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He didn’t care, and I could see him now. The moonlight was outside, filtering in, and I was still crying.
Oh, God. It hurt. Everything hurt.
“My mom,” I choked out. My hands were curled around his arms. “My mom, Kash.”
“I know.” Another whisper, of such understanding and pity and sympathy. It unraveled me.
I couldn’t hold it back anymore.
I bent my head to his chest and gave in.
His arms tightened around me. I felt his kiss on my shoulder, and he was moving us. I was cradled in his chest. He pushed up, sitting against the headboard. I was on his lap, curled into a ball.
More tears.
More pain.
Slicing me.
He held me. He ran a hand down my hair, my back, sweeping up my arm and repeating.
He did it all night long.
I cried all night long.
She was there, all night long.
And right before I fell asleep—later, much later—I swear I heard my mom whisper in the air,“My baby girl.”
THIRTEEN
Kash
SixA.M., and Bailey was finally sleeping.
It wasn’t a restless sleep, but one where she wasoutout. No sounds were coming from her. She hadn’t moved an inch for the last hour. The only way I knew she wasn’t dead was because I felt her breath as I held her, but six meant I needed to get going.
I was coming out of our section of the house when Matt bypassed me, yawning widely.
He stopped, took me in, and let out an audible sigh. “What happened?”
I frowned. “You smell of martinis, cigarettes… and I’m hoping that last smell isn’t what I think it is.”
He frowned right back. “Fuck you. You weren’t the decoy while my sister played at breaking and entering.”
“I wasn’t judging. I meant that I hoped you didn’t have to do what it smells like you did.”
“Oh.” He blinked, bags under his eyes. “I’m tired.”
He hadn’t answered.
“Matt.” I inclined my head toward him. “You didn’t fuck her?”
“What?” His nose wrinkled and he stepped back. “No. That’s what I smell like?”
I didn’t want to test my theory and take another whiff. But, shit. Nope.
I knew what I was smelling on him.
