Page 58 of The Best of Us

But then he dropped a hard, “Yes,” on me, and my plan went to shit.

I stumbled back, becoming feverish from shock and worry.

He shoved his hands in his pockets as he stared at me, waiting for me to spiral. Or maybe to run. To take our son and leave him as he feared I’d do.

Power over you. Dangerous. But you’ve killed people, and I’m just . . .

“Why? How? Tell me,” I sputtered, drawing my hand into a fist over my heart as if that’d somehow disrupt the pain developing beneath my rib cage.

“You don’t want to do this now,” he grated out.

“No,” I shot back, “that’d be you who doesn’t want to do this.” I swallowed. “I very much want to do this.” I needed him to dress those skeletons up in something that made sense, so I didn’t succumb to the panic attack knocking on my door. Because like hell was his “yes” about his time in the military.

“You’re right, I don’t. I’ve made myself emphatically clear on that,” he bit back.

But then his strong stance weakened, and he lifted his hands from his pockets, settling them on the counter. His biceps became steel as he pushed against the counter as if he could fuse his palms with the marble, searching for a strong anchor against the storm of what he was about to reveal.

“A year and a half after we met in Aruba, my sister was murdered, and my younger sister, only eighteen at the time, found her body.”

Oh God. My stomach squeezed as I slapped my hand over my mouth. His “why” had my knees buckling, knowing that statement was only the start.

“My brothers and I couldn’t allow her killer to walk free, so we took his life.” He shoved away from the counter, and his following words burned hard and fast from his lips. “And I’d do it again and a hundred times over.” He faced me, breathing hard. “Just like I would if someone hurt you. Or hurt our son. Like I’ve already done.” The “already done” hit me like a body shot, sending my other hand over my mouth as he finished, “At the rave.”

His eyes widened at the realization of what he said, and he came my way.

If it were anyone else, I would’ve flinched and turned away, but for him, I didn’t. Icouldn’t.

And when he gently removed my hands from my face to draw me into his embrace, I didn’t resist. In fact, I fell headfirst into the feeling of safety he gave me.

He quietly wrapped me up in his arms, cradling the back of my head while I let the reality of everything he’d said sink in as I reconciled what he’d done and converted his words into something that made sense.

His sister was murdered, and he took revenge. And he saved our son by taking a life.Nota low-level gang thing if he had to get blood on his hands.

If it weren’t for him holding me upright, the spinning room would’ve taken me down. No more going with the flow. I finally understood why they were both anxious for me not to learn the truth about what went down at the rave, why we were living under his roof.

“Say something.” His strangled, emotion-driven words reminded me of Colin’s from earlier, and they awakened something inside me.

I untangled myself from his hold to look up at him. “I’m so sorry,” was all I could come up with. The weight of those words felt so insignificant for how I truly felt. “I’m so sorry you lost your sister, but I’m not sorry for the life you took because she died. Or the life you took to save my son.” I sniffled, catching a tear with my tongue.

He grasped my arms as if I’d float away, when in reality I was anchored to the floor, still grounded in shock.

“I’m so sorry she was taken from you,” I cried when more and more made sense—me being drawn to his sister’s church and the note in his wallet from her that he needed back. “I’m sorry I pushed you. You don’t even know me, and I shouldn’t have pushed.”

“Don’t say that,” he countered in a gravelly voice, adding a touch of pressure to my arms as he held me. “You don’t owe me an apology.”

“I do. I made you talk about this after you clearly asked me not to.”

“It was going to come out at some point.” He let go of me and backed up, cupping his mouth, eyes on the floor.

I leaned my hip against the counter for support and put my hand down. There was still so much to process.

“And I, uh, did my best to keep people alive last night. I wasn’t trying to kill anyone.” He closed his eyes. “I used one of the guys trying to kill me as a shield to catch a bullet meant for me.” He frowned, opening his eyes. “Maybe he survived?”

Catch a bullet?Now I was going to collapse. “I need to sit.”

At my side in a heartbeat, he set his hands on my hips and lifted me onto the counter. He remained in front of me as if worried I’d fall, and I set my hands on his shoulders, searching for my sanity.

But it was lost somewhere at a rave because my son had been around guns and death and bad guys.And a hero.I looked at the man in front of me. “If you weren’t there . . .” was all I could get out, knowing he’d understand me.

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