"How is she?"
"Sleeping," Wyatt says.
"Good." Delaney smooths her hair. Turns that smile on Paige. "It's sweet of you to come all this way. I know it must be strange, meeting everyone under these circumstances."
"Not strange at all," Paige says. Warm. Easy.
"Well." Delaney tilts her head. "I just hope Aiden's been honest with you about everything. Family stuff gets complicated, and he's always had his version of events."
The lobby goes very quiet.
His version of events.
Like there are two sides. Like what I walked into in my own driveway, with a ring in my jacket, has a second interpretation I haven't considered.
"Delaney," Wyatt says. Low. Warning.
"What? I'm just saying." That smile again. "She seems like a nice girl. She deserves the full picture."
"She's got it," I say.
"Does she?" Delaney looks right at me. "Because the Aiden I knew had a habit of leaving out the parts that make him look anything less than a victim."
The word lands in my sternum.
Victim.
Like I constructed this. Like I engineered the betrayal so I'd have something to be righteous about. Like losing my woman, my brother, my parents, and my hometown in one night was a narrative choice I made for sympathy.
Paige's hand is on my arm. I feel it. Distantly.
"We're done here," Paige says.
"I didn't mean?—"
"Yeah, you did." Paige's voice stays even. "And you've been meaning it since you drove up that gravel road. Goodnight, Delaney."
The parking lot. Rental car. Paige drives because my hands aren't steady. The hotel is fifteen minutes from the hospital, a place with thin walls and a bed that sags in the middle, and I don't say a single word the entire drive.
She parks. Kills the engine. Waits.
"Aiden."
Nothing. The lobby. The elevator. The room. I sit on the edge of the bed. Stare at the carpet.
His version of events.
He always comes around.
Victim.
Paige kneels in front of me. Hands on my knees.
"Hey." She tips her face up. "Talk to me."
"You should go home."
Her hands go still.
