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“Hacked,” I say again, wondering if he’s ever even heard the word before in his life. Maybe he’s too old to understand. “Someone hacked my life and made it look like my car had—”
Before I can finish the sentence, Emma makes a strangled noise in the corner.
My head whips up at the exact same time West’s does, both of us watching in horror as she braces a hand on the wall, clutching her phone with shaking fingers as she stares at the screen. Her big brown eyes are glassy, and her normally pale skin has gone so white it looks almost gray.
I don’t know what caused it, but the sight of her in pain like this feels like a hot knife in my chest.
There was a time when I wanted her pain. When I craved it. When I let my own pain and bitterness blind me to the truth about her, seeing only what I wanted to see and making her the sole object of my vengeance and hatred.
Now?
Now I would kill anyone who hurt her with my bare hands.
Now I wish I could kick my own ass for the pain I caused her.
I’m moving before I even realize what I’m doing, my chair skidding backward across the floor as I stand quickly. West is right beside me as I rush toward Emma, but Reese was already standing, so he reaches her first.
And it’s a good fucking thing he does.
Her knees buckle, and he slips an arm around her waist before she can go down.
“Holy shit! Emma, you okay? What’s wrong?” he asks as West and I reach them.
Whatever it is, it’s fucking bad. I can see Emma struggling to hold on, to keep herself from falling apart. But my girl is strong. She’s stronger than almost anyone I know, and as Reese’s arms band around her, she locks out her knees, keeping her legs under her.
Officer Lambert has finally caught on that something is wrong, and he comes to stand beside us as I take her face in both my hands, cradling her soft cheeks in my palms.
“Ems.” My voice is firm but gentle. “What is it? What’s going on?”
Her eyes meet mine, and the tears shimmering in them finally spill over. Something else mingles with the pain in her eyes, and I can’t quite tell what it is.
Guilt? Why?
“Trent…” She blinks, her chin quivering. She shakes her head as she tightens her grip on her phone, raising it slightly. “I’m… I’m so sorry. I can’t—I don’t—”
“It’s okay,” I tell her reassuringly. Knowing she’s unable to form the words to explain, I pull the phone from her grasp. Whatever upset her so badly was on her cell.
“Wait, Trent—”
She reaches for the phone, panic lighting in her eyes. But it’s too late. I’ve seen.
And now I know why she reacted the way she did.
Shock spreads through my body like a numbing poison, making my limbs feel heavy and weak.
Claire. My mom.
She didn’t make it.
I don’t know what kind of accident it was, and I don’t know why she was with Paul. As far as I knew, the two of them split up recently because Paul was worried about his daughter and wanted to focus on her. I felt like shit when my mom told me about that, and seeing her so heartbroken was one of the things that finally forced me to face what a selfish asshole I’d been.
Were they back together?
Or maybe she still had him listed as an emergency contact?
How did he learn of her death before I did?
Familiar anger born of pain builds in my gut, and I clench my fist, squeezing the phone so hard the screen nearly cracks.
