Page 113 of When Hearts Awaken

“You wouldn’t have called me if you had doubts.”

I nod and force out the next words, “I need to know if Ian and Taylor were at Hotel Renegade at the same time.” And I can’t ask Uncle Ian because that’d alert him to my investigation.

He draws in a quick breath, no doubt connecting the dots on everything I’m not saying. “I should’ve known. I always wondered why you were looking into your uncle. It makes sense now. And you think—”

“I just need to know. I could ask Taylor, but she…she…” Her words flit through my mind and I know the reality of that night was much worse than what she described. Fury chars my insides and I crumble the paper cup, barely noticing the hot liquid scorching my hand and splashing onto my trousers.

“You don’t want to re-traumatize her.” He finishes my sentence, his voice a low rasp.

A few seconds pass by, heavy with tension. He turns toward me. “Charles?”

Gritting my teeth, I face him. The harsh morning light makes the scar on his face seem more menacing than usual.

“This one is on the house.” His hands are white knuckled around his metal lighter. “I’mnota good man. But there is one line I wouldn’t cross. Hurting women. And Idespisemonsters who cross that line. I’ll get you your answers for free.”

I heave out an exhale even as dark dread swirls inside me. But I can’t run from the truth. I need to know. “Thanks. And one more thing.”

He cocks his brow.

“Taylor had a best friend who quit ballet around the time of her trauma. She also had a boyfriend back then. I only know his first name. Camden. Can you find these two people for me? This could come after Ian. But there is some unfinished business.”

I’ll bury them too, for abandoning Taylor at the worst time of her life.

Elias gives me a curt nod. Without another word, he gets up and slips through the morning crowds. It’s personal for him and if my senses are right, this extends beyond him knowing Taylor or Taylor being Maxwell and Ryland’s youngest sister. I can’t help but wonder if this last line of moral defense is why the Andersons work with him on running the Rose floors inside The Orchid. Those floors sell sex, lust, and would be ripe for abuse if it were any other establishment. But with Elias Kent at the helm, no one dares to step out of bounds.

A stiff wind blows by and I tug the lapels of my coat tighter against me, my mind spinning with scenarios about how this could turn out; all endings I have a solution for except one.

The ending I fear the most.

What if it is Ian? What if I don’t really know him at all? What if the man who’s practically a father to me is the monster who did unspeakable acts to the woman I love?

My tie restricts my airway and suddenly I can’t breathe.

Ten minutes later, I’m walking down the busy corridor of the long-term care unit inside the hospital. My mind is still swirling from my conversation with Elias earlier. I loosen the collar of my dress shirt, my tie long stuffed into my coat pocket.

I have fifteen minutes to get my shit together before Taylor comes and joins me in Firefly’s room. I don’t want her to see me like this. She’ll take one look at me and call me out on my bullshit.

I won’t be able to lie to her if she asks me.

I vaguely notice people waving at me—nurses, custodial staff, admin personnel—but I don’t have the strength to do what I usually do well.

To fake a smile and pretend everything is okay.

Instead, I ignore them as I stride toward Firefly’s room, wanting to tell her what’s going on in my life, hoping I can unload my worries before Taylor arrives. Maybe I’d feel better if I told someone everything, even if that person is my comatose sister.

“I’d never thought I’d see you like this,” a deep voice says from in front of me. “Unkempt, troubled. Finally looking like a human.”

My head snaps up and I see him, the other person I’ve failed—other than Firefly. My pulse ratchets up and I swallow my shock as I stare at my brother, my body not knowing how to react—anger at him for being MIA, relief at him being alive and well?

Liam looks so much older than when I last saw him. Gone is the lanky boy with piercings and tattoos who holed himself in his room, blaring punk rock music at two in the morning. In front of me is a man—cold, hardened, muscular, with more tattoos covering his forearms, which are showcased in the thin black T-shirt he has on. His dirty blond hair is mussed, his nostrils flaring as he stares at me.

“It’s been six years. I thought you forgot about us,” I mutter. “Couldn’t bother to return a call or a text?”

His eyes flash with fury. “Fuck you. I wasn’t the one who forgot about his family. You were. And I’ve visited Firefly all these years, just not when you were there, asshole.”

“Are you going to hold this over my head for the rest of my life? You think Iwanther to be in there?”

Shocked gasps echo in the hallway and I belatedly realize how loud my voice is, but I can’t find it in me to care.

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