Page 27 of Trust in the Fallen

His sleep-filled eyes open and meet mine, the same smile I had on my lips when I first woke up etched into his. Everything about last night felt right. Leighton felt right. But maybe we were wrong.

“She’s gone,” I say quietly. I’m not sure if the blow will be easier to take hearing from me, or if it would have been better for me to let him figure it out on his own.

His eyes pop open and move around the room, following the same trail mine had just a couple of minutes ago. Before I can say anything else, he jumps from the bed and tugs his shorts up his legs. He’s out of the room before I can think to do the same, and by the time I make it out to the kitchen, he’s bracing both hands against the edge of the counter with his head hung over what appears to be a note.

“She went back to him,” he whispers. “He’s going to hurt her, Elias. I know it. The way he touched her last night. He’s going to really hurt her.” Each word is more strained than the last.

I reach the counter and tug the note toward me, reading the elegant script several times as if the words have some kind of clue behind them.

Thank you for last night, it will always remain the best of my life.

The paper crumples in my hand, and I find myself in a similar position to my best friend. Nausea rolls through my stomach, every fiber of my being knowing Wyatt’s right. That asshole has all the makings of an abuser. We’ve both seen plenty in our lives and can normally spot them from a mile away. But why would she go back?

“Did you install a tracker last night?” I ask.

He nods.

“Check it’s operational. I’m calling Bishop. I want to know everything before we go get her.” I take a few steps toward the bedroom.

“She left us, El. She doesn’t want to be here.”

I shake my head. “There’s more to it. I’m sure of it.” Leighton may be the most genuine person I’ve ever met. She doesn’t have a bad bone in her body, and if she felt like she had to go back to that jackass, there has to be a reason behind it.

I find my phone in my discarded pants and make quick work of pulling up Jason’s file from the club. I never got Leighton’s last name, but that doesn’t mean I can’t find it.

I scan the file quickly, scoffing when I see he marked his relationship status as ‘single’. Asshole. Jason Collins. A boring name for a boring motherfucker. His profile is vague at best, and I make a note of the staff member who checked this off. It’s not complete enough for my liking, and from what I can tell, at least some of it is fabricated.

A quick Google search finds me a photo of him and Leighton at a charity gala last month. His arm wrapped around her waist, barely allowing himself to actually touch her, and the smile across her beautiful face is forced. None of the light I saw while she was with us in her eyes, and my chest aches to have her back with us, to see that spark I took for granted. Perhaps I would have savored her more if I knew. Or maybe knowing would have tainted the short time we had together.

I shoot off a text to Bishop asking him to gather everything he can about both Leighton and Jason, before turning my attention back to Wyatt.

He hasn’t moved even though the note is no longer sitting in front of him. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen him withdraw like this, and I don’t fucking like it.

I clap my hand on his shoulder and squeeze. “We’ll bring her back,” I promise even though I have no right to do so.

Because there’s a chance she didn’t leave because she had to. There’s a chance that she wanted to go, or more likely, that she didn’t want to stay. But I won’t believe that until she tells us that herself.

Our angel could run to the ends of the earth, but we’d never stop chasing her.

CHAPTERTWENTY-SEVEN

LEIGHTON

Consciousness returns to me, and the ache in my temple intensifies as soon as I open my eyes. What the heck happened?

I remember leaving Elias and Wyatt’s house and getting into a cab. I remember the sadness that weighed me down all the way home. And then I remember…

Jason.

He hit me.

Hard.

He knocked me out.

I force my eyes open past the pain and nausea that rolls over me as I realize I’m in our bedroom. He must have brought me up here after I passed out.

I turn my head and wince when my neck protests. I’m alone in the room, which allows me to let out a breath of relief, but it’s short lived when faint voices carry up the stairs.

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