Page 163 of Ruin My Life
Parkinson’s.
Of course.
The nurses. The secrecy. The house no one knows about.
That’s why he protected her so fiercely. That’s why he kept this place hidden here—not just to keep away from The Songbirds, but because she’d never survive if they found her.
If they tortured her the same way they did Isabella…
And I…
I almost exposed her.
I sit there frozen as the guilt barrels into me, heavier than anything I felt at The Speakeasy or in that blood-soaked living room.
She’s his greatest weakness. And I nearly painted a bright red target on her.
All for information that didn’t fix anything. That didn’t bring Amie back. That didn’t make the hole in my chest feel any less hollow.
My stomach knots.
“Sorry,” I whisper, choking past the lump in my throat.
I place the mug back on the tray, the ceramic clinking too loudly against the wood.
I don’t meet their eyes. “I’m… really tired.”
Rebecka studies me for a moment before she glances at Damon and gives him a small nod. “Of course. Damon, why don’t you show her to the guest room?”
I start to open my mouth—to say I can find it myself—but he’s already up, already has my duffle bag in his hand. He leads me down the narrow hallway, our footsteps amplified by the creaks of the old pine floor.
At the end of the hall, he opens a door into a small, sun-drenched room with a wrap-around porch that overlooks the ocean. The bed is made with soft linen sheets, pale blue like the froth on the beach.
I take the bag from his hand and step into the room. My fingers curl around the edge of the door.
But before I can close it, Damon slides his foot into the frame. His palm presses gently against the wood.
“Brie—”
“Iamtired,” I say quietly, not bothering to fake a smile. “I didn’t make that up.”
“I know,” he says, his voice low. “But it’s also a decent way to shut yourself out.”
I don’t respond right away. I stare at the floorboards between us, at the invisible line I’ve drawn.
There’s a beat of silence before he sighs.
“You know, I didn’t bring you here to torture you with the truth.”
I swallow hard, rolling my lips together.
“Maybe you didn’t,” I murmur. “But it doesn’t mean I don’t deserve it.”
He flinches like my words physically struck him.
Maybe they did.
Before he can say anything else, I close the door softly and then lock it.
