“I owe Charlie so much, Michael. What if she doesn’t know how much I loved her? I thanked her, and she knew I cared about her, but I can’t remember ever telling her I loved her. I should have done that. I should have,” I whisper against his skin.

It’s late. Probably close to midnight. Michael and I are lying in bed after an exhausting—both physically and emotionally—day. All the lights are out in the house and the moon shining through the bedroom window is the only light visible. The house is quiet. Dani and Crusher are spending the night in Michael’s barn, but there’s two other men in the house. Michael said they were part of Diesel’s crew. They seem nice enough. It’s still hard for me at times to get used to having other people in my home. Tonight, after we came back from the hospital—the hospital where I had to say goodbye to Charlie, there was a point I had to fight down a panic attack. We picked up a bucket of chicken and sides from town and my small kitchen with Michael and two other men in it, seemed to get smaller. They were talking and laughing with each other, and I was busy trying not to freak out and embarrass Michael. I tried to hide it, but Michael was watching me like a hawk. He didn’t say anything, but I know he saw. He grabbed our plates and ordered me to follow him into the bedroom where we ate on the floor in silence. I hate that I can’t be stronger for him. I really am trying. I’m getting better…most days.

“She knew, Beauty. She never told you either, but you knew, right?” he whispers back. He’s got my hand in his, and his thumb is brushing back and forth against the inside of my palm.

“I knew,” I tell him, closing my eyes and letting a few silent tears escape. I’ve cried so much tonight. I don’t want to give into another crying jag. Poor Michael has had to endure my tears most of the evening.

Michael turns onto his side and pulls me even closer into him. He kisses my forehead, while wrapping his hand in my hair, letting my head rest on his shoulder. “Come on, Beauty. She wouldn’t want you hurting like this. She wanted you happy. She made Victor promise to protect you from the moment she first met you. You need to make sure you honor that and actually be happy,” he says.

I think over his words, and I know he’s right, but there’s just not a lot to be happy about tonight. “Do you think she blames me, Michael?”

“Blames you?”

“If it wasn’t for me, she’d still be alive,” I tell him, my confession is quiet, shaky and full of guilt.

“That’s bullshit. You are not to blame for that,” he rumbles, his voice vibrating in the darkness full of emotion. “That son of a bitch Blade is the only person to blame for this. He’s the one person who needs to feel the guilt. He needs to choke on it, right before he takes his last breath,” he adds, and his words are harsh and full of anger. They could almost scare me.

“Michael, you don’t—”

“He’s going to die, Hayden. His fate is sealed. If I don’t do it, Victor will. It’s just a matter of time.”

I don’t know what to say in response to that, not really. Anything I could say would make me a hypocrite, or make me sound like a horrible human being. So, I don’t respond, at least not for a few minutes. I think back over the night and the pain that I saw etched on Victor Torasani’s face. He loved Charlie. She always spoke of her ex and how she missed him, I mostly assumed he had died, so meeting Victor was a shock.

“It’s sad really, if you think about it,” I say mostly to myself, as visions of the way Victor held Charlie’s hand when I left the room come back to mind.

“What’s that, Beauty?”

“He was in love with her. What would it be like to have someone that meant the world to you, that you loved even into your old age, and yet not be able to make it work?”

“I’m not the person to ask about that,” he answers, cryptically.

“Why? You don’t believe in love?”

“No. I know love is real. It’s just people always manage to fuck it up…to fail.”

“I know I did,” I confess.

“What do you mean?”

“Michael, you can’t fail any more than I already have with Maggie.”

He reaches over and turns the bedside light on. Then, pushing his pillows against his back, he sits up, leaning against the headboard and looks at me. He does all this while I’m blinking, still trying to adjust to the light.

“Explain what you mean with that shit, Hayden,” he demands, and the anger in his voice can’t be mistaken, but this time I think it might be directed at me.

Oh boy.