Page 89 of Ugly Truths
She’s right. I could have asked her to stay or texted her to come back, but I didn’t.
Suddenly, my throat feels tight.
Covering her hand with mine, I halt her nervous picking. My thumb brushes over the soft skin, and when she doesn’t pull away immediately, I lean closer. The golden flecks in her eyes dance nervously as our noses touch before I press my lips softly against hers.
Elena stiffens. I feel her hesitation all the way to the marrow in my bones and rips through me as myheart pumps harder. The woman who has eagerly received my affection for over a month is gone, and what’s left is the woman I was trying desperately to accept me last spring.
I pull back just enough to look at her. The uncertainty is now rolling off her in waves. My grip tightens on her hand. “I’m not thinking straight,” I admit. “I should’ve asked you to stay. I’m sorry.”
The smile she forces is strained, but she holds it. “You don’t need to be sorry for how you feel, Si.”
It’s not how I feel.
I open my mouth to tell her just that, but she’s faster than I am to change the subject. “Tell me how I can help you.”
It’s like swimming through sludge just to catch a single coherent thought, and I have to blink to keep the world upright.
She’s wrong. So painfully wrong. But how can I initiate that conversation right now? Where do we even start? What about everything else that’s falling apart?
My body seems to know what to do more than my brain, because I’m moving without thought. The hand holding hers slides to the base of her neck, drawing her back to me. The warmth from her lips, soft and heated by the sun, feels so damn good.
Elena’s hands remain in her lap, her crossed legs tightening between our chests, keeping me at arm's length. The anger is quick to light, flooding my body from the tips of my ears all the way down to my toes.
She said she’d be here as long as I’d have her, but I can feel her preparing to rebuild the walls she said were gone, brick and mortar at the ready.
My hand moves to her jaw, applying just enough pressure where the joint meets to coax her mouth open. Her lips part, but there’s still hesitation in the way her breath catches. I press forward anyway, sweeping my tongue against hers in a slow, claiming stroke. She barely reacts, andit nearly guts me.
She isn’t allowed to pull away.
Not now.
Rising to a knee, my free hand lands on the wall behind her head, leaning more weight onto her. She lets me feed on her light, but takes little in return.
How can I acceptthiswhen I know her fire burns just as hot as mine if she allows it to be seen and felt?
Under the pads of my fingers, the muscles in her jaw begin to relax like a slow unraveling of cords. Her mouth yields a little more, and it’s only when her shoulders relax that the panic loosens.
My fingers shift along her jaw, trail down her throat, and I feel her pulse still racing. Her hand wraps around my wrist—tight and trembling. Still not quite pulling me closer, but it’s enough.
We break for air, but I maintain my hold on her so her face stays angled up at me. “We’re not done talking about this,” I assert. “But I need your help. Natalie will be here soon, and I want you with me.”
Her smile, though still small, feels less forced. Right now, that will have to suffice because I have to break this news to my sister, and I don’t know where to start.
Elena pulls back to stand, yanking me out of my thoughts. My hand falls from her neck, but her hold on my wrist hasn’t faltered. She pulls me to my feet with her before sliding her fingers down to lock with mine. Without a word, she leads us to the door and down the dark hallway to the back staircase.
I'd give anything not to be the one to shatter my sister's world, but if I have to be the one to do it, at least this time, Elena will be there.
Chapter 36
Elena
No matter how many times I’ve begged Silas to slow down in the three days, he hasn’t. Not logic, not compassion, not even my usual attitude, which typically earns at least a flicker of irritation or amusement. Besides the fleeting moments he seeks comfort—a searing kiss that ends as abruptly as it begins, or pulling my body to his late at night—he’s been swallowed whole by some darkness, and I don’t know how to lure him out.
Watching him unravel is its own form of torture, especially knowing the hand I had in it. Peter might have sent me here, but my involvement is what broke the illusion Silas lived under, and I can’t stop thinking about whether he’s realizing the same thing.
Natalie learning what was on the servers hasn’t helped. We spent hours in that study after she arrived with Cora. I held her hand while Silas and Davey explained to her what they found, let her go when she lashed out at us in denial, and was a sounding board for every intrusive thought that came with the overwhelming grief. By the time we finished talking and crying, the only thing remaining in her was rage.
It seems to fuel Silas. Between that and the steady stream of horrific files Corey, Ben, and Luis have decrypted, I feel like I’m standing in the eye of the storm, bracing for the tail end of it.
