Page 50 of Beautiful Ruins
Sometimes, I just sat on his bed for hours, staring at the posters and photos he had stuck on the wall, waiting for something to make sense. He had always been taking pictures, practically since the kid could walk, and his room was covered in them, mostly of him and Sadie. Some with me. Others with Jasmine. But mostly, it was just Sadie.
It was like a shrine to the way things used to be, before she left a hole bigger than I should’ve allowed. I didn’t know how many hours I had spent staring at an eighteen-year-old version of her. And now stood a twenty-four-year-oldversion, one who was staring at me like I’d lost the plot entirely.
“Did you say something?” I scratched at the back of my neck.
Had I just been staring at her? Fuck. That’d be right—make myself look like a complete moron, like a lovesick idiot checking out the one woman guaranteed to rip me to shreds.
Sadie arched an eyebrow. “I said Jasmine will be at yours in an hour.” Her tone had as much enthusiasm I imagined it would have while reminding a child to put his shoes on before heading out the door.
I cleared my throat. “Right. Better get to it then.” With my focus on the side door attached to the kitchen, I stalked past her and headed out into the backyard, then into the shed.
Like Sadie had said, all the boxes were labelled. I grabbed the largest one, ‘Patricia’ scrawled in black marker.
Sadie followed close behind, and I half expected her to demand I put it back and let her do it herself. Instead, she stacked two of the smaller boxes on top like she was proving a point and marched across the yard, leaving me to stare at her arse in those shorts.
Fuck. What had I gotten myself into?
We hauled allthe boxes into my living room, and by the time we’d dragged the small round dining table in there as well, Sadie was flushed and out of breath. She stood with her hands on her hips, staring at me like she might’ve wanted a break, but hell if she was going to be the one to suggest it.
She finally dropped into the two-seater, rubbing her hands over her thighs. I couldn’t tell if she was wiping away the dirt or just keeping her hands busy. I’d never seen her sit still for so long. But I didn’t miss the way she kept sneaking glances at the staircase, like she was waiting for a ghost to come down those stairs and remind her this wasn’t real.
Like she was waiting for Logan.
Sometimes I thought I could still smell the scent of his cologne. Now the room smelled faintly of dust and something sweeter—maybe her perfume, maybe memory.
“You okay?” I said, giving her a tight smile, but it felt more like a grimace.
She nodded, her teeth lodged into her bottom lip. She wasn’t really okay, not by the way she kept shifting on the seat, her knee bouncing up and down.
It took everything inside me not to go to her. No-one would blame her if it was too hard. But Sadie and hard were old friends, and I knew she wouldn’t take the out, even if I offered her one.
“I’m fine,” she muttered, even though she hadn’t convinced either of us.
I dropped into the single seater, the springs creaking under my weight. I’d never replaced anything in this joint, preferring the comforts of old memories than making new ones. Still, maybe it was time for a change.
“You don’t have to pretend, Sades. Not here,” I said, giving a half-shrug.
She didn’t answer at first, just stared out the window as though she hadn’t heard me at all. What surprised me the most was the fact she didn’t tell me to mind my own business. Or to piss off.
Then, like it pained her, she glanced back at me with glassy eyes, and an expression so raw it could’ve knocked the air frommy lungs if I wasn’t already sinking into the weight of it. It was a hurt that ran deeper than I’d ever seen.
“Does it get easier?” she whispered, her bottom lip trembling.
It didn’t take a fucking genius to know what she meant. She was talking about Logan, about the way it felt stepping back into the life she’d ran from.
But to admit that it got easier would have been a lie, and I couldn’t do that to her, not if I wanted her to stick around. Not if I had any hope of getting her back.
She needed to trust me again, so I said the only thing that made sense. “It gets . . . less painful, I guess. Instead of a stabbing sensation in your chest, it turns into a dull ache, always there, always waiting for the next thing to take you down. But it’s bearable . . . most of the time.”
Her head dipped, her fingers trembling as she swiped at her cheeks. My chest tightened, my fists clenching and unclenching against my thighs. How she’d made it through the storm without a single person to help her was beyond me. She still hadn’t opened up about why she’d shown up here with bruises on her face. But that was for another conversation, one that deserved my full attention.
My instinct was to cross the room, to pull her into my arms, to hold on like we hadn’t lost six years and half a lifetime of trust. All I wanted to do was tell her she didn’t have to pretend. To tell her she was safe here. With me.
Only, that wasn’t true either. Not with the shit going on with the club. Not with Snake slithering around her like his namesake. And definitely not with the way she unravelled me so fast I barely had time to notice or pull myself together.
I wasn’t going to be the reason she ran again. It occurred to me that maybe she wasn’t back to ruin me. Maybe she was back to save me. Save herself.
A knock at the door interrupted the silence. I stalked across the room and grabbed hold of the door handle, eyes still on Sadie. The heavy front door groaned on its hinges as I swung it open, a familiar sound I usually ignored—until now.
