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He drags in a deep breath and pulls back a little, lifting a hand to brush a strand of hair off my cheek. There’s something in Hale’s eyes as he gazes at me, his face only a few inches from mine, that cracks my heart wide open.
It’s understanding.
It’s sorrow.
It’s wisdom gained too late.
His lips press together as he rolls me onto my back, rising up on one elbow to look down at me. He shakes his head, his brown hair looking even darker now that it’s damp with sweat.
“I’m sorry, Grace,” he murmurs. “I’m so sorry. For everything.”
He means it. I can hear how much he means it in the weight of the word “everything.” There’s so much between us to be sorry for. So many secrets, so many old wounds and betrayals. So many misunderstandings and resentments.
So much pain.
We could let all of that define us for the rest of our lives. We could carry it with us like Atlas carried the world.
But we don’t have to.
> I swallow, reaching up to brush away the tears that track down his face, a mirror of the ones on mine. “Me too.”
24
Zaid
None of us have slept in days, but it hardly fucking matters.
Not trusting any of his father’s captains enough to bring them in on this, Hale’s main focus is finding the mole and destroying them, swiftly and without mercy. The burden has been put on the five of us to sort it out.
It’s been four days since Damian was gunned down. The Boston deal is still a go, as far as we know, but we haven’t informed the head of their syndicate about Damian’s death. Hale worries that a shakeup like that will blow the whole deal out of the water, and he also wants to keep other upstart gangs from making advances on our turf, thinking they’ve got a shot now that the longtime leader of the Novaks is dead.
“I need a break. My eyes are burning,” Grace says quietly, closing the file she’s been paging through. “Leave that for me, I’ll come back to it after I take a rest.”
It’s past eleven, and we’re all gathered in the living room, going through a shitload of old records Hale dug up in his dad’s office. Odds are low that we’ll find anything useful in them, but it’s worth checking. Maybe we’ll pick up on something Damian missed.
She stands and stretches, working out the kinks in her neck.
Something about her has changed in the past few days. She’s stayed up late and woken early, putting in the same long hours we all are as we search desperately for answers. I can see it in everything she does—a silent determination to help.
I can’t help but remember my conversation with Lucas in the car that day, how we both wanted nothing more than for her to feel like she isn’t a captive. I don’t think she does anymore. After all, the person who ordered her to be kept under our watch is dead.
But she hasn’t left.
She’s stayed.
She’s chosen us.
Hale gives a soft nod, watching her as she leaves the room and disappears into the dark hallway. He looks at the clock, then settles back in to work.
But twenty minutes later, he quietly closes up what he’s doing and follows Grace into those same shadows.
If Grace can be Hale’s salvation, then there’s no place for the twist of jealousy I feel toward my friend. I shove it down, because without Grace, I have a feeling that Hale wouldn’t be as calm and clear-headed as he is right now. Without Grace, we might have lost Hale for good.
The two of them share something that only they can understand, losing their dads in the exact same way.
I’m glad they have each other.
As for the rest of us, we work through the night, no eating, no sleeping. No stopping until the mole is eliminated, and with every hour, I feel us getting closer and closer. Slowly but surely, we’re uncovering a hidden, deadly trail that leads to months of secret work, backstabbing, and bribery.
