The reality of that—what he’d lost and would never get back—nearly paralyzed him. When does one ever think their memories can’t be trusted? Was anything he’d ever remembered true?
Heath—because calling himself Kieran made him sick to his stomach—clutched a spell phone in his bloody hand, coughing up more of the red fluid until it dribbled down his chin. He couldn’t have been completely wrong, could he?
Kieran had taken Kalinda hostage. Kieran had told his best friend he’d see him on the other end of his gun. And Kieran had royally destroyed everything Heath had ever believed he could have. Heath thought he’d left all that behind.
The anger.
The resentment.
The loneliness.
After finding Cin …
Heath closed his eyes, picturing the slender woman with her quirky style, sharp tongue, and beautiful jewelry. He’d thought maybe he could find peace. But then she was taken too. Lorenzo had come along, and she’d found conventional love. A love where the other person didn’t have to hide or lie about who they were.
Cin may have never known who he was, but she’d been able to sense he hadn’t been completely truthful with her. With bloody fingertips, he clicked to his photo gallery on his phone, determined to find something real. He still had everything—the texts, pictures, and call log. Everything to prove Lorenzo and Cin had been real. That Heath hadn’t been alone in the world after losing so much in the Fae lands.
But had he truly lost everything?
Silva’s complete surprise and soul-deep cry of innocence had stayed Heath’s hand so he hadn’t administered the killing blow. But it was probably too late anyway. He’d fucked up so much. Cin would never forgive him. Lorenzo would never trust him again.
He’d lost … everything.
He forced his fingers to work, to dial the one number he could always remember by heart. It was futile, of course, but he had to try. Anything. Something to make it right. The phone rang loud in his ear, a bang against his eardrums.
Punishment for having done so much to fuck those who’d stood behind him.
“Heath?”
Lorenzo’s voice was disbelieving, a prayer, a hope.
When the pack returned home, he had no doubt they’d tell him what had happened. But for a short span of time, he’d still be Heath’s friend.
“Hey, man.”
Lorenzo must have dropped the phone. It rattled on the other end before Lorenzo was back. “Where the fuck are you? I thought … we thought you were dead.”
There was hurt and agony in that one stressed word. We. Cin and Lorenzo.
“I … Fuck. I don’t know how to do this.”
“Just tell me where you are. I’ll come get you. We’ll figure it out.”
Yeah. Because that was Lorenzo—forgiving, caring, the best friend in the world. But Heath had betrayed him.
“Listen. When Romano comes home, you’re going to find out things about me I never wished you would.”
“Heath—”
“I’m sorry. For all of it. I just … I was so messed up. I wanted revenge. I wanted … to destroy who I thought had destroyed what I’d been.”
Heath coughed, the action wrecking his chest, and he wheezed. Dying was painful, and he didn’t give a shit what anyone said otherwise. It soaked up every thought in his head, pushed him to get the words out before he couldn’t. He may not survive this call, but at least … at least he’d give Lorenzo some peace.
“I’m going to fix it. I don’t know how, and it may take the rest of my life, but I will. Don’t tell Cin I’m still alive. Let her believe I’m gone. Let me be dead for her. Just … promise me you’ll be everything she ever needed. Everything she wished I could be but couldn’t.”
Lorenzo was silent on the other end of the line, and Heath didn’t know what else to say. He may not have loved Cin the way she wanted him to, the way she’d hoped he would eventually—before she met Lorenzo. But he did care. He did want someone to take care of her.
He’d never loved her because he had nothing in his heart but pain.
