And now that I’m hearing Tomas speak, I’m realizing how little strength I have left for this bullshit.
“You have to choose who you can deal with—me, Parker, or Soren.”
“Like it’s that easy?”
Pain registers on his face, but he doesn’t respond.
“You’ve all been awful to me,” I continue. “You’ve lied to me, pushed me away, used my body just like Soren and Parker.”
“You’ve used me, too.”
I nod decisively. “I suppose that makes us even, doesn’t it?”
“I suppose it does.”
“Then we don’t need to do this dance anymore.”
He frowns. “What are you saying?”
“It’s not easy for me to choose when it’s all been equally as bad.”
“Baby, I stuck my neck out for you. Telling my father about that notebook was my way of securing your future with me. Can the others say the same? Have they done anything like me?”
I sniffle as I focus on the ground, my vision already blurring. If I keep holding my tears in, I’m going to explode. And that’s the last thing I want to do right now.
Showing more weakness will simply get me hurt.
When I look into his eyes, a softness sits there, the kind of compassion that’s always resided in him. He wants to take care of me. But I don’t know how I can trust him when he gives away my secrets like this. What else did he tell his father?
And what the fuck did Gilbert do to contribute to my father’s death?
“Your father—he said something about all the families having a hand in my dad’s murder.”
“My father says a lot of things.”
I arch my right brow. “Much like your mother. Isn’t that right? Marie used to say a lot of things all the damn time.”
“You don’t know shit about my mother.”
“I know you had to put her under critical care with Cynthia. But you didn’t tell me she was going to be living there.”
He stares at me for a long time, quietly drinking in my reaction. Is that regret on his face? And what’s he regretting?
“It doesn’t matter,” he insists. “Alex, we need to talk about our future. We have to—”
Bullets tear through the side of the house, sending us both to the ground. Tomas shoves me under his bed, grabs his gun, and uses the mattress as cover, peeking over a few times before firing off a few shots at the windows. I cover my head as I listen to wood splinter and glass explode, screaming internally while choking down the urge to sob.
Now isn’t the time for tears. It’s time for action. I have to get my gun and join Tomas before he gets shot. I lift my head, resolute in my dedication to protecting him. He doesn’t have to be the only one fighting here. I’m more than capable of doing that.
When I try to wiggle out from under the bed, Tomas shoves me back. “Stay down!”
“I can shoot too!”
“Not now, doll!”
He fires off a few more shots and I hear a man groan loudly, glass breaking as his wails grow smaller until a strong, distant thud cuts him off. The gunfire has ceased at this point and I hesitantly shimmy toward Tomas, testing him to see if he’ll allow me out from my hiding place. When he doesn’t yell at me, I crawl beside him and peer over the bed.
“Got one,” he says. “But the others made a fucking mess.”