Page 67 of Edge of Darkness (Night Prowler 4)
And all the while he cried. Through her agony and shock, she tried her best to comfort him, telling him it would be okay, they were going to be all right, someone was going to come. But over and over, he just kept crying and pleading, “The Broken Man is coming to get me, Ember. Don’t let him get me. Don’t let him get me,” until finally his cries turned to silence and the only sound was the rain.
The Broken Man.
Those three words forever after haunted her, like a trinity of demons sent from the blackest bowels of hell by the devil himself.
She whispered, “My father couldn’t bear to stay in New Mexico after that. We moved to Florida, but that wasn’t far enough, so a few months later we moved to Spain. He thought the only way we could start over was in a new country, but it didn’t help.”
Unnoticed and unfettered, tears streamed down her cheeks. “He never finished a painting again. He would start one, then abandon it for another. And I never played the cello again; even after the surgeries, my fingers didn’t work right. There was too much nerve damage.”
She drew in a long, shuddering breath. “Neither one of us ever moved past that day. We went through the motions, but everything was hollow. Nothing meant anything anymore. It was as if we’d both died, too—we were the walking dead. The day I graduated high school was really the last day of my life.”
Christian’s arms around her were crushing. Against her cheek, his heart beat furiously, keeping time with her own. He whispered her name and she had to squeeze her lips together to keep from sobbing because his voice was so full of compassion.
She didn’t deserve his compassion. She deserved only his disgust.
Because there was one other little detail she’d left out. The one detail that mattered the most.
Christian cupped her face in his hands. “I know you blame yourself because you were driving, Ember,” he said urgently, gazing at her with his brows drawn together and his eyes shining with empathy. “But you can’t. It was an accident. It was raining, it could have happened to anyone—”
Ember whispered, “I don’t blame myself because I was driving, Christian. I blame myself because I was drinking and driving.”
Suddenly it was as if all the air had been sucked out of the room. Christian made the smallest little sound of horror, a sound that was reflected in the new look in his eyes, the look that replaced the compassion from seconds before. All the color drained from his face.
As swift and hard as two fingers snapping, he recoiled from her and sat up.
“You have to go,” he said in a hoarse, flat voice, his back turned to her. To Ember it felt like a shotgun blast to the stomach.
Shaking, she whispered, “Christian—”
He stood abruptly, ignoring his nudity, letting the cashmere blanket fall, and strode away. He disappeared into an open door on the far side of the room and reappeared mere seconds later, dressed in a new pair of jeans, carrying a small pile of clothing. Without looking at her, he dropped another pair of jeans and a sweatshirt at her feet, pulled on a white T-shirt over his own head, and said, “Put those on. They won’t fit. You’ll have to roll them up.”
His voice was still flat and empty, his head turned slightly away as if he couldn’t stand to look at her. Ember sat up and pulled the cashmere blanket tightly around her body. The shaking was getting worse, and her throat didn’t seem to be working right; no words would form around the fist-sized lump that blocked it.
Christian strode to the door of the bedroom, pausing just before passing over the threshold. Over his shoulder he said, “Corbin will take you home,” then he walked out.
Without ever once meeting her eyes.
In cold shock, she dressed quickly, rolling up the legs of the jeans to her ankles, the too-long sleeves of the sweatshirt to her wrists. She stood unsteadily, looking around the room but not really seeing anything because there was too much water in her eyes, making her vision waver and swim.
She deserved it—but she hadn’t been expecting it. That’s what really hurt. Shame had kept her secret well-hidden for six years, and with good reason; this moment was proof. No one in their right mind would forgive someone who’d done something so heinous. No one should.
And, most of all, no one as bad as she was deserved to find happiness—or love.
Another lesson learned the very hardest way of all.
With her arms wrapped around her waist, wincing and hunched into herself as if expecting a blow, Ember fled Christian’s bedroom. When she stumbled out the front door, barefoot and crying, Corbin was already waiting in the drive with the car. He stood beside it, holding the door open for her, and tipped his hat in his hand.
She fell into the car, drew herself into a ball on the back seat, and began to quietly sob into her hands.
They drove that way for a while, Corbin silent, Ember’s choked sobs occasionally drowned out by the rain pummeling the roof, by the rhythmic swish swish of the wipers. Finally as they neared her apartment building, Corbin spoke. “It’s not my place to say this, miss, but he’s always been a hothead. And he’s used to getting his own way. I’m sure he didn’t mean whatever he said that’s made you so upset. But just as quickly as he gets mad, he gets over it. He’s going to call you and apologize tomorrow, you’ll see.”
It made her heart ache that he thought this was in any way Christian’s fault.
“It’s not him, Corbin,” she whispered, wiping her eyes and sniffling. “He didn’t do anything wrong; he just finally got to see the real me, that’s all. And he”—she hiccupped—“didn’t like it. Not that I blame him. Not that I blame him at all.”
She saw his frown in the rearview mirror. “I find it hard to believe there could be anything about you that he doesn’t like, miss. Or that anyone wouldn’t like, for that matter. I’ve never seen him so happ
y. I know you’re to thank for that.”
