Page 94 of Hush Darling
In the end, Peter accused James of everything, painting himself as a hero. But her father wasn’t that gullible. He knew pieces to the puzzle were missing. When he demanded explanations, Peter teetered between playing the polite gentleman and showing his true colors—unaccountable and above criticism.
Wendy didn’t care what he said anymore. The memory of Peter stabbing his brother in the back and Bayne cutting off James’ hand would haunt Wendy forever. They left him there. Bleeding.
She fought as hard as she could to get back to him, but they drugged her in the end. If not for the clothes on her back, the scent of James on her skin, and her father screaming below, she might have believed it was only a dream.
But it wasn’t a dream. And now her life had become a nightmare.
Pressing her face to the cool wood of her bedroom door, she tried to drown out her father’s shouting as he took his fury out on Peter. She wondered what other lies he’d tell to skirt any blame.
The thought of lies made her think of James and how he only wanted the truth, no matter how ugly, unsavory, or raw. He might live the life of a pirate, but he was a far more honest man than his brother.
The rafters shook as her father raised his voice again. Peter responded to his shouting with some tale about how he had been by her side the entire time and done everything possible to keep her safe.
“Why not just tell the truth,” she whispered, thinking about how Peter had blown her off the moment she refused to sleep with him.
What did it matter anyway? It was over. She was home. She was never going to see James again.
Staggering back from the door, she collapsed on her bed and closed her eyes, pressing a hand to her heart as she tried in vain to connect with James in some spiritual way. But she felt nothing. It was as if he’d never existed at all.
The door clicked, and all thoughts of James scattered to the wind like unspeakable secrets.
“Wendy?” She wiped her eyes as her mother entered the room carrying a tray with a glass of water and a small white pill. “My poor child.”
“I’m not a child.”
“You’re still my daughter.” She carried the tray to the bed. “Take this.”
“I don’t want to take anything.”
“It will help with the pain.”
Her eyes narrowed at her mother’s insistence. “What do you know about my pain?”
She continued to hold out the pill and glass of water. “I know you survived an unspeakable trauma, and you’re in need of rest.”
Wendy’s body only felt numb. The true pain was in her heart. “I’m not taking that.” She still felt fuzzy from whatever drug they’d given her to subdue her onto the plane—a flight she had no recollection of.
Her mother set the glass aside. “Peter told us?—”
“I don’t care what Peter said. He’s a liar and a monster.”
Her mother tsked. “You’re upset. Sometimes, when we’re hurting, we lash out at those closest to us, the ones who are only trying to help.”
“No, Mother. This isn’t about me lashing out or being too naïve to understand what happened to me. I know what happened. I’m the only one who knows. But you don’t care about the truth. All you and Father care about is how this will look when others hear.”
“The Pangbournes are a high-profile family, dear. We must consider the best way to defuse the fallout.”
“Fuck the Pangbournes!”
“Wendy!” She actually looked back at the door as if her greatest concern was being overheard.
“What is this obsession you and Father have with the Pangbournes? Is it really just their money? My God, can you think of anything else?”
“Your father has put a lot of work into situating you with a promising future.”
“He’s engaged, Mother!” She rubbed her temples, unable to conceive how someone could be so blinded by a bank account. “He’s also arrogant, egotistical, and horribly entitled. Is that the type of man you and Father want to see me settled down with?”
“All men have ego, dear. Confidence is a good trait.”
