the door, smiling politely at the older gentleman. With his ruddy complexion and slicked back hair, he looks like he should be delivering body parts to those who made the mistake of offending the mafia. I wonder if he’ll have a thick Northern accent when he speaks. He says nothing, though, simply hands me a packet, which I take. “Thank you. I won’t be a minute.”

“Take your time, ma’am,” he says in a decidedly Southern way, tipping his head and smiling. The gesture transforms him from a burgeoning criminal into a pleasant, competent courier. It’s amazing how that works.

I take the packet to the table and open it, spreading out the papers and looking for the brightly colored tag that indicates where my signature is needed. When I find it, I read the caveat and stop, my pulse picking up speed to a near gallop. Tag’s one request is that I bring the papers to him to sign. Personally. At Chiara. Today.