Page 106 of Bad For Me (Rock Canyon, Idaho 5)

“Then why did you come?” His face was expressionless now, a void, and it threw her for a moment.

“I . . . I came because I couldn’t understand. What kind of man lies to someone he says he loves and then tortures her by sending her letter after letter, reminding her of his betrayal?”

“Callie, I wasn’t in my right mind; you know that.”

“You weren’t in your right mind because you refused to see a doctor. You lied to me so I’d stop badgering, and I believed you because I trusted you. Do you have any idea what it’s like to know that because you trusted the wrong person, someone you loved died? You killed my mother, Tristan. Right mind or not, how could you ever imagine I would still love you after that?”

His face actually seemed to crumple, and tears filled his blue eyes. “Because I don’t remember, Callie, not really. I remember our love. I remember the fun we had.”

Callie’s skin was burning, her blood boiling through her veins. She could feel her face flush as she hissed, “And the letters? The letters you sent, one after another, telling me you loved me, begging my forgiveness, documenting your penances. I got a fucking restraining order. What made you think that writing me all that crap was a good idea? How did that benefit me? To be reminded constantly that you got off with a slap on the wrist while I was so terrified, I couldn’t sleep.”

“Callie, it wasn’t me. I don’t remember anything—nothing. It’s like I blacked out and when I came to, I was in the hospital, and they had to tell me what happened.”

“That’s convenient for you. You’re lucky. Because I can never forget that night. I look at you, and I remember slicing pain. Begging you for my life. My blood spilling out. And waking up in the hospital, with a doctor standing over me, telling me how lucky I was to have survived when my mother didn’t.” Then she thought of something. “Does your new fiancée know what you did? That you could snap any minute?”

“Yes, she knows everything. But I’ve been on a highly effective antipsychotic for years with no problems.”

Callie didn’t care if he’d had a lobotomy and was a drooling idiot. Any woman who would willing marry a man who had murdered someone, even if he now was on meds, was a few French fries short of a Happy Meal.

“Good for you.” Sarcasm oozed from every word, each chosen to inflict pain. “Wanna know how I’ve spent the years since you murdered my mother and mutilated me?” Tristan winced, but Callie was too far gone. She wanted to hurt him. “For two years, I couldn’t close my eyes without seeing you hovering over me with that knife. I took anti-anxiety pills. Oxy. And when those didn’t work, I chased them with a bottle of whatever I could get my hands on. I self-medicated myself right down the tube. But you knew that, right? You were following me. Bemoaning and chastising me for destroying myself.

“I never meant—”

She banged her fist on the table. “You stop talking. It’s my turn to tell you how I’ve spent my time all these years. After all, we can share our growth, right? ’Cause we’ve shared so much?”

Tristan looked ready to bolt, but she wasn’t done with him yet. Not by a long shot.

“Then one day I decided I wasn’t going to hurt myself anymore. You had already hurt me enough. But I couldn’t get rid of the guilt I felt, and it’s haunted me since. I don’t trust people or let them in easily. So when I met this amazing guy, I kept pushing him away. I did everything I could to destroy what we had because I am still petrified of making a mistake. Of picking another you.”

A pained grimace twisted his face, but she went in for the kill. “And this guy is the whole package. But what I especially respect is that when he had a problem, he sought help and dealt with it. Unlike you.”

“I’m . . . I’m glad you’re happy.”

“Do I seem happy? No, I’ve tried. I want to be, but I don’t know if I will ever truly be happy. You killed a part of my soul, Tristan. The part that believed in love and trust and that things work out for the best.

“I came because your letter said you deserved to be happy. Who the fuck said you deserve happiness? You didn’t suffer. You weren’t punished for your crimes. They fixed you and then turned you back out to live your life.”

“I was punished, Callie. I learned from my mistake, and I know I can never make it right. But I’ve been trying. I lost the woman I loved, the woman I was going to spend my life with. My parents can still barely look at me; I never see or hear from them.”

“At least they’re alive.” Her voice sounded cold, lifeless, even to her ears. And suddenly she felt like all the steam and anger was draining out of her, leaving her hollow.

“You’re right. But I can see why you think I didn’t suffer. I swear, Callie, I have spent years suffering, trying to make up for my mistake.”

Another spark flared to life as she sneered. “A mistake is when you forget to pay for milk, not brutally stabbing two people and killing a dog.”

He sighed. Tristan actually fucking sighed.

“You know what? This was a mistake,” she said, climbing out of the booth.

“Callie, please don’t go,” he said, reaching for her.

“Don’t touch me,” she cried.

Several people looked their way, and Callie shook her head. “I have spent years bottling up how I feel about you, making myself feel guilty. I know you were sick and that you didn’t know what you were doing. I know that deep down. What I can’t forgive is that you lied because you were afraid. You didn’t tell me how you were feeling; you just shut me out, and I let you. I can’t forgive that your actions led to that night. You were selfish, and I looked the other way.

“And the letters you sent were even more selfish because they were a reminder, every day, every month, every year. You meant them as a way to see if I had any feelings left for you, and I can tell you, at no point in the last seven years have I felt anything more for you than fear and loathing.”

Then she ran, rushing past the wait staff and the reception area. Past Everet

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