Page 54 of Daring You

Oh, good one, Astor. I want to reply with a sarcastic snipe of my own, but the cracks in her armor are obvious. She’s covering heartbreak with insults, and while I’ll never know why she’s so broken up over that douche, I can at least be pleasant.

“I’m sorry, Astor. Really, I am.”

She nails me with her blues. “Which part?”

“Huh?”

“Which part are you sorry for? Leaving me naked and humiliated six years ago, or seeing me half-naked and humiliated now?”

Damn. I should learn, never underestimate the blunt knife of Astor Hayes. “Both.”

Her brows jump. “Wow. Good for you.”

“You can stop with the sarcasm, Astor. I’m trying to be real here—”

“In ways you weren’t all those years ago? Thanks for sacking up and finally apologizing—”

“What the fuck?” I rise from the chair, but Astor is far from intimidated. “I’m trying to be your friend now, okay? I’m here because I’m concerned. You’re not yourself.”

Astor laughs dully. “I’m in the middle of the biggest case of my career, my fiancé dumped me—or I dumped him, but he’ll never let you believe it—and I don’t have the balls to conquer either. I should scream at Mike, right? I should’ve let him have it and thrown him out on his ass, then burned his designer clothing in a pyre right there. Right fucking over there.” She points to the middle of the bare living area, where something extremely fluffy and flammable covers the floor under the glass coffee table.

Astor’s voice is rising, and I’m unsure if I should stop her. Or even sit back down.

“And just because I have Lily,” she continues. “Just because she’s a vulnerable, loving, innocent baby, shouldn’t mean I should feel so connected to a four-year-old boy who witnessed his parents be tortured and murdered, then be carted off into some unknown where he’s supposed to figure out what’s normal again. Without his dad. Without his mom.” Astor breaks on the last word, and she’s still pointing to the living room, but her hand is shaking, her finger is trembling, and she’s staring far off into a vacant area where the ghost of my old self is probably sitting.

“Astor...”

“I’m strong. I can get through this.” Fiercely, Astor locks her gaze on mine and stabs at her chest. She stands. “I’ll be able to find Ryan Delaney and expose him like my boss wants. Like I want. Because I’m not connected to that boy. He’s not a baby anymore. He’s not Lily. And I’m not weak.”

“Is this what you’ve been doing?” I ask in a low voice. “While dealing with your breakup, you’ve been throwing yourself into Ry—into this boy’s life, trying to find him?”

Astor sniffs. Hard. “If I don’t find him, someone else will.”

“Astor, the kid is long gone. You’re not gonna—”

“His parents could go on trial. I heard today. Everything about what happened over twenty years ago, all the gory details, will be made public. He’s the only witness, Ben. And if I want him bad, think of all the other people who do, too.”

Astor’s breathing heavily, her broken bottom lip trembling. I’m doing everything in my power not to indicate that the kid she wants so badly, the lost boy who dreams in blood, is standing right in front of her.

“If he wants to testify for the trial,” I say carefully, “there are procedures in place to protect him. He’ll come forward under their terms. You can’t keep him safe, Astor, if you expose him. All those bad guys, the people that killed his parents? They’ll do exactly what you fear, and it’ll be because of you.”

“Don’t you get it?” Astor’s voice is wobbly, like it’s holding on solely by strings. “If I don’t do this, if I don’t bring him to my boss, I’ll lose everything. My career—my track to make partner, is over. My marriage is over, since I never had one. My reputation will be over…this is all I have.”

I reach for her, but she skitters out of my reach. Her eyes, that ocean shore blue, are turbulent with either desperation or a mental breakdown.

“Astor, you’re exhausted. Let me—”

“I have a way,” she says. “I know how to find him. Follow the money.”

My head tilts. “What?”

“His inheritance. Ryan’s parents left a will. I can trace where it went.”

“That can’t be possible.” It comes out more dismissive than I intend. “There’d be a ton of red tape.”

“Everybody makes mistakes.”

She says it in a way that she found a mistake. My blood goes cold.

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