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Aiden’s hand is clenched in a tight fist at his side, as if he’s visibly trying to restrain himself. It’s then that I also notice that his whole body is tense, and when I look back at him, his expression is hard again. Despite his whole manner suggesting his fury, the hand on my shoulder stays gentle, his thumb still caressing soothingly.
Aiden exhales from his nose, his jaw relaxing slightly. He drops the hand that was on my shoulder, that comforting hand, and looks at the wall behind me.
“My father, he wasn’t that great either. When I was nine, we found out my mom was pregnant with twins. Two little boys.
“It’s really rare for a woman with cancer to get pregnant, and she didn’t even think she would be able to have kids again,” he continues as both of his fists clench again, a thinly veiled expression of fury in his normally apathetic eyes. “My father told her that with the medical bills and other payments, she couldn’t keep them.”
I’m holding my breath, so captivated by Aiden and his words. It’s rare that he opens up to people and I don’t want to do anything to discourage him. He’s trusting me.
“She refused to get an abortion,” he continues, “and he just walked out of our lives. Haven’t seen him since.”
This time it was my turn to comfort Aiden, putting my hand on his bicep reassuringly. That’s horrible. His dad left his nine-year-old son and his wife, pregnant and with cancer, because he didn’t want to deal with the bills.
“My stepfather wasn’t any better.”
“What—” I swallow, my mouth dry, kind of already knowing what his answer will be. “What did your stepfather do?”
My words seem to remind him where he is and what he’s saying, and his eyes snap back to mine, his impassive expression back in place. “You said collision. Was anyone else hurt?”
I drop my hand. I know he’s changing the subject back to me, and I can respect that. He already opened up so much to me, and for someone who never lets anyone in, he’s told me so much.
I could’ve lied. It would’ve been easier. It would’ve been better. But I just couldn’t do it. I couldn’t betray him like that after he’s been so honest, letting me see him more vulnerable than anyone ever has. Lies are expensive, and I’m already living a giant one. Some part of me just felt like I had to be honest about this, just this once.
“A little girl. Her name was Sabrina,” I confess quietly. “She was only six when she died. And it was all my fault.”
“No. Amelia! You can’t—”
“It was, Aiden!” I cut him off. “I missed my bus! I called my dad to get me. I got in the car with a drunk driver! Aiden, I killed a little girl!”
I’m crying in earnest now, letting the emotions I haven’t allowed myself to feel flow free for the first time since Sabrina’s funeral. Aiden doesn’t even hesitate. His arms wrap around me as he pulls me in close, my body fitting perfectly in his sculpted arms. I wrap my own around his back, snuggling in closer to his comforting heat while he holds me as I cry.
This one hug, this affectionate action from a guy who’s normally so impassive and callous means more to me than anything. I’ve never felt so secure before, so okay to be vulnerable, that it makes me want to stay nestled in his embrace forever.
He rests his chin easily on the top of my head, one hand rubbing my back slowly, soothingly, the other in my hair. “It’s not your fault. You didn’t shove the alcohol down his throat. You didn’t put the keys in his hands. You didn’t tell him to put his life and the life of his only daughter in jeopardy. It’s not your fault, and don’t you ever fucking forget it.”
“But Sabrina’s dead. Her father, Tony, lost everything that day. His wife had recently passed, and because of me his only daughter is dead too.”
Aiden puts his hands on either side of my face and pulls me back to look at him, holding me hostage with his intense gray eyes.
“It was not. Your. Fucking. Fault. Sabrina’s father can’t believe that it was.”
He does. I know for a fact that he does.
“You weren’t there, Aiden. I snuck into her funeral and sat in the back of the church and tortured myself with all the sad people gathered to mourn her; all the people gathered to hate me for being the person who caused her to be taken from them.”
“Stop it, Amelia!” He lets go of me and steps back in frustration, and I can’t help but immediately miss his comforting warmth. “It wasn’t your fault and that’s fucking final. Anyone says otherwise and I’ll beat the shit out of them myself.”
He might have to. He didn’t see Tony that day. He looked so broken, so unsure of what to do with his life now that his princess was gone, the last living reminder of his wife.
His eyes. They were haunted; so heavy with sorrow, so full of pain. I’ll never forget those eyes, since their transformation is the reason my life is so messed up.
Over time those eyes changed from hurt to despair.
From despair to hopelessness.
From hopelessness to anger.
From anger to revenge.
