Page 35 of Whispers of You
I jolted at his question.
“That’s what I thought. It’s time to grow up, Holt. Take responsibility for the things that are yours and let go of the ones that aren’t.”
“I’m sorry.” I didn’t have any other words for him. I’d screwed up time and time again when it came to my family. All I could do now was be here and make different choices.
A little of the anger bled out of Nash’s expression at my apology. “You have to deal with this. You need to stop running.”
“I’m here, aren’t I?”
“There’s more than one way to run.”
God, did I know that.
Wren’s face flashed in my mind—the panic embedded there. I could see the little tremor in her hands as if she were still standing right in front of me.
I’d thought that if I left, she’d be able to heal. That she’d be safe.
And the truth was, I hadn’t wanted to face what I’d done to her. Hadn’t wanted to see that betrayal in her eyes as she’d finally come to terms with the truth—that I hadn’t been there the moment she needed me the most. But it was time for me to face it. I needed to let myself drown in the pain and not hide from it by taking mission after mission.
Because Wren still lived with that pain. Every. Damn. Day.
10
WREN
The echoof footsteps on the linoleum floor rose above the low din of the station. I shifted my gaze to the computer screen in front of me, trying to get a read on the reflection. Man or woman? Size? Shape?
It didn’t really matter who it was, just as long as it wasn’t Holt’s broad-shouldered form. His words echoed in my head.“Just because I left doesn’t mean I stopped caring.”
That phantom rasp in my mind had anger pooling deep. He wanted to come back? Fine. He wanted to start showing his face around town? I could deal. But he did not get to tell me hecared.
People who cared didn’t vanish the moment you were well enough to leave rehab and go home. I’d replayed those months between the shooting and Holt bolting over and over in my head. Looking back on it, I could see that something had shifted in him. But at the time, I’d been in too much mental and emotional pain to see it.
The deadness in his voice should’ve been my first sign. He would hold my hand and kiss my temple, but never did his mouth meet mine. He was a fierce defender, keeping away the reporters and the morbidly curious, but was never truly alone with me.
It was embarrassing now—how clear it had been that he’d wanted nothing to do with me. Yet I’d been stunned as I’d read the damn letter.
“Wren.”
I breathed a sigh of relief at the sound of Chris’s voice, then spun in my chair. “Hey.”
The planes of his face were etched with concern. “I heard what happened. You okay?”
Annoyance sparked and flickered under my skin. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
He was quiet for a moment. “The, uh, break-in call. It would make sense if it brought back memories.”
“My house wasn’t broken into. We should be worried about Jane.” And I’d make sure I went by her place sometime in the next few days to talk to her. It helped to have someone who’d been there.
The survivors of the shooting and I had formed a sort of club—the type that none of us wanted to be a member of. Those we’d lost held honorary membership. Five dead. Six injured. Students. Teachers. A coach. Innocent bystanders who had gotten in the way. Randy and Paul had made a hit list of every person they thought had ever wronged them and had ticked them off one by one.
Chris stared at me for a moment. “It’s okay to notalwayshave it together. It’s normal. What you went through—”
“Don’t,” I bit out. “I’ve done the therapy thing. I don’t need my head shrunk by my friends, too.”
He winced, and I instantly felt like the worst kind of jerk.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”
