Page 89 of Borrowed Pain
"You heard me. Walk me through the causal chain. How did Rowan Ashcroft, podcaster and former FBI agent, cause Agent Lucia Reyes to drive off a bridge?"
"I—" I started, then faltered. "We were investigating together. If we hadn't been building the case—"
"If you hadn't been building the case, Lucia would never have discovered Meridian's crimes?" Miles's voice was patient but persistent. "Or would she have discovered them anyway, because that was her job?"
My logic was slippery. "She died because we were getting close."
"She died because someone killed her to protect their crimes," Miles corrected gently. "Those are two very different things. One makes you responsible for her death. The other makes you a fellow victim of the same criminals."
I sank back into the chair, suddenly exhausted. "It feels the same."
"I know it does." Miles reached out slowly. He wove his fingers together with mine, slow and steady. "Survivor's guilt is a son of a bitch. It convinces us we're responsible for tragedies we couldn't prevent."
"But if I'd never contacted these people—"
"Rook would still be in hiding, Patricia would still be trapped in silence, and Meridian would still be destroying trauma survivors." Miles squeezed my hand. "The investigation didn't create the danger, Rowan. It exposed danger that already existed."
I closed my eyes. "Then why does it hurt so much?"
"Because you care about people." Miles shifted closer, his knee bumping against mine. "Watching someone die right in front of you is one of the most horrible of traumas, whether you caused it or not. Grief is grief."
Tears burned at the corners of my eyes. "I should have saved him. I should have gotten there earlier, found a way to—"
"To what? Overpower a man who'd already poisoned himself? Reverse the effect of a toxin with your podcaster superpowers?" It was gentle humor, not mockery. "Rowan, you're not actually a superhero. You can't save everyone."
"I couldn't save anyone."
Miles was quiet for a moment, thumb tracing patterns across my knuckles. "What did Rook tell you before he died?"
"That Patricia's evidence is legally unusable because—"
"No." Miles's interruption was soft but firm. "What did he tell you? Not about legal complications or tactical problems. What did he say about Patricia?"
I closed my eyes, recalling those final moments in the container yard. "That he loved her. That staying alive trapped her, so he chose to die."
"He chose to die for love," Miles said quietly. "That's not your burden to carry."
I looked into his blue eyes.
"You think I'm being irrational."
"I think you're being human." Miles brought our joined hands up between us, pressing my palm against his chest where his heart beat steadily. "Feel that? You're alive. I'm alive. We're here together because of the choices we made, not because you failed to save people from the choices they made."
I leaned into his touch, letting my eyes drift closed. When I opened them again, Miles was watching me with an expression I'd never seen before—professional compassion mixed with something more profound.
"Rook's death matters because his life mattered," Miles said. "Patricia's sacrifice matters because she chose to preserve evidence rather than protect herself. Lucia's death matters because she was fighting for justice when they killed her."
His words settled into the wounded places inside me, not healing them but making them bearable. I realized I was crying, the grief starting to flow.
"I'm tired," I said. "I'm so fucking tired of being alone with this."
"You're not alone." Miles leaned forward. "Not anymore."
Chapter nineteen
Miles
Ifound Rowan hunched at Matthew's kitchen island, wearing a jacket against the morning chill. His fingers wrapped around a mug, but the coffee had gone cold. A skin had formed across the surface.
