Page 96 of From West, With Regret

“I said get the fuck off her.”

Then the sound of crunching bone. The sharp metallic scent of freshly spilled blood filled the air. He was no longer on top of me. Instead, he was now the one with his back on the ground.

I was gasping for air when I shot up and saw him towering over him, beating him without even a second of hesitation.

“I’ll fucking kill you, you worthless piece of shit,” he seethed.

He beat him until he stopped resisting. He beat him in the dead of night before crawling toward me. His hands were covered in blood and dirt as he cupped my face. The Big Ben charm I’d given to him for his birthday glinted in the moonlight.

My attackers body laid still beside me.

“Is he…” I gasped. “Is he dead?”

“I don’t know,” West said, his warm hands cupping my cheeks. “But I’m here, London. I’m here. You’re safe.”

My fingers dig into the ground now, clutching fistfuls of leaves. The dirt slips under my nails, and I let out a scream. A tight, painful scream that sucks all the life out of me. My lungs burn and my muscles contract. Every single fucking memory comes flooding back to me. It’s as if every memory, a flash in time, has been stored in neat little boxes, but now I’ve found the skeleton key, and I’m unlocking every door. They swing open,flooding my brain.

My knees are pressed into the cold dirt as the memories are now alive, back from the dead. They’re unrelenting, a flurry of bitterness mixed with sweetness. Dark twisted with light.

“London. Please talk to me.” West kneels beside me and wraps his arm around my shaking body as I remember all of it.

The pain. The beauty. The love. The hatred.

“I remember what he did. The other foster kid. He woke me up, forced me out of the house while everyone slept. He tried to…” I can’t get the words out. “He didn’t die, but you almost killed him,” I sob, sniffing. Steeling my chest, I look up at West. My hair clings to my wet cheeks as I look at the man I’ve loved longer than I’ve realized. The one who promised he would find me again. “I remember it all.”

“Oh, my God.” West’s eyes widen, and his mouth falls open as he rocks back. His feet slip out from under him as he sits on the cold, wet ground. Then he’s back on his knees again, sobbing. I’ve never seen him this way. Even when he saved me that day, he’s always been the strong one.

He crawls toward me, pressing his hands to my cheeks again, cradling my face.

“Being here,” I choke out, shivering. “Something about this place brought all of it back.”

“I didn’t mean to drive through here,” he pants, tears streaming down his face. “I was just trying to get away from that asshole. I didn’t realize how close we were to this town or neighborhood.”

I nod as the weight of everything tears me apart. I’m looking at West now, at thirty, but remembering it all. Him at thirteen. Then him at fifteen. The last day when I’d walked away from him. His kiss on my cheek lingering long after I’d driven away from this place with my new family.

“You promised me,” I say, my voice shaky as fresh tears spill.

“I know.” He nods, his own voice breaking. His gorgeous blue eyes are wide, glassy with tears.

Then reality hits. My marriage to Heath. The day of the funeral, when West had seen me at The Veiled Door, drawing the charm on the napkin.

“The whole time,” I cry, unable to stop the words spilling from my mouth. “You knew the whole time and you didn’t tell me. Oh, God.” I press my hands to the side of my head. “Thewholetime.”

“What?”

I back away from him, moving to a stand. My palms and knees are sore. My throat is scratchy and pained as I struggle to compartmentalize my thoughts.

“This whole time we’ve been together.” I point to the ground, then grab onto the necklace. “Every time I had a glimpse of a memory, this necklace or when you told me about Albany, you were acting as if we’d never met until the funeral.” I grind my jaw, a bit of anger and resentment simmering under my skin.

I can’t be angry with West for the past few months, but knowing he didn’t speak a word of it this whole time, knowing the truth, doesn’t sit well for some reason.

He pulls himself to a stand, moving closer to me. He takes a few steps forward, and my heart swells. It swells, more alive than it’s ever been, but then the cracks appear, fracturing my full heart, feeling this sense of betrayal.

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

“What was I supposed to do? Icouldn’tsay anything. I wanted to, but I couldn’t.”

“Why?” I cry. I’m tired.Sotired.

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