“Details are scarce at the moment, but looks like sometime last night,” Archer reported.
Rhys read the headline, trying to weed through all his thoughts. “How sure are they that this is a suicide?” Scott had felt remorse. Jake hadn’t. Rhys knew when pressed into a tight corner, people did terrible things.
“My thoughts went there, too, but Hunt is working the case. He told me this morning that it’s an open-and-shut case. Scott left a suicide note, cleaned up all his finances for his family; he was very methodical about it all.”
Only one thing mattered to Rhys. “Did he name Zoey in his note?”
“Not that I’m aware of. He only stated that some wrongs could never be forgiven and he was tired of living a lie.”
Rhys snorted. “Well, he wasn’t wrong.”
“Agreed,” Archer said. “I’ll reach out if anything further develops.”
“Appreciate it.” Rhys ended the call and headed straight for his closet. Only one person was on his mind now. How would Zoey react to this news? Just the thought had him quickly throwing on jeans and a t-shirt and making his way to his front door, grabbing his keys and wallet off the small table.
In quick time, he reached the parking garage and sped out in his sports car. Zoey’s place was far, and with traffic, it took him longer than he would have liked to arrive at the loft on the shipyard. Every minute, every second, feeling like a lifetime. A phone call to Zoey was faster but would be impersonal, and certainly not how Rhys wanted to break the news. He needed Zoey in his arms. After he found a parking spot, he sprinted through the building and knocked on her door, only belatedly realizing how early it was. A quick look at his watch revealed it was seven thirty. But when the door whisked open and he caught sight of Hazel’s sad eyes, he knew he hadn’t gotten here fast enough.
“Zoey?” he asked.
“She’s in here.” Hazel opened the door wider.
Rhys found Zoey sitting on the couch, her legs pulled up tight to her chest, her red-rimmed eyes locked on the news. He made it inside in three large strides, and the moment he got close, Zoey’s eyes landed on him. Something in his chest broke, yanking him forward until he dropped to his knees in front of her. “Don’t look at me that way. Do you hear me, Zoey?”
Her chin quivered. Tears welled in her sweet eyes. “I did this to him.”
“No,” he said firmly, taking her shaky hands in his. “This is not on you. Scott did this to himself.”
“If you need us, we’ll just be in my room.”
Rhys recognized Elise’s voice from behind him, but he never looked back. He couldn’t look away from the dark despair on Zoey’s face, the blame heavy in her features. A feeling he understood intimately, one he’d felt for a long time after Katherine died when he could do nothing to save her. But Zoey wasn’t Katherine, and Rhys was ready to battle this storm. “Talk to me,” he said, cupping her face.
She leaned into his hold, her eyes fluttering shut. “I just can’t stop thinking about that night you confronted him. He looked so remorseful.” Her sad eyes met his again and held. “When he apologized, it was clear he was haunted by what he’d done.”
“He should have been haunted,” Rhys reminded her gently, holding her face tightly, keeping her attention wholly on him. “That guilt was his to bear. And only his.”
“Maybe.” Her chin quivered. “Maybe not. I wanted justice, but I never wanted to destroy him.”
He wanted to remind her that Scott had destroyed her for a long time without any care, but that wouldn’t help. To be so cold wasn’t in her heart. And he cherished that about her. He joined her on the couch, gathering her in his arms, close to him. When he rested his chin on the top of her head, he said, “Feel what you feel right now, but tomorrow let that go. This isn’t on you, Zoey.”
“Then, why does it feel like it is,” she cried.
He locked his arms around her, wishing he could bear this for her. Hell, he wished he could take all of this away. Furthermore, he wished he could take away anything in the future that would hurt her. He dropped his lips to her head, and the sweet vanilla of her shampoo infused the air. Speaking from personal experience, he offered, “Life has many, many dark moments, and you can’t run from those, but you don’t need to face this alone. What do you need from me?”
“Just this,” she said, her voice small.
He tightened his arms further, hoping, praying, this would somehow ease her suffering. With the warmth of her body against him, washed with vulnerability and sadness, he had to shut his eyes against the familiarity. Against the moment when he was powerless to help someone in pain. He thought he could avoid this feeling forever. Would run if he ever felt it again.
He didn’t run.
He stayed.
“Tell me what you’re thinking,” he eventually said, breaking the long silence.
She paused, a heavy pause. When she spoke again, he couldn’t hear tears in her voice. “I’m thinking that this was not the outcome I wanted. I just wanted to feel better, you know? I didn’t want my actions to end in someone’s death.”
His stomach turned, and he locked his arms around her. “Your actions didn’t result in someone’s death. Scott’s actions did.” He leaned away to tip her chin up to him, meeting her despondent stare. “People make their choices. You made yours. Good things will come from that. Scott made his. His weren’t good choices; nothing good can come from that.”
Her eyes searched his. “You think Scott deserved this fate?”