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Aillard doesn’t respond immediately. His gray eyes narrow, turning his nervousness into calculation. “Eight years is a long time to hold a grudge.”
It is. Yet there’s nothing holding me back from doing so. I may not be able to say what I’m thinking, but I sure as hell can breathe through bitterness better than anyone else.
“Do you think being around her will make it easier on you going forward? That it’ll ever fully repair your friendship with King?”
I don’t have an answer to that, so I evade. “King has my trust.”
“But not your respect.”
Anger stirs inside of my chest, leaking into my words like poison. “For fuck’s sake, Aillard, I’m not disowning him. I have no qualms with King.”
“But you don’t forgive him.”
“I don’t forgivemyself,” I clarify. “There’s a difference. Yes, I’m still pissed off that you and King went behind my back, trying to fix something that didn’t need your input. I needed my friends, not their jobs as a fixer and a hacker. I’ve come to realize it was your way of being a part of my family, so while I’m pissed off, I’m also able to rationally see why you did what you did. But it’s me, Aillard, who takes the brunt of the blame.”
“We didn’t realize how little you came to love Jessica.”
Pulling in a deep breath through my nose, I hold it before exhaling. “I thought she was the one when I proposed to her, I truly did. It wasn’t until after that I realized how different our paths were. How completely obscure I became as she took center stage. I wanted someone to spend my life with, not someone who wanted my life.”
“I understand,” my friend answers softly. “I do.” He would, after almost losing his girlfriend to his own tailspin of destruction. “I try to look at it through your lens,” Aillard continues. “If Whitney and I had been torn apart by outside factors.”
“She loves you.”
Aillard looks away briefly before meeting my gaze with his desolate one. “And Bex loved you.”
It hurts to hear it.
“It’s not the same and I can’t pretend otherwise. My own self-loathing almost cost me the relationship I have with Whitney. There was no one else to blame. But being with her for those few short months, I can only imagine the heartbreak and ire that you felt when we intervened.”
“Don’t apologize,” I interrupt since I can see where this is heading. “You already apologized over the years, it’s enough.”
“Will you be okay to be around her?”
I roll my eyes. “I’m not in middle school any longer, I can handle keeping my emotions in check. I’ll admit I sought her out for my own interests, but she’s fine. Thriving. Alive. Desperately does not want to be in my presence longer than necessary. She’s essentially handed me off to her assistant to deal with until meeting for volunteer hours.” My lips twitch in amusement at her believing passing me off will be enough to stop me from seeking her out. I’m aware enough of how big of a bastard I can be, wanting to purposely find ways to be around her. To gain back that little piece of my soul I gave her in Las Vegas. “She’s stronger now.”
“She’s had a shitty go,” Aillard nods. “When we ran a background check on her, we did find something unusual.”
A sinking feeling settles in my bones. When this plan was originally proposed, I made sure that I knew as little about Bex as possible before setting down this path. Now I want to know everything. Before I can hesitate to think things through, I ask, “What’s that?”
“She’s living with her grandmother.”
The same one she mentioned at our impromptu meeting? “Why?”
“Unsure. She lives in the cottage behind her grandmother’s house just outside the city.”
“Alright,” I say slowly, trying to see where Aillard is going with this. “Why is that important information?”
“It’s just odd. Twenty-eight year olds don’t tend to live at home.”
“Most of us aren’t raised by their grandparents.”
Aillard frowns. Apparently that was information he didn’t know from his illegal background check.
“Her father wasn’t involved in her life when she was at college from what I recall. Her grandmother has been a constant parental figure. She’s probably old and frail so Bex takes care of her.”
“She really is a good person,” he mutters. Aillard shifts in his chair, leaning back and tapping his fingers along the armrest. Redirecting the conversation back to the matter of fixing my image, he says, “When you look at that list of charities, begin with ones that aren’t too complicated for a volunteer. That way you can test out what you may like versus what you don’t in terms of the physical aspects of it.”
“Alright.” It’s not a bad idea. Finding the less challenging route to ease me into volunteering would be the smart move. This way I’m not immediately building houses or hauling large bags of items everywhere in the city. “Have you ever volunteered?”
