Page 112 of Beautiful Ruins
He was truly gone, leaving an abyss too vast to ever fill. I rocked back and forth, cradling him the way I had held onto Logan, my fingers tangled in his shirt. The concrete beneath me bit into my knees, but I didn’t move. Couldn’t. I was grasping at the last bit of him that remained in this world, in my world, unwilling to let go.
“I’m sorry,” I choked out between sobs, the words laced with the guilt that gnawed at me. “I’m sorry for pushing you away.”
But no matter how tightly I held him, how desperately I willed him not to leave me, he remained motionless. The warmth had already faded from his skin, replaced by an unnatural stillness that made my stomach churn.
But the nightmare wasn’t over. Snake was still out there, and I was still alone.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
SADIE
Ididn’t know how long I’d sat there, slumped against the concrete, my chin tucked to my chest as I stared at Dad’s lifeless form. He used to sit at that same kitchen table back home, coffee in hand, barking at the morning paper like it owed him something. And now . . . this.
The scent of metal and dirt filled the air, the concrete cold against my legs, anchoring me in the wreckage of what used to be my life.
I hadn’t realised how much blood could run inside a human body. Or how much could spill out. I’d been breathing the same stagnant air, the same dust, waiting for the world to snap back into ordinary colour.
Footsteps approached. I almost laughed it off as my imagination. But then they became heavier, more purposeful, like the person behind them was on a mission. Possibly to finish what they had started.
My heart catapulted into my throat, and I scrambled on my hands and knees, sliding across the concrete floor now covered in, not just dirt, but my father’s drying blood.
I reached out for his gun still resting against his cold palm, fingers stretching, and snatched it up with trembling hands. My arms were leaden, but I held the gun up in front of my face, my finger around the trigger.
I swallowed the scream gathering in my throat and kept the weapon pointed at the doorway, refusing to blink, to move a single muscle. My mind whirled through every moment I’d ever tried to be tougher than I was—which was most of my life.
I wasn’t going to let Snake walk in and finish me with a smirk on his face. I’d die shooting if I had to. I’d die angry.
But when the voice echoed around the concrete jungle, it didn’t belong to a monster. It belonged to the only person in the world that could hurt me even more.
“Sadie?”
Rowan was there, his voice echoing down the corridor, penetrating the fog I’d been living in for the last hour. It didn’t matter. He was alive. I choked on the relief, so raw and acidic it made me gag.
“Sadie! Goddamn it—Sadie. Answer me!”
I wanted to crawl over the floor. I wanted to scream his name and never stop. But for a heartbeat, I couldn’t move.
Then, everything snapped into focus, and I slammed the butt of the gun against the concrete, every ounce of strength I had left funnelling into the hollow thud.
“Rowan! Rowan, I’m here.” My voice cracked, the words crumbling past my dry lips. “Rowan!”
“Sadie? Baby?” The relief in his tone was instant, and his footsteps grew louder, faster, the rhythm matching the frantic pounding of my heart. He skidded to a stop in the doorway, a dark shadow, chest heaving, sweat glistening at his temples and soaking into the collar of his white T-shirt. “Fuck.” His gaze landed on what was left of my father, and he staggered, just slightly, before snapping back into action.
He made it to me in three strides, skidding across the floor and dropping to his knees. A cloud of dust rose into the air, and I choked on it, dry retching, the pain ripping through my head. He hauled me up with a strength I barely registered, but then . . . he didn’t let go. Just wrapped his arm around my ribcage and crushed me to his chest, hard enough to hurt.
Every black thought that had gathered in my brain was wiped away by the simple, stupid miracle of being held by Rowan once again.
He pressed his palm to the back of my head and tucked my face into the hollow of his neck. I inhaled sweat and motorbike fumes and the faint, impossible memory of salt that lived in his skin.
He shook all over, and I realised he was crying—a quiet kind of relief. I’d never seen Rowan cry, not like this, not even when Logan had died. And his brother had been everything to him.
“It’s okay,” he whispered hoarsely, pressing his nose to my hair, rocking back and forth. “You’re okay.”
Perhaps the words were to convince himself more than me, but I didn’t care. All that mattered was Rowan was there, and I was still breathing.
We stayed like that for a long time—seconds, maybe, or minutes—until the sound of something scraping across the concrete floor reminded me what world we were in.
I glanced down. The gun had fallen and skittered away from my hand, landing against Rowan’s leg. He nudged it further out of reach with the toe of his boot, then shifted to look me in the eye.
