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She was shaking, and tears burned the backs of her eyes. She wouldn’t look at him. She couldn’t.
“Or maybe the real problem,” he went on, his voice scratchy now with emotion, “the thing you really can’t get past, even after all this time, is that my father killed your mother, and I’m a Sinclair. No matter what, that will never change. We agreed not to talk about it back then, we agreed that we had less of a chance to escape as enemies. And so we put it aside, out of necessity. But that necessity ceased to exist once we were free, didn’t it? We never discussed it, Noelle, and maybe we need to now, because you’ve never let it go.Look at me.” She did. She lifted her eyes to his face. She owed him that much. “Does it fester inside? If you had acknowledged me as Callie’s father, she’d be a Sinclair too. By blood, she is. Which is it, Noelle? Are you afraid that we’lltakefrom you again like we did before? Or is it that when you look at me, when you look at our daughter, you wonder what your mother would think? How your father would feel? Does loving me seem like the deepest betrayal you could possibly commit?”
She let out a sob, but she didn’t break eye contact. “Sometimes both.” The whispered words eked from her lips like poison. She was afraid, and she was ashamed. It was awful, and it was true. He was right—her fear and her guilt had festered—and because she’d allowed it, part of her had rotted too. The admission had actual weight, because when it dropped from her lips, her shoulders curled forward, and she felt like she might fall to the floor.
He stepped forward, taking her in his arms, and she leaned against him. “I love you, Noelle. I would do anything to protect you. And our daughter. Haven’t I proved that? Haven’t I?” A moan made its way up her throat. He was solid and warm, and yes, he’dalwaysprotected her with everything he had to give. He’d always stepped toward her when perhaps he should have stepped away. She’d just confided her deepest, most shameful secret. She hadn’t even ever verbalized it for herself. But he had, because he knew her and loved her anyway. His father had used the legal system once to take from them—not just her mother’s life but her father’s dignity, his trust, their happiness, their future. But Evan would never do that. She didn’t deserve him. She didn’t want to be that person, so irrational and so unfair. No one was responsible for the sins of their father, least of all Evan, who had only ever been good to her.
And, really, maybe he had reason to hate her too. Him being a Sinclair was part of the reason she’d kept Callie from him, and he should at least hate her for that, but he didn’t. Was it possible her own father, the man she’d loved and trusted, had somehow arranged for him to be put in a cage and tortured for something he did not do?
It was all sick. Somuchsickness. So much depravity. And she suddenly realized that, amid all the muck, they might be theonlything that wasn’t. She’d gotten it all wrong. So backward. In some small way, she’d started becoming what their fathers were, whether she’d known the extent of their perversion or not. Noelle and Evan were a rejection of all the sickness and disease that had come before them. Of all the lies,theywere the truth. Or they could be. And somehow, deep inside, she knew they must celebrate that if they were going to continue forward. Because it was the only thing that would offer the strength they’d need. If hate was darkness, then their love would be the light.
“I’m sorry,” she breathed. “Oh God, I’m so sorry.”
He took another step toward her. “There’s nothing to be sorry about.”
“There is. There is. I’ve loved you all these years, Evan. I love you. I do.” The truth. And it set her free from a different kind of cage.
He let out a groan that was filled with relief, and when he leaned in to kiss her, she didn’t only let him, she met him halfway. They were like an explosion, like a galaxy melting, like the hottest fire that ever burned. They stumbled toward the couch, their lips never parting, tongues entwined, every atom in her body trembling with the singular need she’d held at bay for so, so long. Maybe it was so good because they’d known the depths of despair together. Maybe each joining would forever be a celebration that ... they. Were. Not.There.Was that so bad? To rejoice? To be joyful in each other’s presence, a constant exalting of the fact that they both were free of the chains they’d once worn? Free to love. Free to feel pleasure. No bars between them, not even air.
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
Silvery morning light seeped around the blinds. Evan felt her stir and then watched her lashes flutter before she opened her eyes just a crack.
“Good morning,” he said, leaning forward and kissing her shoulder.
Her smile was gentle, innocent, maybe even slightly shy. Her eyes moved over his face, and he saw the moment she remembered everything that had happened just prior to the kiss that led them here. He’d held her afterward, and she’d fallen quickly asleep, likely needing the escape of slumber after the shock of what they’d discovered on Dow’s iPad and all the awful implications. She released a breath, lowering her gaze. “I’m so sorry,” she said again. “I’m so, so sorry.”
He reached out and moved her hair away from her face so he could see her better. He sighed. She was sorry for her loyalty, the trait that had in some ways kept bars between them long after they’d run through the desert together toward a partial freedom. She was sorry for hurting him and for the guilt she carried for wanting him, the sworn enemy of the people she’d loved most in the world. For the fact that the person she’d given her loyalty to might be partially responsible for the hell he had been through. He’d worked out the timeline in his head as the sun had risen, casting light over her skin, the woman he loved and always would. She was beautiful, and she was so torn in so many differentdirections. They’d seen each other’s souls, and maybe once you’d seen a soul, it belonged to you in some profound way that could be felt but not explained. Heknewher. He understood every facet. She was imperfect, but so was he. She was fearful and extraordinarily brave. She was scarred inside, but she washis. It had been true then, and it was true now. It would be his greatest truth for the remainder of his days, and he would not deny it again.
“Water?” he asked, kissing her shoulder once more.
She nodded, propping herself on her elbow. “Yes, please.”
He got out of bed, completely unfazed by his nudity. She’d seen all of him, physical and otherwise. He grabbed two water bottles from his fridge and then returned to the bedroom, where she’d piled pillows behind herself and pulled the sheet up over her breasts. He felt a buzz in his groin and briefly considered pulling the sheet from her body and burying himself in her softness again, but they had important things to talk about that shouldn’t wait, not if they were going to break the curse of their fathers, and it was imperative that they did, because they had a child now too.
He handed her one of the water bottles, and they both uncapped theirs and took a drink. He set his on the nightstand and then pulled on the boxer shorts that were lying on the floor. Clothing would help keep his thoughts focused.
“How?” she asked. “My father ... Dow ... all of it. How did it happen?”
He got back into bed, propping his own pillows up against the headboard and turning toward her, glad she was on the same track as him. Grateful she was willing to accept the probability that her father had been involved in their abduction, no matter how much it had to be killing her.
“I’ve been trying to work it out,” he said. “I’ve been going over some possibilities while you slept, and there’s something missing.”
“What?”
“Well. My dad did ruin your father’s life. Your father hated him, he blamed him. But that had been true for many years. What set him off? What happened to make him do something so drastic?”
“So evil,” Noelle murmured, the trace of grief floating over her features. He wouldn’t try to placate her and tell her it was not. They’d both lived it, and honesty was vital here if they were going to get to the heart of the truth.
Yes, then, evil. What had made her father do something so incredibly evil?
“I didn’t see my dad a lot in the week before I was taken,” she said. “But he did seem off. I worried that he was sinking back into depression. But he seemed antsy too. I don’t know. My dad went through mood swings, and he had for years. He’d seen a therapist for a while, and it’d seemed to help.” She paused, looking troubled. “I wish I would have suggested he make an appointment, but ... well, the way he was acting wasn’t abnormal, so mostly I hoped it would pass as it had before and just tried to stay busy. Iwasbusy. But ... yes, to ... set you up to be tortured, he had to have come upon something new. It broke him. It bent his mind, and it made him do something appalling.”
Evan agreed that it had to be something new. The man had lived with his wife’s death, the knowledge of her betrayal, and the outcome of the trial that followed for many years. From what Evan understood, he’d just been getting his life back on track ... was working regularly and managing his debt. His daughter was thriving in school. She hadn’t gone missing yet. So what happened? And if Evan himself had been the target, how and why had someone determined that Noelle be caged too? And with him? He knew they were missing something.
Noelle was chewing at the inside of her cheek. “What about that photo of the weird website from what could be your home theater room?” she asked.
He didn’t have the photo in front of him, but he conjured it then. It had reminded him of the camel-colored leather, but ... it was thesmallest corner. As evidence, it was pretty shaky. But if itwastheir home theater, and if the websitehadbeen part of what they’d experienced, and if itwashis father watching it when the photo had been taken, then maybe that’s what led her father to become aware of the whole thing. Those were a lot of maybes and too many ifs. “You think my dad might have been viewing that site and your dad found out?” Evan asked.
