Page 12 of Tortured Hearts
So I stare at the sheet and say nothing.
“Last night, you said that just because people do bad things, it doesn’t make them bad people,” he says, breaking the silence. “Do you still believe that?”
The words hit like a punch to the gut. I shouldn’t be surprised. He’s doing what he does best, twisting a vulnerable moment and using it against me. I glance up to return the favor, only to be swept away by the storm brewing in his dark, hypnotic eyes.
Fate is a cruel, heartless bitch.
Even as our world caves in, the fire between us still smolders.
“You’re not being fair.”
“Nothing about this is fair, Doc. You can’t claim the moral high ground and talk out of both sides of your mouth.” He leans so close I can feel his breath across my face. “So all cards are on the table, Dr. Brennan. You need to stand by your words or climb off that pedestal.”
I lie there, opening and closing my mouth like a hooked fish.Damn it.He’s infuriatingly shrewd when he wants to be. “I know you’re Torch,” I say, dropping my last piece of armor. “You set fires and get off on it. Those confessions in my office weren’t an act. Truth has a way of bleeding into lies, and that part of you was always there. But, in answer to your question, yes, I still believe the bad things you’ve done don’t automatically make you a bad person.”
He shifts closer. “Why?”
“Because I know you didn’t set the fire atmy office.”
“I didn’t take you as the ‘blind faith’ type.”
“I’m not. I heard Henry say you were with him when the fire broke out.”
He scowls. “Glad he could clear that up for you.”
“Don’t get sanctimonious with me. In case you haven’t noticed,yourmoral high ground is a broken step stool.” But I deflate as our familiar banter falls flat within the sterile walls of my hospital room. Tilting my head back, I exhale and stare at the ceiling. “Henry only validated what I already knew. I never doubted you. You risked your life to save me, and…you’reyou.”
“And who would that be,cara mia…Johnny Malone, Gianni Marchesi, or Torch?” He pauses between each name as if it’s some sort of test.
“All of them. None of them. It doesn’t really matter.” Mirroring his cool indifference, I level my gaze back on him. “You can wrap a box with as many ribbons as you want, but it doesn’t change what’s inside. That’s the man I know, and while he’s capable of a lot of things, hurting me isn’t one of them.” I take a deep breath to steady myself. “Well, physically at least.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means I may be a psychiatrist, Gianni Marchesi, but you’re an emotional terrorist. I never know what’s up or down or real or fake with you, and last night…” I swallow against the ball of uncertainty lodged in my throat. “Was it real or just part of the blueprint?”
“What do you believe?”
I slump into the pillows. “I don’t know what to believe anymore.”
“It was real, Doc,” he says, running his fingers along my jaw. “Everything betweenusis real.”
What I wouldn’t give for those words to be true.
I hug my arms to my chest. “Real would’ve been you not skipping out before dawn. Walking awaywhile I was asleep was a coward’s move. You knew once the sun came up, my phone would ring, so you made sure you weren’t around when it did. I know you didn’t like Jack, but he was my friend.” Just mentioning his name makes my chest ache.
“Was?” Gianni pulls his hand back, a vertical line slicing between his eyebrows. “Ledger’s dead?”
“Don’t do that… ‘All cards on the table,’ remember?” I slide him a sharp gaze, then toss the bomb and brace for impact. “They found him burned to death in Narragansett Bay. Witnesses saw you two arguing at the docks Tuesday evening around the time of his death.”
“Are you accusing me of murder?”
“Does it matter?” I counter flatly. “My father has written your name in his blood. Just add it to all the other bad decisions he’s made.”
I grip the sheets as he leans close again, this time pressing a palm on either side of my head and caging me to the bed. “What other bad decisions has he made?”
I lick my lips, the thinly veiled challenge in those words forcing all the air from my lungs. “Ones that indebted him to the wrong people.”
“And who would that be?”
