“Smug bastard. If I could rip off his balls and feed them to him one by one without going to jail, they’d already be sliding down his throat.”

Taking a swallow of my Lagavulin, even the smokiness of the pricey aged Scotch does little to wash away the tang of rage lining my mouth. I don’t take my eyes from him for a split second. Standing next to my father like he belongs there. Shaking hands with businessmen, housewives, the people of Seattle like they are his people. Fucking pompous prick.

“Did you see the way he looked at Willow when my father was giving his speech?”

“I saw it,” Noah replies tersely. He’s as indignant as I am. “Fucker’s getting bolder and bolder.”

Fierce protectiveness fires every neuron inside me until they’re pinging violently against the walls of my veins. I scan the room for Willow. My mother dragged her away more than a half an hour ago to parade her around. Don’t think I haven’t noticed Mergen tracking her every move, either. As much as I’ve not taken my eyes from him, he’s barely taken his eyes from her, though the last few minutes he’s been engrossed in conversation with a US senator and one of my father’s closest friends.

“She’s over there,” Noah’s low voice drawls.

I follow his line of sight, and sure enough, spot Willow with a small group of my mother’s closest friends. My mother apparently says something that brings blood rushing to her fair skin because even from this distance I watch her cheeks redden. That gorgeous, sassy mouth I love sinking my cock into breaks into a sheepish smile, and she quickly throws a glance around the immediate vicinity as if she doesn’t want someone to overhear their conversation.

I wonder what made my girl blush so beautifully.

“So, you two were arguing earlier.”

I slip my eyes to Noah for a moment and go back to watching Willow. He wasn’t around for the awkward scene. One guess as to who filled him in. Bluebelle is like his baby sister, too. “First a dead father I didn’t know about, then a fiancé, and now a mystery sister.”

“Ex-fiancé,” Noah clarifies.

“Whatever. Ex-fiancé. The point is I’m beginning to wonder if I’ll ever extract all of her secrets or if they’ll just blindside me when I least expect it.”

“Isn’t that part of the fun?”

“Is it? It doesn’t feel fun sometimes.” It feels like extreme sports, actually. One brutal hurdle after another, wondering if I’ll ever make it to the finish line or be forced to tap out. And with the way Mergen’s blatantly displaying his feelings for her—publicly now—I don’t think I’m too far off the mark. Hence why I’m keeping him in my crosshairs.

My time’s almost up. I feel it vibrating in every cell in my body. And that means I have to make my move before he does. That means every second with Willow is more precious than the one before it.

That means I have to tell her tonight. Fuck.

Noah draws in a gulp of air and blows it out loudly. He swallows a mouthful of his rum and Coke and turns to me. “I don’t know, Merc. Sometimes I think I wouldn’t mind finding someone like her to twist me all up.”

I should be more stunned than I am, but the truth is I’ve seen a change in Noah since I started dating Willow. A good one. My lips slide up. “Really? Is that why you wanted me to talk to a certain statuesque brunette who wouldn’t give a second thought to pulling out your short hairs with sharp tweezers?”

He shrugs but the gleam in his eye gives him away.

I thought it would be fun to set the two of them up, watching sparks detonate like the Fourth of July, but Noah surprised me. He’s clearly taken interest in Willow’s best friend and roommate, though I’m not sure she reciprocated. And I’m not sure she’s the woman he should be fixated on.

“I thought you were kidding the other day.”

“I wasn’t,” he says, testily.

“Wouldn’t let you in her pants, huh?”

“Fuck off, Merc. That’s not it.”

“I think maybe it is.”

“It’s not, okay? She’s…God.” He scratches his stubble, contemplating. “So fucking wild all I can think about is taming her.”

“She hates men,” I tell him, throwing back the last of my drink.

Another lift of his shoulders. “No. She hates the thought of men. Big difference.”

I bark a laugh. “She thinks you’re a manwhore.”

He simply grunts and slams the rest of his drink, too. “A leopard can change its spots.”

“I think you have that phrase backward, my friend.” I set my empty on the tray of a passing young waitress who can’t be more than twenty, tops. She gives me the once-over and smiles. It’s flirty and forward. A blatant invitation for a ride on my cock later.

“You didn’t,” he says rather casually, handing our waitress his own dry glass. He doesn’t even bother to look at her. She stands there for long seconds, hoping for something more than blind dismissal. When she sees she’s not going to get it, she walks away.

“I didn’t what?” I scrunch my forehead, confused.

“Have it backward. You set your sights on her.” He nods toward Willow. “You fought for her and now you have her.”

But for how long, I’m getting ready to ask when commotion and a familiar voice screeching behind me shift my attention.

I spin around to see Annabelle storming toward us, the boy she brought in tow close on her heels. She’s carrying her shoes in one hand, holding up that long skirt of hers with another as she powers forward.

She’s yelling obscenities behind her at…what was his name again? Drew? Dan? Whatever. Doesn’t matter. What does matter is the scene she’s making. While most of them are gone, a few members of the press still linger, probably hoping for this exact moment. Something juicy to print alongside a picture of my father doing something philanthropic. Bloodsuckers. All of them.

I snag her by the waist as she walks by and flatten her to my chest, my arm banded tight. She fights me, barking at me to let her go and when I don’t, she tries hitting me with those spiked heels that could be lethal weapons if they hit a vulnerable spot on a man.

“Fuck, Bluebelle. Calm the hell down,” I hiss, working like mad to control her. Raging river, right here.

“He’s an asshole!” she shrieks, kicking her legs out at her date like a child. She connects with his shin and he lets out a grunt, bending over to rub his wound. Pussy.

Drew or Dan or whoever he is grits, “I didn’t do a fucking thing, Annabelle.”

She growls. Actually growls. “You’ve been looking at her all night. Don’t even try to deny it.” She stabs her finger somewhere toward the sea of people in power suits and fancy dresses. Many of whom are starting to pay too much attention to our little spectacle.

Drew or Dan lets out a frustrated huff. “I didn’t. I wouldn’t disrespect you like that. I swear. I don’t even know who you’re talking about! Tell her.” His eyes land on me, desperate for help that he’s not getting. Regardless of if he’s 100 percent right—which he probably is—there’s no talking sense into Annabelle when she’s like this.

“Lying sack of shit!” she throws back hotly. “You did the same thing at that party last weekend when you were talking to that slut Patty Collins.”

He rolls his eyes.

This kid has a lot to learn. Even I know that’s the kiss of death.

“You’d better just go,” I tell him.

“But—”

“Get her out of here,” Noah says. “Camera, two o’clock.”

Christ almighty. My eyes latch on to my father’s, about halfway across the room. His entire face is hard.

“Take care of him,” I direct Noah, nodding to junior.

“Don’t touch me,” I hear the kid say as I set Annabelle on her feet. Keeping my grip tight, I usher her in the opposite direction, her date’s words drifting behind us. “I’m outta here. You two can deal with her crazy.”

Yep. Kiss of death. Loser. Good riddance.

“Let me go,” my baby sister demands, attempting to yank her arm from my implacable rule.

“Not on your life.”

I make a sharp left and drag her down the thankfully empty hallway until we come to a set of meeting rooms. I try two doors before I find one open.

As soon as we’re inside, I let her go. She takes several steps to a rolling chair, pulls it out, and plops down. She sets her elbows on the table and her face in her hands. I stand by the door, thwarting any attempted escape.

For several minutes the only sound in the room is her harsh breathing. When it finally evens out, I take a seat beside her.

“So,” I start, “this party last weekend. Tell me about it.”

Her head shoots up, her bloodshot eyes fisting mine. “That’s what you want to talk about?”

“Yes,” I tell her plainly.

Annabelle’s a recovering drug addict. A party is the last place she should be. Even tonight I kept my eye on her. She’s legally old enough to drink, but a recovering drug addict shouldn’t have a drop of alcohol either, even if that’s not what she was addicted to in the first place. Addiction is addiction. And it runs wild and uncontrolled in her blood.

“You’re an asshole.”

“Duly noted. Now…the party.” I cross my arms, my directive clear: Answer. The fucking. Question.

Her spine straightens—that Mercer strength and stubbornness I admire ever present. I watch a hot blaze smoke up her sky-blue eyes. “You’re not my father.”

“Then don’t make me be, Annabelle,” I answer, softening my tone a touch.

“I’m a grown-up. I don’t owe you an explanation.”

I breathe deep, my patience quickly waning. Annabelle needs my attention but that leaves Willow unprotected from a predator otherwise known as her ex. The sooner we deal with this so I can get back to her, the better. “Then start acting like it. You don’t air your personal crap in a public venue like this. You know better than that.”

She sighs, glancing away before answering petulantly, “It was a twenty-first birthday party for a friend of mine, okay?”

“And I don’t suppose this twenty-first birthday party took place at Chuck E. Cheese?” I respond drolly.

That earns me a cantankerous glare. Not really caring, though. I’m immune to her theatrics.

“I have to learn to be around it sometime, Shaw.”

“You’re not even a year sober, Bluebelle. It’s a bad idea.”

“I can’t just sit in my apartment and watch my life pass by.”

“I never asked you to,” I tell her somberly. “But you need to make smart choices, or…”

She leans back in her chair, crosses her arms. Her hair is a mess. Her cheeks are red from anger. She looks older than her young years. “It was hard. I’m not saying it wasn’t. But I did it. I turned down every offer. I left completely sober.”

Her chin goes up in her personal brand of defiance. All she wants is to be acknowledged. “I’m proud of you, Bluebelle. That couldn’t have been easy.”

“It wasn’t, but Dean…”—Dean, that’s his name—“he didn’t drink anything either, so it helped.” She looks down to her lap and starts smoothing her pastel skirt. “I overreacted,” she confesses softly.

“I assumed,” I reply, knowing she’s referring to the debacle in the ballroom. “Do you like him?”

She peeks at me under lashes caked with black mascara. Her nod is small but unmistakable. “He’s right. I’ve been acting crazy.” I’m anxious to get back to Willow and call it a night, but I wait patiently, letting her gather her thoughts. “I’ve just been on edge ever since…”

She doesn’t finish her thought but she doesn’t need to. I know exactly what she’s referring to. I knew she didn’t believe me the other day.

I breathe a heavy sigh and stand, unable to sit any longer. Scrubbing my hands down my face, I open my mouth to tell her the truth. I have to, even though this isn’t the time or place. In fact, I can’t think of a worse place to do this but I can’t keep putting it off any longer. It’s not fair to anyone. Right as I’m trying to push out words that could send her into a tailspin, my cell buzzes.

I reach into my pocket and slide out my phone, gazing at the message.

There’s only one her he’d be referring to.

Willow.

That motherfucker. I’m gone for all of five minutes and he pounces. “I have to go,” I tell my sister, pocketing my phone again.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” My heart races. I’ve no doubt Mergen is with her and it’s not a stretch to think he’s spilling his guts but will twist the facts to his advantage. “Go back to the party and stick by Dad. And behave yourself.” I’m at the door, turning the knob, not looking behind me to make sure Annabelle’s followed instructions.

For some reason, instead of heading back toward the party I continue down the hallway to my left where more conference rooms are. I force myself to walk slowly with purpose, straining to hear voices. This part of the hotel is not occupied this evening so if there happens to be unusual activity I should hear it.

After about fifty feet I come to a fork where I need to choose. Right or left. Going purely on gut instinct I pivot left, taking me farther into the guts of the posh lodge. Catching a faint whiff of the floral perfume I inhaled on Willow earlier, I know I’m on the right path. Still, I pass room after room in the extra wide hallway, hearing nothing.

Until the last one.

Low voices draw me to the final room on my right. The door is cracked and as I near, Willow’s voice becomes quite distinct. I loiter outside, eavesdropping.

“This is completely inappropriate, Reid,” she hisses. She’s angry. Good girl.

“You didn’t leave me any choice, Willow,” he replies with a bite. “You won’t return my calls or my texts.”

Fucker.

“Because there’s nothing to talk about.”

“Oh, there’s plenty to talk about. What are you doing with a guy like Mercer in the first place? He’s a philanderer, Willow. You deserve better than a yuppie who fucks random women in public places and ends up in the goddamn newspaper!”

That’s it. My hand automatically comes up to shove the door open but instinct makes me pause when Willow spits, “Don’t say another word. For all I know you had something to do with that whole thing.”

A slow smile creeps across my face. I love this woman with everything in me.

Mergen’s laugh is bitter. “I only wish. I had to work overtime to clean up his shit.” He didn’t lift a fucking finger. I did it all.

“This is not you, Reid,” she says sadly. “Why are you acting like this?”

“Do you know how excruciating it is to wake up each day knowing you’re not mine anymore? It’s hell, Willow. Every second of every day of the last four years has been pure, utter fucking hell.”

My jaw clenches tight. If he wasn’t trying to tear apart my family, I’d almost feel sorry for the asshole. Yah, no. That’ll never happen.

“Reid.” She stretches out his name, her tone hemorrhaging sympathy. “I…I don’t know what you want me to say.”

I know what I want her to say.

“Say that this…whatever you’re doing with Shaw Mercer is temporary.”

It takes her a long time to answer. Too long. Frankly, it takes her so long I’m beginning to wonder what her answer will be, but when she finally speaks, I realize it’s not because she doubts us, it’s because she’s trying to let him down as gently as possible. As much as I want her to tell him to fuck off, I love that caring side of her.

“It’s not, Reid. I’m in love with him. I told you that. I know I left you hanging all these years and for that, I am incredibly sorry. It was wrong of me. I don’t want to hurt you but that doesn’t change the fact that what I have with him is real. He’s…it for me.”

“He doesn’t know you like I do. He never will,” he protests.

“You’re wrong.”

“What does he give you that I can’t, huh? Money? I have money, Willow. Maybe not as much as he does but enough that I can help take care of you and your mother.”

“Now you’re just insulting me,” she tells him hotly.

There’s a long moment of silence. “He will never commit to you.”

I’m done. I’ve heard enough. I bulldoze my way into the room with such force the door slams against the wall, nearly nailing me before I have a chance to step out of its recoil. “I already have committed to her, asshole,” I announce, taking in Willow’s shocked face for all of a breath before I’m in front of her. Then she’s in my arms, my eyes falling shut momentarily when she slides hers around my waist.

“How did you know where I was?” she mumbles into my chest.

“I followed your scent,” I say into her hair, inhaling deep.

She tilts her head up and smiles brightly. Her whole face is lit up, and I fall further and further into her. Feathering my thumbs along her cheekbones, I drop a kiss to the tip of her nose.

“Let’s go.” Sliding my palm down her arm, I take her hand in mine and start walking toward the exit. We’re two steps forward when Mergen’s smug chirp halts us in our tracks. “He’s using you. Did you know that, Willow?”

I feel her whole body stiffen beside me. “Don’t do this, Reid.”

“Don’t do what?” he mocks. Leaning one butt cheek against the long executive table, he crosses his arms, stretching the shoulders of his fitted gray suit. “Tell you the truth? Don’t you want to know what kind of man you’re committing yourself to? Because he’s not an honorable one, that’s for damn sure.”

“Right.” I snort. “Says the moral prick who’s trying to steal my girl.”

Mergen barely acknowledges me, his entire focus on Willow. “Did you know this”—he nods back and forth between us—“arrangement is a hoax? That he singled you out to be his girlfriend for a few months with every intention to cut you loose the second Preston is reelected?”

“Stop Reid,” Willow pleads quietly. Her grip on me increases.

“Stop? Fuck no. I’m not stopping until you know everything. You’re choosing a man who built what you think you have on a bed of lies. He doesn’t love you. He’s using you!”

I go to drop my hold on her, one foot already forward, intent on annihilating this motherfucker but Willow tugs me back. Rather forcefully I might add. “Don’t,” she tells me, lowly.

That spine of hers snaps straight. She locks eyes with her ex. Her shoulders are set back and that obstinate chin juts out. I recognize this stance. That’s my girl: battle born and combat ready. Magnificent.

“And I suppose I should be thanking you for that, shouldn’t I?” The indignation Mergen’s been steeping in for weeks falls flat. When he doesn’t answer, Willow adds, “It was your idea, wasn’t it?” She waves between us. “This?”

I want to smile but don’t. No, I want to get us the hell out of here before the room burns down around us because when Mergen sees he’s not getting anywhere with this little revelation, he’s bringing the big guns.

Setting my hand to her back, I try to push her forward, but she digs in her heels.

“No, just a minute,” she tells me without taking her stare from Mergen. “He told me everything so whatever it is you think you’re doing isn’t going to work, Reid. It only makes you look desperate.”

The flash of hurt is unmistakable but then a vile grin snakes across his mouth as his eyes slide to mine. “He told you everything, did he?”

“Yes,” she answers at the same time I give her a little shove forward, telling her, “We’re out of here.”

I smell the smoke. I feel a curl of blistering flames lashing my blackened soul for not confessing this the second I found out. And if I don’t get her the hell out of here right now, I’ll be completely swathed in third-degree burns.

This time we make it to the door. We’re nearly home free when Mergen’s slimy voice slithers behind us, “So I suppose he told you that your father didn’t commit suicide then, right?”

She freezes.

“Let’s go,” I say, barely leashing my anger. I try nudging her forward but she’s stiffer than a corpse. With one hand she pushes me away and pivots back around.

“What did you say?” she whispers harshly.

Mergen stands up and drops his hands to his side. He looks almost contrite. Fucker. I want to murder him where he stands.

“Willow, let’s go,” I plead. I need to be the one to break this to her. Not him. Me. I wind my fingers around her bicep but she pushes me away again, taking two steps toward Mergen.

“Tell me what you just said.” Now her voice is sour and cutting.

Mergen looks tense, yet he keeps going. “So he didn’t tell you everything then.”

“Willow—” I reach for her but she brushes me off, moving another step away.

“Don’t,” she says, tone razor sharp. I’m not sure if she’s talking to him or me but that’s soon put to rest. “Don’t you dare bring my father into this. What kind of sick game are you playing, Reid?”

“Me?” he snarls. “He’s the one you should be asking.”

“He has nothing to do with this. How could you say something like that?” She chokes out the last few words and I so badly want to wrap her in my arms and protect her from this but I can’t. And in under two minutes, she’ll never let me again.

“He has everything to do with this!” His hot gaze flashes to mine. “Tell her, Mercer. Go ahead and tell her about your sister’s involvement in her father’s death.”

If I thought it would do a lick of good, I’d beat the ever-living shit out of him. I’d face assault charges. I’d gladly spend days on end in a six-by-six cement jail cell. But that won’t change a damn thing. It won’t erase the confusion plastered on Willow’s face. It won’t wipe away the horror when she realizes Mergen’s not just being a dick. It certainly won’t change the truth.

“What does he mean?” she mumbles, her dainty brows knitting tightly together. She eases back toward Mergen. I’m not even sure she knows she’s doing it. I want to fall at her feet and beg her forgiveness. “Shaw, tell me what he means.” This time she’s found that inner strength I revere.

“I—” Fucking hell. I set my hands on my hips and drop my gaze to the floor, keeping it there for several seconds. I draw in a breath of fortification and pray God is merciful when I raise my eyes to her, hoping beyond all hope we can weather this. “It was an accident.”

“An accident?” Her legs give but it’s not me who’s there to catch her, comfort her. It’s him. “I don’t understand. My father committed suicide. It’s in the police report. It’s on his death certificate. There was no one else there. No witnesses. It wasn’t an accident.”

“It was.” I take a step toward her but she shrinks away, back into his hold. She’s looking at me like she doesn’t know who I am. I want to die. “Willow, let’s go somewhere and talk about this. Alone.”

“We’re not going anywhere until you tell me what happened.”

“I’m not doing this with him here.”

“Goddammit, Shaw! Enough! Just tell me already,” she fires back. She shirks out of his hold, thank Christ, but she stands there, so damn regal next to the man who wanted to marry her. The man who still loves her fiercely and will be there for her when she kicks me out on my ass.

If there’s a worse hell than this one, I don’t want to know.

I make my throat work to force down the saliva that’s pooled in my mouth before launching into the only facts I know.

“My sister—”

“Annabelle?” she asks, clarifying.

“Yes. Annabelle,” I tell her. “She was out of sorts that night—”

“Out of sorts?” she interrupts again.

Sighing heavily, I know now is not the time to hold back. “Drugs, alcohol. You name it. She did it.” Her lips turn down. The lipstick she glossed them with earlier is nearly gone and what’s left she’s chewing off. She already sees the path I’m laying, and it’s fraught with hairpin turns and vertical falls. If we survive, it will be a fucking miracle. “She was in a really bad place, Willow, even before that. She was reckless, careless, thoughtless. But that night some really bad shit happened and she broke. She didn’t care if she lived or died.”

“What happened?” Willow asks, her voice a hoarse whisper. There’s both a softness and edge to her question.

She deserves the entire story, but not now. Now she’ll get the condensed version because I’m not airing all of my family’s crap in front of someone I don’t trust. I flick my attention to Mergen, whose features are stone hard. I have no idea if he knows everything I do but I’m not giving him any more ammunition to use against me.

“Somehow, she ended up on Schultz Bridge with her friends, every one of them drunk or coked out of their minds. She…” I hesitate, this part still grueling for me accept. My little sister wanted to die and had it not been for her father, I believe she would have succeeded. “She had climbed up onto the railing and was threatening to jump when your father came along.”

Tears immediately flood her eyes. They spill over, running in thick rivers down her cheeks. Desperate to feel her, I close the three feet between us but she holds out her hand, forbidding me from touching her.

But not him. She’s leaning against the table for support, flush to his side. Mergen’s arm is now around her slumped shoulders and she’s just looking at me, looking through me. Blinking, water flowing. Disbelieving. No doubt feeling as though she’s locked in the same nightmare I am, no escape in sight.

“He saw what was going on and he stopped. He climbed up onto the railing with her when she refused to come down.” She brings a hand up to wipe her face. It’s shaking. I lick my dry lips and continue, trying like hell to ignore these thousand pinpricks of raw agony battering my heart because she’s leaning on him for strength. “She tried to jump. He lunged and threw her to safety but…” I can’t finish it. I can’t fucking say it.

The air thickens around us, curdling with the stark realization that all these years she’s lived a lie. Her father did not take his own life. He didn’t leave her. He didn’t leave his wife. He gave his life selflessly to save my baby sister.

“How do you know this?” she croaks. “How long have you known this?”

Unable to meet her turmoil head-on any longer I turn toward the bank of windows on my right. I think, given time and introspection, she would be able to come to grips with this horrific scenario. She’s compassionate and forgiving that way. But the fact I’ve known about this for weeks and didn’t say anything? Inexcusable.

“Long enough,” is all I say.

“Long enough,” she repeats, her voice shaky. Her chest heaving. “The whole time? Have you known this the whole time?”

“No,” I tell her adamantly. “No, Willow. If you believe nothing else, please believe that. I should have told you the second I found out but my only excuse was I was trying to process it all myself. It was wrong. I’m sorry. So goddamn sorry.”

She blinks. “Is this why you’ve not been yourself lately?” I nod once. It hits deep she knows me well enough to know I was off. “Is this what was wrong in Charlotte?” Again, I nod. “Is this why you went to Charlotte?” I don’t respond. She knows.

“Oh my God. Oh my God.” She grabs the fabric covering her chest, balling it into her fist.

“Willow.” I lean toward her, slowly bleeding out on the inside that she’s hurting so bad and I can’t do a damn thing. She looks pale. So pale.

“Don’t. Just…don’t say another word.”

“Fuck.” I jab my hand in my hair, tugging the strands until I pull a few out. The sting feels good. Right. I do it again. And pace. Three steps one way, three the other. I keep my eye on her the entire time. She’s far, far away. None of us speak. None of us dare. Hours pass, only I’ll later know it was mere seconds. Horribly short seconds before she’d walk right out of my life.

“I…I need to go.” Her eyes are unfocused. Glazed over. Her face is streaked, makeup smudged under her eyes. She’s a mess, yet she’s the most exquisite creature I have ever laid eyes on.

“I’ll drive you,” Mergen and I say at the same time, closing in on her.

“No. I’m driving myself.”

She pushes herself to stand but wobbles. I’m there to steady her. “You don’t have a car,” I remind her. She slaps my hand away. Damn stubborn woman. She can be pissed all she wants—she has a right to be—but she’s leaving here alone over my dead body. “I’m driving you, Willow. End of story.”

She snaps out of her zombie state and her glare is so hot and stifling a ring of fire surrounds me. “You’re right about one thing. This is the end of the story.”

“Jesus, Willow,” I plead, my voice strained. “Please don’t do this. Let me explain the whole thing. Please.”

“And you,” she spits, turning that death glare on Mergen as she ignores my plea. “How dare you. Did you honestly think this was going to win you any favors? How long have you known?”

At least the fucker has the decency to seem repentant. Willow may never forgive me for this but at least she’s smart enough to know that Mergen tipped his own hand while trying to make me look like the bad guy.

He was with Willow when her father died. He witnessed firsthand her pain, her confusion, her debilitating grief. Years later it remains fresh and raw. He had to have known how not only the loss, but the way that loss occurred was devastating to her. If he cared about her one iota, he would have told her the second he found out. Not used it as means to hurt me, but as a way to ease her suffering.

“Willow, you don’t understand,” he starts hoarsely.

“I don’t understand?” Her eyes are wide, her voice dripping venom. “Oh, I understand perfectly.”

Mergen moves toward her, his arms out, still trying to save himself. “I—”

Throwing a hand up; she cuts him off. “Don’t. Don’t say another word. I’m leaving. Don’t follow me. Don’t call me. I don’t want to see either of you ever again.”

Her words are a switchblade at the edge of my wrist, the heaviness of them sinking the sharp metal into my flesh, nicking an artery.

And that’s that. Mergen and I remain frozen, both watching the woman we love walk out of the room and out of our lives.

It’s the single biggest blow I’ve taken in my thirty-six years.