Page 154 of Lady and the Hitman
“My parents are losing the nursery,” I said softly. The words felt too small for the truth of them. “The house, too. Everything.”
Trevor blinked, his hands tightening on the wheel. “Wait—what?”
“They didn’t tell me. They didn’t want me to worry, I guess. Thought they’d fix it before I ever found out.” I let out a bitter laugh that didn’t feel like mine. “But it’s bad, Trevor. Like, years-of-debt, no-way-out, everything’s-dying bad.”
He exhaled hard through his nose, and I saw the hurt flash across his face. “Zara, I’m so sorry.”
“You remember what that place meant to them, right? To me?” My voice cracked. “I grew up there.Every damn inch of that nursery is part of me. I used to spend hours in the greenhouse, labeling seedlings, pretending I was in some secret garden. My mom taught me to prune roses before I could tie my shoes. My dad let me ride around on the flatbed when I was barely big enough to hold on. That place was their life. It was ours.”
Trevor’s jaw clenched. “I know.”
“It’s not just a business, it’s—it’s who they are. And now it’s rotting. Literally. I saw it with my own eyes. Cracked pots, dead trees, weeds taking over everything. It’s sad.”
His voice was gentle. “They should’ve told you.”
“I think they were trying to protect me. But all it did was make me feel useless. Like I should’ve seen it. Like maybe if I hadn’t been so caught up in my own mess—” I broke off, shaking my head. “I feel like I failed them. Like I’m watching everything I love fall apart and there’s nothing I can do to stop it.”
Trevor didn’t speak right away. Just reached over and placed his hand lightly over mine, a quiet gesture that didn’t ask for anything, just offered presence.
“You didn’t fail them,” he said. “You’re just one person. And you’ve always carried too much.”
A lump rose in my throat.
“They were always so proud of you,” he added. “Your parents used to talk about your articles to anyone who’d listen. They had your column clipped and taped to the side of the cash register. You think you were gone, but you were always part of that nursery, Zara. Always.”
Tears pricked my eyes. “I just wish I could fix it.”
“I know you do.” He squeezed my hand.
I stared back out at the marsh, the weight in my chest as heavy as the darkness outside.
And then?—
“I think I’m in love with someone I can’t trust.”
Trevor didn’t flinch. Didn’t gloat. Just kept driving.
“I didn’t mean for it to happen,” I said. “I didn’t even want it.”
“But it happened.”
“Yeah.” My voice cracked. “And now with that plus the nursery … I don’t know who I am anymore.”
We didn’t speak for a long time. Just the sound of tires on asphalt, the faint hum of the engine, the pull of two people suspended in a moment too fragile to touch.
But I felt something shift in me—something small and desperate and still alive.
Because maybe, if I could talk to Trevor—really talk—then I could remember who I was before all of this. Before Ronan. Before secrets and folders and blood on the tile.
Maybe I could remember how to be normal again.
Even if it meant starting over.
Even if it meant leaving Ronan behind.
30
Ididn’t want to go home.
