Chapter One
Aria
“Murderer!”
Janet is still screaming at Sebastian and he’s still just standing there, taking it. His face is completely blank and it’s too dark to make out his eyes, but I’m betting there’s no reaction in them anyway. I can tell that he’s totally shut down, his whole body collapsing in on itself—which just makes this whole thing even more surreal.
“Janet,” I tell her, wrapping an arm around her waist as I try to guide her toward her apartment. “Getting this upset isn’t good for you. Let’s get you back to your apartment—”
“Stay away from her!” she yells at Sebastian, totally ignoring my attempts to budge her. Usually she’s pliant with me, so I’m a little shocked at how strong she is—how easily she’s holding her ground. “Don’t you come near Aria! Don’t you dare come near this sweet girl.”
“I’m sorry.” Sebastian’s voice is all gravel and broken glass. “I’m so sorry, Janet.”
“Sorry doesn’t mean anything!” She’s still clutching her beer bottle and she flings it at him now, warm beer splattering all over me and the pavement between us in the process.
“Hey!”
Sebastian doesn’t duck, doesn’t try to deflect the bottle in any way. Instead, he lets it hit him right in the chest. We both watch as it bounces off him, falling to the ground at his feet and shattering.
It’s the sound that does it, I think. The desperate tinkle of broken shards raining down against the dirty pavement. Janet stares at the detritus for long seconds, then seems to lose control of herself. Her legs give out, her whole body crumpling like her bones have disintegrated. Like she just doesn’t have the strength to hold herself up for one second longer.
I catch her before she goes down, her body slamming into mine, knocking me off balance. We nearly go down in a tangle of arms and legs.
Except Sebastian is suddenly there, steadying me. Steadying us. And Janet is screaming again. “Don’t touch me! Don’t touch me! Don’ttouchmedon’ttouchmedon’ttouchme!”
He steps back like he’s been burned, hands raised in obvious surrender. I don’t blame him. Janet is way far gone, totally out of it as she screams and sobs against my neck.
“I’m sorry,” I tell him. “She’s really drunk right now. I’m just going to get her to her apartment, get her settled.”
Sebastian nods, fists clenched and jaw tight. He doesn’t offer to help.
He’s in almost as bad shape as she is. I don’t know how I know that considering how self-contained he is, but I do. I can feel him breaking, can feel the memories stretching between him and Janet like a deep cavern.
I want to reach out to him, to press a hand to his shoulder, a kiss to the vulnerable underside of his jaw. But it’s taking all my strength to keep Janet upright on my own and if I move the wrong way, I’m afraid we’ll both go down. And I’m not sure if I’ll be able to get her back up.
“Come on, Janet. Let me get you inside,” I murmur, stroking her hair softly as I start an awkward, crab-like shuffle toward her apartment.
She doesn’t fight me, thank God, but she doesn’t help me much, either, so it takes twice as long as it usually does to get her to her apartment.
Once we’re there and I’m fumbling with the doorknob—it’s unlocked, thank God—I cast a look over my shoulder at Sebastian. He’s still standing in the exact same spot, shoulders tense, fists clenched, face a mask of torment.
And though I want to comfort him, there’s a part of me that’s wary as well. With my background, I’d be an idiot if I wasn’t concerned.
But that doesn’t mean I believe he’s a murderer, as Janet claims. Sebastian might be dominant and controlling and always wanting to be in charge, but he’s also a fair, decent, caring guy. I’ve seen that myself numerous times this week as well as heard stories from Michael and a couple of the other bartenders about good things he’s done since being back at the Atlantis. I have a hard time believing he would deliberately hurt anyone.
“Wait for me,” I call to him. “I won’t be long.”
“Stay away from him!” Janet shrieks at me. “He’ll hurt you, too! He hurts everyone—”
“Janet, stop!” Her door finally opens and we all but fall inside.
I drag Janet over to the couch, get her situated on it. She’s crying now, great, gasping sobs that hurt to hear.
Her grief is so raw that it seems an intrusion just to witness it. So after a moment, I walk into the kitchen and pour her a glass of water. Then I put the teakettle on to boil water, taking one of the tea bags I brought down earlier and putting it in the one clean mug I find in her cabinet.
Her sobs are quieting. Not stopping, not slowing down, but at least the harsh, violent sounds have eased up. When I glance through the kitchen doorway at her, she’s got one of the pictures of her and her son clutched to her chest.
My heart sinks a little more. Please, I whisper inside my head. To God, fate, the universe itself. Please don’t let Janet’s son be dead. And please don’t let Sebastian have had anything to do with what happened to him if he is.
It’s a futile prayer—I know that even as I make it.
And still I pray. That it didn’t happen. That there’s an explanation. That I haven’t let myself fall for a man who is no different, no better, than the father I have spent so many months running away from.
The teakettle finally starts to whistle, and I grab it quickly. I forget the pot holder and burn my hand on the handle, but at this point I don’t even care. I just want to get Janet settled and get the hell out of here. I can’t think in here, can’t breathe. I need to get away from all this pain and grief and horror—it’s swamping me, pulling me under. Bringing back everything that happened fourteen months ago until I’m one small step from curling up on the couch and keening in sorrow myself.
After I make the tea, I carry it and the glass of water to Janet. Put them on the end table next to her. And then sit on the couch by her side and pull her into a hug. How can I not? She’s devastated, broken, tears slipping slick and silent down her face as we rock gently back and forth.
“It’s okay,” I tell her, running a soothing hand down her back. “Everything’s going to be okay.”
“Nothing’s ever going to be okay again,” she tells me in a dull and terrible voice. “Dylan’s dead. He’s dead and not even all the money in the Atlantis’s vault is going to change that. He’s dead and Sebastian Caine killed him as surely as if he put the gun to his head himself.”