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A fast shake of his head as he pulled free of her embrace. “You don’t understand.”
She wouldn’t let him loose. “I do. You loved Grace.”
“It should’ve been me. That’s what the other monster said when she came to my hospital room. It should’ve been me.”
Pain lanced through Emma’s chest. “What a horrible, unforgiveable thing to say. You were a child,” she said, putting the truth out there whether he wanted to admit it or not.
He pounded his fist into the wall beside her. “I should’ve saved her! I gave my word!”
Emma flinched, but she wasn’t giving up. “You tried—”
“Stop it!” he yelled, his voice breaking. “How can you even stand me?”
She bit back a sob. “Were you fifteen? Fourteen? Thirteen?”
“I told you it doesn’t fucking matter,” he rasped, his voice hoarse and shattered, his face a twisted mask of horror and grief.
“Were you twelve, Caine?” He shook his head, those pale eyes so, so bleak. “Eleven?” she said, her belly in utter knots. “Ten?” came out at a whisper.
“Stop,” he cried, nearly collapsing against her. “I’m sorry.”
Oh, God. Oh, God. Ten!
His hands fisted in her shirt. “I’m so sorry.”
They went limp and slid down the wall in a pile of sweaty bodies and tangled limbs. If Emma felt gutted and empty and raw, she could only imagine what Caine felt. A shudder wracked through his whole body.
“It’s okay,” she rasped. “It’s okay.” She pulled his head against her chest and stroked his hair, whispering those words again and again, like someone should’ve done for him twenty damn years ago. Her stomach hurt so bad she feared she’d throw up, and a headache bloomed behind her eyes. None of which compared to his pain. Pain he’d shouldered nearly his whole life.
He’d warned her. He’d warned her he wasn’t normal and that there were big things she didn’t know. Of course, she didn’t hold Grace’s death against him. He’d tried to save her. What’d happened to the both of them had been a tragedy. And no way would she ever criticize him for the things that had kept him alive long enough to find her.
She swallowed hard.
But the shooting…
A chill crawled over her skin.
She didn’t know what to make of that. And certainly not with the way her head spun and throbbed.
Of course that was the moment Caine’s cell phone rang. He made no move to answer it, and after four rings, the tone cut off.
Then started again.
Stopped, then started again.
“Could be important,” Emma whispered, trying to fish it from his jeans pocket.
“I-I got it,” he said, his hands so gentle as he took it from her. He accepted the call and pressed it to his ear. “What do you want, Dare? This isn’t a good time.”
Chapter 15
“Fuck,” Caine said, disconnecting the call. “We’re getting intel back this afternoon from the traffic camera. Dare asked us to come over before the New Year’s Eve dinner gets underway so that the whole Ravens’ board could hear what’s going on.”
Not that Caine was going to that dinner, or the party after. Hell, Caine would be lucky to be able to stomach food for a good week after this…this absolute blood-letting.
His and that of the only woman he’d ever loved.
No doubt she wouldn’t want to go either. Or be anywhere near him.
“Okay,” she said, rising onto shaky legs. And Christ if she wasn’t still naked beneath that shirt from when she’d tried to turn his shit mood around by seducing him.
For two days now, panic and anxiety had snowballed inside him until he couldn’t breathe, couldn’t sleep, couldn’t eat. Until he’d convinced himself that he’d already failed again, that Emma was already dead and they just didn’t know it yet. No matter what he said or what he did, it wasn’t going to matter when the outcome was so predetermined. At least, that’s what the anxiety told him. Or maybe it was the PTSD? Who the hell knew which part of his brain told him the lies that always sounded more convincing than the truth?
He grabbed Emma’s hand. “I’m sorry,” he rasped, knowing he’d destroyed this with his own two hands but still owing her that much.
“Me, too,” she said, giving his hand a gentle squeeze before letting go. “I’ll get dressed quick.”
Chewy stood at the bottom of the steps and looked back and forth between where Caine still sat and Emma now went. Back and forth, back and forth.
“You should go to her,” Caine said. “She might need you.”
Chewy climbed up on Caine’s thigh with his little front paws, tilted his head, and gave a little whine.
“I don’t deserve you, little man. Go get her. Go on, now.”
The dog got the message and did his funny little hop-run up the steps. Then Caine finally scraped himself up off the floor. Gathered his things. Tugged his skull cap into place. Holstered his gun at the small of his back. And waited by the door with his winter riding gear in his hand.
