Say the Word(117)

“We hope to see you again in the future, Mr. Covington.” Charles seemed all too eager to be rid of us, practically escorting us toward the door and back into the atrium. “I’ll call for your car to be brought around.”

“Thank you, Charles.”

“Goodnight, sir.” The mysterious butler vanished in seconds, slipping into an alcove somewhere or perhaps simply fading into the wallpaper like a chameleon taught to camouflage itself in the presence of predators. Though I could no longer see him, I felt his watchful eyes still lingering on the back of my neck as we headed for the mammoth front doors and out into the night, leaving behind a well—moneyed, well-secluded auction room where business of the most deplorable kind was conducted — as well as a small piece of my soul.





***


Bash was pacing.

He’d been pacing for an hour, and I was worried he’d soon begin to wear a tread mark into the lovely hardwood floors of his loft. I was curled up in a ball on the window seat, my borrowed heels discarded on the floor next to me. I didn’t know what to say to him — there was nothing I could say to make this right. When another twenty minutes ticked by in the dark, silent room and he showed no signs of stopping, I sighed and hopped down from my perch.

I walked over and planted myself in his path, slipping my hands around the back of his neck and forcing him to still. His head was bowed, his breathing labored — it seemed the shock that had hit me in the auction room was only now catching up to him.

“Bash,” I whispered. “Look at me.”

He raised bleak eyes to meet mine. A moment of silence passed between us, and when he spoke his voice was haunted. “You were right.”

I arched my brows in question.

“I’d half convinced myself that you were delusional. I didn’t want to believe…” He trailed off.

“I know.”

“My father…” Bash’s lips twisted in revulsion and his eyes pressed closed. “If he’s involved in this…”

I was quiet, my mind fully occupied by memories of a cold December night on the eve of Sebastian’s eighteenth birthday. Andrew Covington — his hands roaming the body of a defenseless young maid in his pantry. I knew, with unshakeable clarity, that the senator was capable — more than capable — of rape. Why shouldn’t he be capable of this as well?

“You aren’t your father,” I said, cupping Bash’s face between my palms and drawing his gaze back to mine. “You cut him out of your life a long time ago.”

“He’s my family.” Bash’s voice held both contempt and disgust. “His blood runs in my veins.”

“You once told me that you believe family isn’t determined by the crib you’re born into — it’s the family you make with someone you love.” I held his gaze intently. “Blood isn’t always thicker than water, Bash. I believe things like friendship, things like love — the things you get to choose in this life — are the most important things we have. They’re what we have to hold on to. Don’t you still believe that?”

Some of the ghosts cleared from his eyes as he stared back at me. “I should’ve fought for you,” he whispered, reaching up to tuck a loose strand of hair behind my ear.

“What?” I breathed.

“Back then,” he said, swallowing hard. “I should’ve fought for you. Instead, I spent a long time blocking out every emotion I felt for you. And when I finally stopped being hurt and confused and headstrong, when I started to let feeling back in… six years had passed and I was alone, on the other side of the world, without the only person I’d ever wanted standing by my side.”

I felt my breath catch.

“I hated myself for getting lost in that anger, for all that time I’d wasted running away from the one thing that truly scared me.”

“What was that?” I asked, afraid to hear the answer.

“Whether or not you’d been honest that day,” Bash whispered. “I knew if I found you, if I saw you again, and you were indifferent to me — as cold and calculated as you’d been the day you broke my heart — I’d never survive it. So staying away became an act of self-preservation.”

I skimmed my fingers against his close-shaved jawline, hoping to sooth him.

“If there was even a possibility that you still loved me, I should’ve done everything it took to fight for you.” He closed his eyes tightly. “But I didn’t. Because it was easier to block you out, to shut out any possibility of finding you again and learning if my fears were right. I was afraid — a coward.”

“Bash—” I interjected, but he spoke over me.

“But after six long f*cking years, I finally realized something.” His eyes opened and began to burn into mine. “I could love you, or I could hate you, or I could miss you from ten thousand miles away, but none of it did me a damn bit of good, because none of it gave me what I wanted.” He cleared his throat roughly. “None of it gave me you.”

“Bash…” I whispered.

“Just let me get this out.” He reached up and covered one of my hands with his. “You blame yourself for what happened to us — I get that. I see it on your face every time you look at me. But you weren’t the only one at fault.”