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A wall breaks down inside me. She’s worried about everyone else.
“It’s all my fault.” The sobs start and don’t stop. I gather her in my arms and let her cry.
“It’s not your fault. It’s his. It’s all him.” He’s trying to flush her out, and he doesn’t care about hurting her. He’s ruthless. Unfeeling. He’s near psychopathic in his actions. Charming when he needs to be. Eerily calm when he should be raging.
Roman’s got a plan, and the mall plays into it so well he might actually crack a smile.
I need to talk to Jacobi and Kase, but I can’t bring myself to leave Penelope. “Do you need to lie down?”
She shakes her head and searches for a tissue. I retrieve a couple from the bathroom.
She dabs at her face. “I want to do something. I want to help—you and the guys, and all those people.” She sniffles. “Oh, God. Pierre. Do you think he’s safe?”
“Roman doesn’t want to attract attention, and physically going after Pierre or Juan Pablo would do that.”
Her expression relaxes into a concerned frown. “He left a six-figure job with benefits to teach with me.”
“You two will recover as soon as we take care of Roman.”
She limps out of the office toward the living room. “It’s been five days, though. I know these things don’t go quickly, but what if it takes weeks? Months? Pierre can’t afford that. I can’t afford it.”
“It’ll take as long as it takes.”
She throws her hands up, all the emotions that brought on the tears are changing to anger. “It’s my life, Cannon. I was supposed to take control and be the boss lady, but all I’ve done is mess things up for everyone who’s had the unfortunate luck to be associated with me.”
“It’s not you, Penelope.”
She snorts. “It really seems to be.” She limp-stomps to the couch. “I married that bastard.”
My patience frays. “What do you want me to tell you? That the guilt gets better? That one day you’ll be okay with pointing the finger at him instead of yourself? I can’t, Penelope. We make decisions that affect other people. We’re complicit when we trust someone just because of the role they play in our life. Some things you can’t just fouetté out of. There’s no grand adage that’s going to resolve it. You just have to finish the number.”
She snaps her mouth shut.
Shit. Shit.
I stuff my hands through my hair. “Listen. I’ve gotta call Jacobi back. Mind making us something to eat for dinner?”
Her expression remains contemplative when she nods. “Sure.”
I should tell her I know all too well what she’s going through. That it sucks when you realize you’re paramount to another’s devastation, to those who don’t deserve it. That there’s a reason I enlisted, and it was so I could serve and protect. So I wouldn’t be an unknowing tool in the demise of others.
But that’s a lesson she’s learning, and I’ve said enough.
