The Life You Stole (Life Duet 2)

“We had a fight. She left.”

“What?” I shook my head. “Where did she go? What happened to your face?”

He rubbed the back of his neck as he shrugged. “Lila happened to my face.”

“What? No. She wouldn’t do that. Where is she, Graham? How can you not know? What was the fight about?”

I felt like ten cups of coffee at the end of a marathon. The chill of a cold shower when I needed ten hours of sleep. Nothing felt right.

Everything … everything was wrong.

Graham deflated on a long sigh and averted his gaze to the white and gray marble floor between us. “I found out she had an affair.”

“With who?” I whispered.

One slow inch at a time, he lifted his gaze to meet mine. “I think you know that answer.”

I swallowed that added dose of reality; it hurt going down that time almost as much as it did when Ronin confessed it. And it stirred up more emotions. “How did this happen?” I said on a tiny sob as my vision blurred behind more tears.

Graham closed the distance between us and hugged me, resting his cheek on my head. “I don’t know. I just … don’t know.”

“I don’t have anywhere to go.”

“Not true.” He kissed my forehead. “You can have your pick of bedrooms. Even mine. I promise to be on my best behavior.”

I pulled away and shook my head. “I need to be alone.”

“Of course. Come on.” He took my hand and led me up the stairs. “You probably don’t want to sleep in Lila’s room. It’s been cleaned, including the sheets. But you could grab something to wear from her closet.”

“Night,” I barely managed that one word.

As I started to pull away from him, he tightened his grip. I glanced down at his hand squeezing mine before meeting his gaze.

“We’ll get through this. Together. I’m always here for you.”

I tried to form a smile, but my face refused to cooperate. Widows didn’t smile. After he released my hand, I headed toward Lila’s room and Graham padded his bare feet in the other direction.

Turning on the light, I shut and locked Lila’s bedroom door. Everything was in its place. The bedding crisp and void of a single wrinkle. Vacuum lines in the carpet like it had recently been cleaned. Even fresh flowers in a vase on her nightstand. It didn’t look like the room of a woman who physically abused her husband and left without a word.

Too tired to look for something to sleep in, I tossed the three-deep layer of pillows from her bed and tugged down the comforter and sheets that the housekeeper tucked into each side military-style. As I started to climb into her bed, my gaze snagged on something barely peeking out from under the mattress. Lifting the edge of the mattress, I pulled out a black leather-bound book.

A journal.

I opened it and quickly flipped through the pages, not reading a single word. Lila loved journaling when we were younger. Organizing her thoughts helped her deal with so much grief. Setting it on the nightstand, I clicked the light remote and buried myself under the covers.

It took one … one single second for reality to hit.

It was real. It was my life. That man with the gun was my husband.

“Roe …” I whispered closing my eyes. “Why did you leave me?” My heart ached so much; I knew it would never beat the same way again.

Would Franz and Anya ever forgive me for not saving him? I hoped so. Maybe one day I would explain what happened to him, how he tried to be a superhero, and how he discovered he wasn’t immortal. How I discovered I couldn’t rescue him anymore because he was destroying me.

Franz and Anya. I thought only of them in the final seconds before I turned and left Ronin alone in the kitchen. They needed me. I saved the very best of my husband, the very best of me because I chose them.

After tossing and turning, rubbing my aching chest, and wiping tears all over the pillow, I sat up, unable to breathe well. Flipping on the light again, I crossed my legs and practiced slowing my breathing, taking in long breaths and letting them out slowly. Glancing over at the nightstand, I stared at the journal for a few seconds.

Yes. Reading her journal felt like a violation of her privacy. I never read her journals when we were younger. But she crossed a line with Ronin. Her privacy no longer meant that much to me.

Praises for her new husband filled the first part of her journal. I didn’t care to read every word, every detail about their life—some details were about their sex life. I skipped ahead. She expressed frustration with her role as First Lady. I could have predicted that. Skipping ahead again, I read a few opening lines of another entry, but I didn’t stop. I couldn’t stop because I couldn’t believe the words on the page.