Page 86 of Hidden Memories

His voice is quiet, gravel and heat. I swear I feel it everywhere.

I meet his eyes.

It’s a mistake.

Because his eyes are saying all the things his mouth isn’t. They’re steady, unwavering, full of something that makes my pulse stutter. Concern. Conviction. That impossible, dangerous pull that has never let me go.

I want to believe it. I do.

But I know better than to trust what I want.

I manage a small, tired smile, trying to soften the tension that’s thrumming between us. “Thanks for driving me.”

Santi exhales through his nose like he’s not sure what to do with me. Like he can tell I’m barely holding it together but he’s too smart to push.

“Anytime.”

I reach for the door handle again, but this time, he stops me.

“I meant what I said,” he murmurs.

A shiver runs through me, and I don’t know if it’s from his words or the way he says them— he’s already decided for the both of us.

I’m not done with you.

If only he could speak the words again. They were alifeline, the kind of certainty and worth I’ve been missing for far too long.

I tighten my fingers around the strap of my bag. I should say something—anything to make this easier, to make this make sense. But I don’t trust my voice.

Instead, I nod. It’s small, barely there. But it’s all I can give.

I open the door, step down onto the pavement, and close it gently behind me. My pulse is a tangled mess of relief and regret, and as I walk up the steps, I swear he’s still watching me.

I pause at the door, my hand hovering over the handle.

Just turn around. Just look at him one more time.

I don’t.

I have to resist because the truth is I’m not done with him either.

But I have to shift my focus now. My feet carry me up Julia’s path and around the house to the backyard where finally, the tension from my time with Santi starts to drain out of my shoulders.

But I’m only met with new anxiety when I see Anton and Gabriel in the distance, chatting at the end of the yard.

The people Nic did business with must want those drives. I know it’s wrong, but part of me wishes they’d caught me at the farmhouse, hassled me, even beat me then took what they wanted to leave us alone for good.

I can’t even hand the drives over now and end this as they’re in police possession. And it’s not like whoever is after them knows I handed them over.

They’ll keep coming after me.

The thought makes me sick. It coils in the back of my mind like a boa constrictor, tightening slowly around me.Because this waiting? This not knowing? It’s torture drawn out, second by agonizing second.

How did I get into this mess?

Then, a realization hits like a punch to the ribs—I’m not just scared. I’m traumatized. I don’t fight. I endure. I adapt. I survive. I let bad things happen then clean up the mess afterward because I don’t know how to stop them before they start.

Conflicting thoughts cloud my mind. I wish I’d had a few more minutes to consider how much this could change Theo’s life. Handing over those drives is the same as handing over Theo’s inheritance. I hear my father’s voice in my head, telling me I was a fool.

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