Page 64 of The Beast

I hate that. Hate that I still care. Hate that some treacherous corner of my heart still loves this man who’s made it his mission to ruin my life.

“Get the hell out of here.” I turn back to the painting, gripping my whiskey glass tighter.

“No.”

“Fine.” I stand up. “Then I’ll go.”

I take a step, and he moves to block my way. “Dammit,” I snap. “What the hell do you want from me? I know you think I’m an evil bitch. You’ve told everyone who matters that I tried to have you killed, and you’re doing your best to rip the world out from under me. So what now? What new torture are you here to inflict?”

Silence.

“Tell me. Tell me what else you could possibly want?”

His eyes meet mine, then dart away. “I was wrong.”

I take a step back, fear bubbling. This is a trap. Somehow, this is a trap.

“I’m sorry,” he says, his already wrecked expression shattering even more as the words hang between us, heavy as stones. “I’m so goddamn sorry.”

I don’t move. I don’t even breathe.

“David told me,” he continues, his voice rough as gravel. “More like read me the Riot Act. He and Harper both. The investigations. Aspen. Everything you did after...after I died.”

A bitter laugh escapes him. “Except I didn’t die. I let you believe I did, and you spent years trying to find out what really happened. Trying to find out who killed me. Trying to find justice for a dead man who was alive the whole time, hiding in the shadows, planning his revenge.”

I swallow, then open my mouth to speak, but I have no words.

“I should never have believed what I believed,” he says, the words barely a whisper.

He moves closer. Close enough that I can see the wreck of emotion playing across his face despite the armored shell he’s built.

“They said they’d been hired by your father, but that you wanted to come personally.” He shakes his head. “I still believe the part about your father.”

He swallows, his eyes dipping to the ground. “The woman who was with them—all I could see were her eyes. One blue. One green. And before she pulled the trigger,” I saw her ring.” He nods to my mother’s ring. The one I always wear.

I start to speak, but my throat’s too clogged with tears.

“She said surprise,” he adds. “And then she pulled the trigger.”

“Oh, god.” I realize with a start that I’m sitting on the couch again.

“I should have known.” His voice is low. Wrecked. “I did know. I knew you would never do that. And yet you did. You were there. Your eyes. Your ring. The only one who knew about the cabin. Who knew we’d been talking about a surprise party. It all made a horrible kind of sense.” He draws in a long breath, then meets my eyes. “It still does.”

I frown, then hug myself tighter as a shiver runs up my spine. “If it makes sense, why are you here?”

He turns to face Stillwater, but doesn’t say a thing.

I stand, then take a single step toward him. “No, really. Walk me through it.”

When he stays quiet, I fill the silence. “There you were, all psyched to kill me. But then I put on the show of the grieving girlfriend. I spent years trying to find answers.”

I hear the bitterness creep into my voice and don’t bother to hide it. “That’s where your mind should go, right? That’s what the SOB who doesn’t trust me would think. She’s just covering her tracks.”

“I guess it is,” he says.

“Then why are you here?” I have to hug myself to keep from shaking. Not with fear. Not with smug redemption. Not even with joy. Honestly, I don’t know why. Maybe because whatever happens next, this, at least, is an ending.

Trouble is, I can’t quite see the new beginning that comes next.