“Story?” I said her name aloud, not entirely convinced I wasn’t seeing a ghost.
She stopped, then kept walking—faster—heading toward the servants’ quarters. I rushed after her, before she vanished into thin air again.
I grasped her elbow. “Story, wait.”
She yanked at my grip. “Leave me alone!”
“I’m trying to tell you something.”
“I don’t want to hear it—”
I spun her to me. “Dammit, Story. I’m sorry.”
“You put a bounty on my head with the Horsemen!” Her voice raised, but she quickly lowered it, eyeing the open front door at my back, where my grandfather and mother, Lottie, and her entire family still stood.
I wanted to pull her close and hug her. To force that angry face into my chest and caress her back into soothing breaths.
Instead I clenched my jaw. “I was trying to find you, Snitch. I didn’t know what to do…you fucking disappeared.”
“Nobody would take on my case.” Tears brightened the fear in her eyes. “You left me no options. No choice.”
She shook her head, looking away at some distant threat I couldn’t see. With each word she spoke, my gut knotted tighter and tighter.
She was back.
She was safe.
So why did she keep talking like something horrible had happened?
“I made a mistake, Story. I shouldn’t have threatened you.”
What was that look on her face? She looked so fucking scared.
“I was scared. Stupid. Immature. Scared.” I gripped her hands in mine. “Shit, I don’t know how to love one person, let alone two. The idea of you leaving with our baby…” I took a breath. “I went crazy. I lost my mind. It’s not an excuse. Can you forgive me?”
Her eyes finally met mine, and I could see the tears she barely kept at bay. Sludge pumped from my heart. I was so fucking worthless.
I’d done this to her.
The mother of my child.
“I’ll never hurt you, Snitch. I would never do any of that. I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry, Story…”
She was still so quiet. Saying so much with her eyes and yet none of it I could understand. I looked at her hands in mine, thumbed the fragile bones in her palm.
“Do you know I can count on my hand the number of times I’ve apologized?” I said quietly. “They’ve all been to you.”
“Grayson…” she said, eyes crinkled in pain. “It’s too late.”
“It’s not too late, Snitch. It’s not.” My chest filled with butterflies. I didn’t even know where to begin, how to make up for what I’d done.
We’re free. I did it. I’m doing it.
“I have to say, Gray,” West said. “I don’t particularly appreciate the way you’re touching my wife.”
My words died on my tongue. The next moments happened in slow motion. A hand slid around Story’s waist, drawing her from me, until her hands slipped from mine.
Wife. The word bounced around my brain like a rogue tennis ball, leaving bruises and damage in its wake.