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‘I still killed him,’ he interrupted roughly. ‘Yes, I was young. But I was unfamiliar with the gun he gave me and I didn’t bother to listen to his safety instructions, because I was excited. Because I wanted to go hunting with my big brother.’ It felt as if his heart were full of ground glass, every beat causing him agony, but he made himself go on, because now he’d started he couldn’t seem to shut himself up. But she had to know. She had to know the ugly truth.
‘We saw a deer and Dorian told me to wait while he got a bit closer. But I couldn’t wait. I was impatient and excited and nervous. I wanted to prove myself to him. There was a movement in the trees and I pulled the trigger thinking it was the deer.’ The beat of his heart was so full of agony, it would never be any less painful, never. ‘But it wasn’t the deer. It was Dorian.’ And just like that, he was back in the dusty hills, surrounded by brush and short scrubby trees, suffocating in horror when he’d discovered what he’d done...
‘Atticus.’ Soft hands cupped his face. ‘Atticus, come back to me.’
He blinked at the sound of his name, his heart racing, for a moment still lost in the horror of it all. Then his vision cleared, and instead of Dorian’s wide unseeing gaze, it was Elena’s warm brown eyes looking at him, full of concern. ‘You’re here,’ she said softly. ‘You’re here on the island with me.’
He felt cold, as if he’d been plunged into a snow drift. ‘Baba blamed me,’ he said hoarsely. ‘He was right to. I pulled that trigger, no one else. Dorian was the oldest. He should have lived, not me. But... Aristeidis was my father and he should have helped me. I needed him and he left me to suffer.’
Elena’s arms were around him, all the soft warmth of her body pressed to his, surrounding him in her scent, and for a second all he could do was stand there trying to hold onto the present while all the past wanted to do was drag him down and suck him under.
When he was in despair, she always seemed to be there when he needed her, holding him.
But what have you done for her? Nothing.
He shoved the thought away, because he had too much weighing him down already. He didn’t need anything more. Instead he concentrated on her and her heat, grounding him in the here and now.
Her hair was silky against his skin, her face pressed to his chest, her arms holding him tight. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said in a muffled voice, threaded through with pain. ‘I’m so sorry, Atticus.’
‘Sorry?’ he repeated blankly. ‘Sorry for what?’
She lifted her head and looked up at him, her eyes darkened, and he could see the gleam of tears on her cheeks. ‘For what you went through. And for what your father put you through too. You didn’t deserve that. You didn’t.’ Her gaze turned fierce. ‘It was an accident, Atticus. But you can’t keep blaming yourself for it for ever. You can’t keep torturing yourself, either. There comes a point where you have to let it go.’
He lifted a hand, touched one of the tears on her cheeks. Tears she’d cried for him. ‘Does there come a point? Tell me, have you been able to let go your tragedies?’
He’d never asked her about her family and she’d never spoken about them. When he’d rescued her, she’d been a traumatised child and he hadn’t wanted to visit more pain on her by questioning her. And it seemed, despite what she’d told him about letting go and despite all the years that had passed, that pain still lived inside her.
She glanced away, golden lashes veiling her gaze. ‘I... I’m trying to.’
He let his fingers trail down her cheek to her jaw and then along to her chin where he gripped it gently. ‘Your family, hmm?’
She kept her gaze averted but didn’t pull away. ‘I had to let them go. I had to let them lie in the rubble of my home. Because if I kept them with me, I’d never have been able to settle into Kalifos. I would never have been able to connect with Aristeidis. I would have been constantly wishing for something I could never have again, and there’s no point in that.’
But there was an uncertain note in her voice, as if she didn’t believe what she was saying herself. ‘And did you do that, Elenitsa?’ he asked, allowing himself to be distracted from his own pain so he could concentrate on hers. ‘Were you able to leave them in the past?’
Her throat moved and, to his shock, more tears seeped from beneath her lashes. ‘After the earthquake, I woke up to find myself surrounded by rubble. I was alone. I thought... I thought I could hear my father shouting. I thought he was still alive. I tried to get to him, but there were people yelling and screaming and the aftershocks... I was so afraid. I ran and hid in the ruins.’ Another tear slid down her cheek. ‘There were rescue workers helping dig through the rubble to find survivors, and I tried to tell them about my family, but they were so busy. They didn’t listen to me and I was so terrified I ran and hid again.’
His heart contracted at the hurt in her voice, a dull ache in his chest, and he stroked her chin gently, wanting to soothe her however he could.
‘I shouldn’t have left them,’ she went on, her voice raw. ‘I should have tried harder to get help. They might have been alive and they might have—’
‘No,’ he interrupted, appalled that she’d been carrying this pain and doubt around with her for so long, and clearly torturing herself with it too. He was appalled at himself as well, because he could have given her this relief years ago and he hadn’t thought of it. He’d left her alone instead. ‘No, Elena.’
Her lashes lifted slowly, her dark eyes meeting his.
‘Your family died instantly,’ he went on. ‘I checked. I made sure. You couldn’t have saved them even if you’d managed to get the rescue teams to search through the rubble. You didn’t leave them, sweetheart. They were already gone.’
She didn’t speak, again just staring at him, tears gleaming on her cheeks. Then a tension went out of her, as if she’d been relieved of a load she’d been carrying for far too long. ‘I knew that,’ she said. ‘Or at least, I told myself I knew that. But there was always this doubt. And when you came and took me to safety, I didn’t even look back. I just...left them there with no memorial, no one to remember them, no nothing.’ She paused and swallowed. ‘It feels wrong that I was the one who got to walk away. Do you...do you think I’m a coward for leaving?’
He stared down at her, conscious of a growing, ferocious need to soothe her, comfort her, reassure her, and he didn’t question it. All he knew was that he’d do anything to ease her pain.
‘No,’ he said, letting her see the conviction in his gaze. ‘You’re as far from a coward as it’s possible to get. You survived for a week on your own in a very dangerous place. You were brave and stubborn and resourceful. You stayed with your family as long as you could, but in the end you had to leave. I think your parents would have been proud of you, and very glad that you found safety.’ He ran his thumb along the side of her jaw in a featherlight caress. ‘Also, while you might think that I rescued you, it was you who rescued me.’
She blinked. ‘I rescued you?’
‘From the darkness. From despair. You gave me hope, Elena, I told you that.’ He let go of her chin and brushed away her tears. ‘You saved me as much as I saved you.’
She searched his gaze for a long moment, though what she saw there, he had no idea. ‘I’m glad I did, in that case,’ she said hoarsely. ‘I’m glad I was there. And, you know, I didn’t totally leave them behind. My family, I mean. I kept some parts of them with me. The parts that make me happy. The good memories.’ She paused. ‘Do you have good memories of Dorian?’
