When Hugo gathers the liquor inventory off the third shelf, I say, “Leave that for Mark. He needs all the practice he can get.”
Laughing, he shadows me into my office before closing the door behind him. As I move to the coat rack in the corner of the large space to hang my suit jacket, he takes in a space that’s changed since he last saw it. It’s been refurnished even with my office being only eighteen months old.
“Callie’s inclusion in our life required some adjusting.” A cunning grin carves on my mouth. “My couch was too small for two.”
My smirk doubles when I spot Hugo’s slack-jawed expression. He’s been away the past six months, so he’s not used to seeing this side of me. That free feeling I was experiencing after marrying Isabelle is still running abundantly through my veins, making me the most carefree I’ve ever been.
I doubt that will still be the case in a few minutes.
“Do you have a date for me yet?”
Considering the circumstances of our meeting, I need to hammer down a date before hitting Hugo with the big stuff. Hugo is a damn good employee, so I’ll do everything in my power to keep him in my team—even if he’s only legally obligated to work for me.
“Looking toward the end of the month. Hawke has decided to put his house on the market, so I’d like to help him fix it up before having it valued.”
Part of his comment reminds me of Isabelle and Harlow’s plans to get Hawke and Gemma together. “Do you think Hawke is ready to move on?”
Hugo slumps low in his chair before scrubbing the stubble on his chin. “To be honest, I don’t know. I’m hopeful. It’s been a long time coming, but I understand everyone handles grief differently.”
I’ve said that exact quote to him numerous times the past five years. Although I’m now wondering how accurate it is. Hawke and I are two very different men, but our grief pattern was oddly similar. We both closed ourselves off from the world by throwing ourselves into work. His was in the military, whereas mine was my empire. It took me six years to see past my grief. The sixth anniversary of Jorgie’s death is coming up in a few months. The similarities of our grief are undeniable, there’s just one difference. Ophelia is alive. Jorgie isn’t.
Regrettably, the infamous reputation I fought so hard to get wasn’t strong enough to bring the man responsible for Jorgie’s death to justice. Roberto is living a bleak, miserable existence, but he’s still living. Police records reveal Malcolm, Jorgie and Hawke’s son, never took his first breath.
Roberto showed remorse. He pled guilty and was set to face the consequences of his actions like a man instead of a coward, but none of those reasons factored into my decision years ago. It was his eyes. They revealed a broken man who never had the chance to live a normal, moral existence.
I was so determined to free Ophelia from her father’s clutches, I almost killed her brother in the ring. I guarantee you her brothers didn’t have access to the same crutch. Col was a vile, heinous man who’d rather his son die than throw in the towel in defeat. Blood or not, he never placed the needs of anyone above himself. That’s when I realized Roberto may have been alive, but he wasn’t living. He was already in hell, and my proposal merely kept him there.
Hugo watches me closely when I secure my tablet out of my briefcase. With this being one of Hunter’s prototypes, I’m only one of two owners. Every influential article in my life is stored on this device. Up until yesterday, Callie’s sale documentation sat in the number one spot. Now it’s one place behind my marriage certificate.
After bringing up the document Isabelle stumbled upon days ago, I slide the tablet across the desk to Hugo. His brows furrow when he notices the name stretched across the file, but he maintains a quiet front.
When he reaches the photographs of Roberto’s transformation from a fit thirty-year-old man with a head full of thick hair to an overweight, balding middle-aged man with a rounded stomach, Hugo’s eyes snap up to mine.
He appears confused. I try and settle it. “You wanted him to suffer, to pay for killing your sister and nephew. I kept my word.”
“You said you’d take care of it.” His voice is graveling and thick like he swallowed a handful of rock shards before speaking.
“I did—”
“I thought you killed him. That you killed himforme.” I can’t tell if he’s frustrated or relieved. It may be a combination of both.
“I nearly did. I just…” My words trail off when I fail to find an excuse for my spinelessness. For the first time in the past six years, I’m ashamed of the man I’ve become.
My eyes float up from my desk when Hugo murmurs, “Even with your soul shattered, you knew right from wrong.” He smirks at my shocked expression. “That’s what Ava said to me when I told her I couldn’t issue Roberto the punishment the court failed to give him. She told me that not pulling the trigger made me courageous.” He dumps the tablet that’s open to the file of his sister’s killer onto my desk so he can drag his fingers through his hair.
“At the time, I honestly wanted him dead. I thought if he were dead, the pain of losing Jorgie and Malcolm wouldn’t be as bad.” He shakes his head while exhaling deeply. “Even believing you had killed him didn’t change a thing. Nothing changed. Jorgie’s death still ate away at me every single day, growing worse when I returned to Rochdale.” After sucking in a big breath, he nudges his head to my laptop. “May I?”
Even without knowing where he’s taking our conversation, I jerk up my chin. Now that he knows what really happened to Roberto, he knowsallmy secrets. He and Isabelle know every horrible thing about me, and shockingly, they both haven’t run. A selfless man wouldn’t accept their forgiveness. He’d free them to live their life without controversy, but I’m too selfish to do that. I gave Isabelle an out yesterday before we wed. She won’t get a second one. Just as this will be Hugo’s only shot of leaving my empire on amicable terms.
After finding the article he’s after, Hugo lifts and locks his eyes with mine. “When I moved back to Rochdale, my nightmares returned stronger than ever.”
The shame in his eyes reveals he hates admitting he’s succumbed to the nightmares that plagued his dreams after Gemma’s assault. I don’t know why. Having the courage to admit he suffers nightmares far exceeds any shame he should feel.
When I tell him that, his lips curve into a halfhearted grin. “I wasn’t dreaming about Gemma this time around. I was dreaming about Roberto and how Col would have reacted if I had returned home while he was alive.”
“You felt guilt. That’s a natural reaction for a healer, Hugo.”
He nods, agreeing with me. “But I wasn’t feeling sorry for Col. It was for Roberto’s mother, sisters, and aunts… the people who were left wondering what happened to him. I wondered if they were looking for him as my family was searching for me.” The shame in his eyes doubles when he admits, “They weren’t. They didn’t even lodge a missing person report.”
