Page 55 of When Hearts Awaken

I shouldn’t think of Firefly in the past tense. Shouldn’t I, as her brother, give her my strength and hope?

The uncharacteristic concern in her gaze slices me inside.I don’t deserve your concern, Tay.

“She’s still alive…barely.” My voice catches on the last word and the sudden wave of grief threatens to pull me under. “She has been in a coma for a long time.” I try to dislodge the lump in my throat as the heaviness that has receded in the background since Steven’s wedding comes roaring back.

I shouldn’t give up on Firefly, especially when I’m the one to blame for what happened to her.

But the whisper in the back of my mind, the one I’ve shoved in the darkest corner, hoping it won’t ever surface, makes an appearance.

I feel like I’ve been saying goodbye for a long time and with each passing year, with each pristine, unopened gift I place in the drawer of her nightstand, I’m leaving a piece of myself behind, and a new gash appears on my heart.

A slow death. Painfully bleeding out and no one notices.

I gnaw on my lip, a sharp pain spearing me when my teeth pierce the skin, but I pay no attention, lost in the world of what-ifs and regrets.

“Girls, don’t you need to go home? It’s getting late,” Taylor says, her voice soft with concern. I feel her gaze on me, but I don’t look at her.

I’m afraid she’ll see my sins on my face.

Chapter 25

Shelly and Tia gathertheir things and scurry out the door, followed by Ainsley, who hesitates as she crosses the threshold. She turns toward me. “I’m sorry, Charles. I hope she wakes up.”

Forcing out a smile, I nod at her. There’s no reason for me to air out my problems to a teenager. “She will because she’s a Vaughn and we’re a tough bunch to break.”

Ainsley relaxes, and I give her a wink. She flushes again before darting out of view.

The smile slips off my face as I stare into the empty VIP lounge. If Firefly were here, she’d insist on tagging along and helping with the tour. She’d call it an adventure. The Vaughn siblings against the big bad press.

Maybe she’d even drag Liam here to do her bidding. He’d come if she asked—tattooed, piercings and all, looking completely out of place in the world of pink tutus and classical music.

“You know, you don’t need to smile and pretend everything is fine,” Taylor mutters. She hands me a tissue.

My brow hikes up and she motions to my lip. I lick the wound and my taste buds register the familiar metallic taste of blood. Taking the tissue from her, I press it against the cut.

Slowly, she sits down next to me, her sweet scent of vanilla flooding my nostrils. She sneezes and grabs another tissue before wiping and tossing it on the ground.

It’s disgusting.

Yet, refreshing.

She truly doesn’t care how the world views her.

“Ainsley isn’t a kid and the real world is a tough place. There’s no point in hiding that from her. The sooner she learns that, the better,” she murmurs.

“Why make others uncomfortable when there’s nothing they can do?” I close my eyes and rest my head against the wall, listening to the quiet sounds of her breathing. “In my world, it’s better to keep things close to your chest. Vulnerability is a weakness, something people can exploit. Connections are made based on how you make others feel—trust, acknowledgment, confidence.”

“I’m just hearing you use fancy words to describe insincerity and wearing a mask. Maybe it works in the business world.” She scoffs, and I can feel her body move next to me, even though we aren’t quite touching. “I wouldn’t know. Your world is smoke and mirrors to me. Rich getting richer and poor getting poorer. But for the people who care about you, you aren’t doing them any favors. I doubt they want to see you like this—hiding away.”

“Isn’t that what you’re doing, minx? Hiding away just like me?” Perhaps that’s why I’ve always had a strong emotional reaction whenever I’m around her.

Like recognizes like.

A gasp slips from her lips. “I’m not. I wear my emotions proudly. You’re the one to call me a brat and other names for expressing myself freely.”

I chuckle, my eyes opening, and I turn and stare at her, finding her facing me. The soft light from the lamp renders a beautiful silhouette of her face—the delicate nose, her skull piercing telling me she’s probably in a foul mood today, the glow catching her mesmerizing eyes, which are now intent on mine. Unlike other times, there’s no vitriol in her gaze, only curiosity.

Like she cares about what I really think of her. Under my mask and forced smiles.

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