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I think vaguely that I should comfort her. That I should say something, some words of understanding or forgiveness. But I can’t say anything right now, let alone think. I can barely hear anything she’s saying past the blood rushing in my ears. My mind is a jumbled mess of thoughts as I struggle to grasp this new reality I’m living in, trying to piece everything together.
“Who are they?” I ask, my voice a quiet rasp. “Do you know their names? Who are my parents?”
Reagan glances between me and the Sinners, then back at me. “Yes. Their names are Charles and Maria Davenport,” she says. “You’re Sabrina Davenport.”
“Fuck.”
Gray’s voice makes me jump. The guys are all gathered in a tight semi-circle behind me, and I’ve been holding the receiver an inch or so away from my head so that they can hear Reagan’s words through the speaker.
I crane my neck to look back at them. All three of the men wear looks of angry shock, but Elias recovers first. He swallows, glancing down to meet my gaze. “We know who they are,” he says, shoving a hand through his hair. “They run in our circles, not close to any of our families in particular, but I know who they are. I didn’t know they had a…”
A daughter.
He doesn’t say the word, but his jaw clenches as he trails off. Countless questions rush through my head. Do I have siblings? Do my parents remember me? How did they explain that I was gone? Are they still in debt to Alan, or did they ever repay him? Did he not help them because I ran away before they could pay him back?
And what the fuck happens next?
Reagan doesn’t have anything else to offer, and the guard who escorted us in comes back a few minutes later to tell us that our visitation time is over.
No one tries to talk to me on the drive home. The car is quiet. I still can’t say anything, let alone think, as I struggle to accept everything Reagan said. I need to be by myself, left alone with my thoughts and my art, before I can figure any of this out.
When we get back to our place, I head straight for the studio as if pulled there by instinct, shutting the door behind me. But as soon as the latch clicks, my heart does a little stutter in my chest.
Alone.
I’m alone. I know that if I keep that door shut, the guys might leave me like that. Might give me my space. But solitude is something that Sophie from a year ago craved when things got hard—Sophie from a year ago would shut everyone out until she’d buried the shit that was bothering her and became numb enough to walk through life like a zombie, trying to avoid emotions, feelings.
That’s not me anymore.
I don’t want to be alone, not when things have changed. Being alone may have worked for me a year ago, but now that I’m learning to trust, feel, and need the guys—I can’t shut them out like this. I need to let them in, for their sake and mine.
I move toward the door, reaching for the knob, but it turns before I even reach it. Declan doesn’t bother to knock as he enters and closes it behind him. He holds a joint in his hand, cradled between two fingers.
“Can I come in?” He lifts the joint like a peace offering.
I give him a small smile. “Sure,” I say quietly. A smoke with Declan is exactly what I didn’t know I needed until now. “Do you have a lighter, or do you need mine?” I think I left it on my bedside table.
He pulls one out of his pocket and flops down on the floor without another word, lighting the joint and offering it to me. When I reach for it, he gently grabs onto my wrist and pulls me down with him so that we’re both leaning against the closed door.
My head rests on his shoulder. He smells woodsy and warm, just like he always does when we smoke, and I settle against him a little more as I bring the joint to my lips and take a long, deep inhale.
I hand it to him as I slowly breathe out, and he takes it. We sit in silence like that for several long minutes as my heart begins to beat in a more even tempo.
“You know,” he finally says, “I always wished my parents loved me, but they never really did. I learned really young that they like the idea of me more than the actual me. They could show me off to their friends, brag about any accomplishments they deemed worthy, and they had someone to carry on the family name. But they never supported me in the things I actually cared about. Wanted.” He passes the joint back to me, letting out a long breath and glancing down at me. “What your parents did, though? That’s just fucked up.”
“That’s one way of putting it,” I say, laughing bitterly, taking one last drag on the joint before stubbing it out and flicking it into an empty paint can nearby.
My chest aches, and I rub at it with the heel of my hand. How can I be so crushed by the abandonment of parents I don’t even remember? Can you have your heart broken by people you couldn’t pick out of a lineup?
“They fucked me over to help themselves.” I frown. “Maybe I shouldn’t be so surprised. That’s family for you, isn’t it?”
Declan grabs my face and turns me to look at him, our lips so close I could lean in and kiss him. But his eyes are serious as he says, “There are all kinds of family, Soph. I found a family with Gray and Elias, and you’re part of that now. We’ll always be here to take care of you, and we’ll never betray you. We’re not going to try to change you, and we’ll always be here, no matter what.”
My throat constricts, and I try to think of something to say, some words to match the sweetness and earnestness of his.
But before I can say anything, Declan speaks again. And in four little words, he tops every single thing he’s said previously.
In four little words, he cracks the armor around my heart wide open.
