Page 108 of From West, With Regret

“Heath.” I close my eyes. In fact, I squeeze them tight, trying to wrap my head around the fact he isn’t actually dead. “Heath, listen to me…”

“Don’t,” he booms, causing my eyes to snap open, my heart leaping at the sound.

The memories of being Heath’s wife come back full force. It’s amazing how the mind can spend months pushing aside the trauma, but once you find yourself faced with it again, you’re transported back to feeling as little and insignificant as humanly possible.

Instinct and a year’s worth of conditioning myself to create as few waves as possible when it comes to Heath’s outbursts settles in like muscle memory. I wring my fingers and take a step back, reaching for the doorknob behind me, but Heath is quick to stop me.

He stomps across the room, the boards creaking beneath him. My back falls against the door, slamming it shut.

A small whimper escapes me as he slaps his hand against the door behind my head. I wince, turning my face away from him.

“Don’t you fucking say a word,” he seethes. His breath reeks of alcohol. “You always opened that mouth of yours when you should have kept it shut. Seems my sweet London hasn’t learned her lesson.”

Forcing the tears back, I stare up at Heath with as much anger and hatred as I can muster. “I’m not your wife anymore.”

He slams his hand against the door again, this time with aclenched fist. I jump again, but Heath forces me to look at him when he grabs my chin and presses the base of his hand to my throat. “I’m alive and breathing, my love, so you are very much still my wife.”

“Why are you here?” I bite through the growing pain from his tight grip. I stretch my neck, attempting to release the pressure he’s placing on it, but it’s no use. “How?”

“No, no, no. I get answers first.” He clicks his tongue in disapproval, then carries me over to the shelf, never letting up on his hold on me. His hand is a vise, tightening around my throat with minimal effort. Each finger presses into my neck like thick strands of rope, slowly and mercilessly strangling me.

Fear grips me as he drags me to the other corner of the closet. It’s a small space, but it’s too much when trapped with Heath. Still gripping my neck, he bends down and picks up the sheet of paper.

The drawing of West’s necklace.

“What is this?” he asks, spit flying from his curled lips.

My eyes feel like they’re going to pop out of their sockets. I claw at his wrist, tugging and pulling on it. My nails scratch against his skin. I wedge my fingers under his, hoping to pry them off, but again, I fail.

“Tell me!” he booms, shaking me.

“It’s a necklace,” I grind out, gasping for breath, black spots feathering the corners of my eyes.

Heath smirks devilishly. “Whose necklace?”

I look straight into his eyes. The ones I thought I loved before I remembered what true love felt like. I’d already loved before, and if I knew then, if I’d have kept my memories, I would have known what I felt for Heath was nothing compared to what I’ve always felt for West.

Tears well in my eyes, and my throat burns. I may never see him again after tonight. I think back to seconds earlier, the wayhe kissed me before I said I’d be right back. His kind blue eyes full of love for me.

Then I get a flash of the day I left with the Walkers. The way he kissed my cheek, whispering he wouldn’t stop searching for me, promising we’d be together again. Even if I were to die by Heath’s hand, I’m thankful West was able to fulfill his promise. He won’t have to live with the regret.

I feel my body going limp, my arms and legs turning to lead. The strength I have is quickly fading. Metal digs into my back, but it doesn’t matter. It won’t matter when I’m no longer breathing.

“Whose necklace, London?” Heath booms, his face turning cherry red, the veins popping in his neck.

“Your brother’s.”

His eyes darken. “I always wondered why he wore this. What it meant. Where he got it. He was always so goddamn protective of it, and always so disgustingly secretive.” He looks down at the drawing, then shoots me a glare. “But now I understand it. Now it makes sense.”

“West…” I start, but Heath stops me.

“West has always tried to take what’s mine. He inserted himself into my family and tried to fit in where he didn’t belong. The asshole always thought he was so fucking special because he was dealt a shitty hand in life. Boo-fucking-who.” He mock frowns and rubs under his eye, wiping away invisible tears.

“Now that motherfucker thinks he can steal my wife from me. But you’re mine.” He pulls me forward by my neck, then slams me against the shelf. “Mine!”

I cry out, a loud yelp squeaking from my throat.

A searing pain shoots across my back, and I want to give in. I want to surrender like I did the night Ryan attacked me. I want to surrender like all the other times Heath lashed out.

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