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Does he?
He would have done the same to me. Would have killed me the moment he was done.
Would he have?
He hurt me. Tore my heart apart.He never said he was sorry.
You never asked him to.
He never loved me.
Are you so sure about that?
Pressing my palm to my chest, I take a deep breath, then release it. Why am I questioning everything now that it’s done? For years, I’ve known exactly what I wanted. Revenge.
Take it back. Do something. Bring him back to me,that little voice in my head says. It’s the one I’ve been hearing for years and has gotten louder since the plan to take Rowan out went into action. But it isn’t until now that it hits me who it is. It’s that same eighteen-year-old girl who died inside me, who’s found a new life, who’s crying out for him.
“Shut up!” I tell her. “Shut up and remember what he did to you!”
But she doesn’t.I love him. I love him. I love him.
It’s the days and nights spent pretending. Fake it till you make it took a wrong turn here, making me believe that my actions were real. That’s all it is. I don’t love him. I don’t want him.
Yes, you do.
With determination, I climb the remaining steps and go into Rowan’s room.Ourroom. We only shared the space for a few nights, the luggage my father brought me still in a corner unpacked. Yet it seems as if it’s already bursting with memories, not just the ones we made here, on that bed and in the shower. But the ones we brought with us.
That’s what happens when you carry me inside you. I’ll never let you forget him.
Thrusting my fingers through my hair, I pull and scream, “I said, shut up!”
Fuck this. I really have to go. I grab hold of my bags and stack them.
Before I can haul them out, something in my peripheral catches my attention. Through the crack of the open closet door, I can see tiny dust motes float like fairies in a colorful ray of sunshine. I stare at them for a moment and at the rainbow pattern they create on the rug below.
My breath hitches in my throat even before I release the luggage and follow that ray to its source, walking to it slowly
I push the door open. At the far end of Rowan’s walk-in closet is a porthole window. And hanging at it’s very center is the stained-glass butterfly he made for me years ago.
Overwhelmed by a myriad of thoughts, I pluck it from its hook and hold the frail thing in my palm. He kept it? Why is it here, on this window?
The window faces east, the same way the one at the studio does. Which means it would capture the sunlight at about the same time every day.
Is that why he did it? Did it mean something to him?
Before I have a chance to dwell on it more, I hear footsteps. Shoving the butterfly into the pocket of my slacks, I leave the closet to find Declan accompanied by several of the McKenzie men, including Axle, all standing behind him.
An alarm blares in my mind and every red flag goes up.
“What’s going on?” I ask but don’t need him to tell me to know that whatever this is, it’s not good. “I was just on my way down. Is the car ready?”
Declan smiles. “Come on, Louisa. You didn’t actually believe I’d let you go home, did you?”
“That was the agreement.” I frown.
“No. The agreement was that Rowan would get what he deserved, thus giving you the revenge you so desperately wanted.”
I mentally go over everything Declan said. To my horror, he’s right. He never promised to let me go. In my desperate desire to get back at Rowan, I heard what I wanted to. All he promised was revenge, and in my hate-filled state, that’s all I asked for.
