I didn’t know why I was here.
I wasn’t working. I couldn’t. And the people who needed me were all gathered together, grieving.
But I could only handle their grief for so long when I was the reason Johnny was dead . . . when part of me knew he’d been pushing and pushing for it, but another part hated myself for what I’d done.
And despite it all, the ache in my chest was from so much more than my best friend no longer being in this world.
It was for Gia.
It was for a failed years-long revenge.
It was for the loss of something so life-altering and consuming that each breath felt weighted and excruciating.
So call me a masochist for coming here. I knew she wouldn’t be here . . . but I didn’t know how to stay away.
This place was where she would always be real.
I slid out of my car, my eyes lingering on the hood as I shut the door. Memories flooded me as I headed to the side entrance of Brooks, the entire time trying to tell myself to turn back around and get in my car.
Go home. Go to the house. Just drive until I could never find my way back.
I pushed out a pained breath and lifted my head, already knowing what I wouldn’t find at the booth she’d always sat in. Not that it made it any easier.
I somehow managed to walk over to the empty booth and folded myself into the seat, letting my head drop into my hands as soon as I was settled.
My body tensed when I heard someone sit on the other side, but before I could look up, a deep voice said, “You know, your information saved Teagan.”
I lifted my head to find Beck watching me without a hint of anger or mockery, and cocked an eyebrow. “What?”
“Lily told me everything,” he began, taking notice of the way I flinched at her name. “She told me she’s been coming here for breakfast for two years. Your notes to her. The street fair . . . all of it.”
“That’s great, Beck. Today’s not—”
“Breakfast with Teagan. Lily’s been having breakfast here with Teagan, one of her best friends since she was a kid, for two years.”
“Is that the girl . . .?”
“Who Mickey was gonna have stolen?” he asked, his expression darkening. “Yeah. She’s married to this abusive fuck, Finn. Him and his dad want to take over Holloway. Taking Teagan and selling her was Mickey’s way of shutting them up.”
I sat up at Beck’s information. My mind raced, but all of my thoughts remained unspoken as I tried to sort them out. “Why are you here, Beck?”
“I came home this morning and found my best friend looking like her life had been ripped from her. The last time I saw her like that, her brother had been killed right in front of her. Kieran should’ve been there for her after that, and he wasn’t. And as much as I hate to say it—and I fucking hate it—the guy she needs isn’t him anymore. But it’s up to you if you’re going to be there or not.”
A sad huff tumbled from my mouth. “Have you forgotten who she is? I’ve spent the last four years hating her and blaming her for Gia—”
“That right?” Beck growled, leaning over the table to get in my face. “If you want to blame and hate someone, it should be Mickey. Lily didn’t even know about your fiancée until a couple weeks ago.” Standing from the booth, he took a folded-up piece of paper from his pocket and tossed it at me. “You’ve been the source of her nightmares for four years. You were in the room and the reason Aric was murdered. She’s shared your hate and blame, and she somehow looked past that.”
“What is this?”
“It’s why I’m here. I fucking hate that the two of you were together. I hate what that did to Kieran. But she’s my best friend, and I know what you mean to her. She knew you were going to kill her, and she still wanted to spend time with you until you did.”
I glanced at the paper like it had the power to destroy me, then slowly reached for it.
“She wrote that before I picked her up at your place yesterday morning. Made me promise I’d find a way to give it to you today. I think she somehow knew what happened last night was coming.”
Of course she’d known. She knew we’d already come looking for her once and she’d never stopped reminding me that there was an end to what we had.
I grabbed Beck’s arm before he could walk away, and ignored the way he tensed in preparation for a fight I didn’t have the will for anymore.
“Finn,” I murmured, my eyes finally sliding from the paper in my hand to Beck’s hardened stare. “My informant in Holloway about her.”
A dark look crossed over Beck’s face, his jaw clenching before he nodded and stalked away.
Once he was gone, I opened the letter, still unsure if I wanted to read whatever she’d written but unable to make myself stop.
It was like tipping the glass back to get the last drop of whiskey. Compulsory and irresistible.
And if this was the last drop of Elle, I wanted to devour it.
So I did . . . again and again until I had her words memorized, and I was left wondering if it would ever be enough.