Page 43 of Broken Halo

“Ellie,” he calls.

I look back, feeling empty and more alone than ever, giving my head a little shake. “Sorry. Yes, shit. Always shit.”

“Always?” He frowns and it looks like he wants to ask me a million other questions I ask myself daily but always come up empty.

“Yes,” I confirm my stupidity and poor life decisions, laying it all out for him so maybe we can get past this. “When it wasn’t shit, it was pretend. I’m not proud of my choices, but there you go.”

He nods, not looking away from me and mutters, “I know the feeling.”

* * *

Trig

Such small and insignificant shit can change the course of life.

One decision.

One moment.

One mistake.

Ellie thinks she knows what shit choices are but I’ve spent most of the past twenty-four hours thinking of ways I can torture myself for the same thing. For being stupid, proud, and yes, even scorned.

Only women in chick-flicks are scorned but I’m feeling just pathetic enough to check myself into their club and pay the lifetime membership fee. Ellie slayed me a decade ago and I was too much of a prick to even take her phone call. Had I just listened to a voicemail—one fucking voicemail—things might be different.

No, they definitely would’ve been different. History would be different. We might’ve had the universe against us back then, but she tried to break through that. She reached out to me and I cut her off.

She was the brave one.

I was the dumbass.

And she doesn’t know that I know.

Fuck.

“Tell me I came all the way down here for more than to just admit my mistakes,” she almost pleads.

I put my forearms on my desk and lean forward. How do I apologize for losing ten years?

There’re no words weighty enough for the job.

If I want her, I’m going to have to win her. Earn her.

I just hope I can do it—that she’ll let me in after so long. I take a breath and rub my eyes. When I look across my desk at the woman sitting in front of me, I wonder what it will take. She’s different. I’m different. We lost a child and a third of our lives because of my father, her father, his lowlife friend, and my own youthful broken heart and foolishness.

As long as she needs me in this capacity, to ward off her dead husband’s parents, I’m good. Her hating me is better than her ignoring me. I can work with the hate and roll with it.

“Okay, let’s get this done,” I start. “Tell me about Griffin and what type of interaction he’s had with his paternal grandparents.”

She exhales and I see the tension release from her bare shoulder where her lacy bra strap is showing in a way I know she meant to wear it like that. She never gave a shit about being proper or fitting in and could flip off the world with only the cut of her eyes. I hope to hell that hasn’t changed.

If all she’ll give me is her cold blue eyes right now, I’m fucking desperate enough I’ll take it.

Reluctantly, she starts to talk. She doesn’t tell me anything I haven’t already learned from Jen and Eli. I didn’t need her here today to work on her case.

But I’m not above lying to be close to her.

I ask her questions I already know the answers to for an entire hour.

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