33. Cope

33

COPE

I stared into the starry night and took a deep breath of the air that always seemed to help me find peace, but I was reaching for it harder now as if it was just out of my grasp. Gripping my phone tighter, I walked farther into the grass surrounding my pool. “Were you able to start today?”

“Cope.” Shep used my name as a chastisement, like putting a toddler in his place. “We just finished the plans. We still need the supplies to be delivered and?—”

“But you said the demo might be able to start soon,” I pressed. I needed this. Needed to be doing something when the past two weeks had been nothing but powerlessness. Sutton was healing and had even returned to work, but Trace had nothing. Not a damn thing that might lead us to whoever had hurt her.

Between Trace’s and Anson’s contacts at the bureau, we had a damn good picture of Petrov and his operation. And all of it turned my fucking stomach. But that knowledge had nothing on the photos I’d found of Sutton’s bruised and battered face. Pictures that had become public record during the trial of the two men who had assaulted her .

Those images flashed in my head, haunting me like they had every single day since I’d seen them. Sutton. My warrior. Broken. For no other reason than she’d fallen for a weak man. Some part of me knew it wasn’t weakness; it was an illness, but I couldn’t connect with that part of me when I knew Roman Boyer had gotten Sutton mixed up with the men who’d caused her untold pain.

“Cope,” Shep snapped.

“Sorry. I’m listening.”

He let out a long sigh. “We’ll get the apartment renovated. It’ll look amazing, but all that takes time.”

I nodded, even though he couldn’t see me. “Okay.”

This had been the only thing I could focus on since getting that bastard, Rick, to sell his buildings to me on the cheap. He’d blustered and babbled, saying it was all lies, but he’d caved and sold me everything at a steal when I dropped the file of proof on his desk.

I was working with Trace to get some of the discounted funds back to the people who’d been robbed in the first place. And since Dex had slipped his findings to Trace via a completely untraceable and anonymous email address, Rick had also found himself in hot legal water. He had an alibi for the night of Sutton’s attack, but for all we knew, he’d paid for it with some of his shady earnings. I just hoped like hell that wasn’t the case, because if it was, I had yet another thing to blame myself for.

My hold on the phone tightened. I might not be able to send Rick to prison or do a damn thing about the Russian mob yet, but I could do something about Sutton not having a home. I could give her a beautiful apartment that would always be a safe harbor for her.

Just thinking about her leaving my house had a feeling of panic racing through me. Even if I knew her independence was the right thing for her, it sure as hell wasn’t for me. But our time was limited. There were only weeks left before I had to go back to Seattle—to hockey and my empty life there.

“Cope. Are you okay?” There was genuine concern in my brother’s voice, worry that had more guilt slipping in.

“No,” I admitted .

“Want me to come over? We can have a few beers and talk it out.”

I appreciated the offer more than he’d ever know, but it wouldn’t fix anything. This wasn’t fixable. I’d be there for Sutton and Luca in every way I could, but they were better off without me in their day-to-day lives. Because the attention that swirled around me put them at risk.

“Maybe another night,” I said, gripping my neck and squeezing hard. “But I appreciate it.”

Shep was silent for a long moment. “I’m worried about you.”

Fuck.

“Don’t be.” I forced my tone to be lighter. “You know I always land on my feet.”

My brother got quiet again, then sighed. “I’m here whenever you’re ready to really talk.”

“Good night, Shep.” It was all I could say because I wasn’t remotely ready for that sort of conversation.

“Night, Cope. I love you.”

My throat burned like it always did when one of my family members said those words. Because I didn’t feel like I deserved their love. But still, I gave him the words back, not wanting to be the cause of more pain. “Love you, too.”

I hit end on the call before Shep could wreck me any further. Then I turned and stalked toward the house. I slipped inside, locking the door behind me and rearming the alarm. A friend of Anson’s would be coming out to do a security analysis of my property and the bakery.

Holt Hartley was a now-silent partner in a security firm, but he was riding out here as a favor to Anson. He was supposed to be the best of the best—exactly what Sutton and Luca deserved.

I jogged up the stairs to the second floor, pausing at a giggle coming from down the hall. That innocent sound made my chest ache. Luca didn’t have a clue what was circling his mom and him. He thought Sutton had tripped at the bakery and hit her head. But now that the stitches were out, and the only remnant of Sutton’s injury was a faint bruise, he’d forgotten all about it .

The soft strains of Sutton’s voice came then, hitting me center mass. They wrapped around me and dug in as she read her son a story. That was all she should have to worry about, what book to read, and whether or not she could do all the voices.

I ripped myself away from the sound I wanted to drown in and forced my feet to take me into my bedroom. I headed straight for my closet, quickly changing into workout shorts and a tee, then donning sneakers.

I needed a run. And more than just an easy jog. I needed the feeling of my lungs on fire and my muscles quaking. I needed the sort of run that burned everything to ash.

Hurrying down two flights of stairs, I headed straight for the treadmill. Outside would’ve been better, but I wasn’t about to leave Sutton and Luca alone, even with the alarm set. I grabbed the remote to the stereo and selected some rock that Arden would almost approve of, but it still wasn’t quite enough to make your ears bleed.

Starting in a warmup jog, I let my muscles loosen. Those images of Sutton still played in my head, a revolving slideshow that would’ve had me puking if my stomach wasn’t empty. I picked up my pace, tipping into a run. Those images interchanged with others: memories of twisted metal and sounds of agony, pictures of the wreckage splashed across our local paper…

I ripped off my tee and tossed it onto the floor as sweat gathered between my pecs and down my spine. I bumped up the speed when a new song started, and the burn began. My lungs started to smolder as my muscles heated up with the barest hint of strain.

Pressing harder, I fought with the treadmill, my feet slamming into the belt with such force that it was a miracle the thing didn’t snap in two. I let the run eat at me. I let the pain take root and welcomed it. Because I deserved it all. Every last ounce of it.

The music cut off, and I nearly tripped. A misstep at this pace would’ve been catastrophic, but I caught myself just in time, quickly lowering the speed until I was back at a jog, just enough to keep warm.

Sutton stalked toward the treadmill, wearing a look that said she was supremely pissed off .

“What’s wrong?” I hit stop on the machine and jumped off.

“What’s wrong?” she parroted. “What’s wrong is I want to know why the hell you’re trying to kill yourself!”

My eyes flared. “I was just going for a run.”

“ That was not a run. That was trying to escape the hounds of hell.”

She had no idea how close to the truth that statement was. No idea how the nightmares had come back with a vengeance when I suggested she stay in her bed while she was healing.

Pain streaked across Sutton’s face. “Talk to me, Cope. Don’t shut me out.”

Agony swirled anew, a fiery burn taking root for a reason besides running. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not.” Sutton’s voice got quiet. “Please, don’t lie to my face. If you want us to leave, I get it. You probably look at me differently?—”

“What the hell are you talking about?” I snapped.

Sutton’s hands curled into fists, her fingernails digging into her palms. “You’ve barely touched me since the hospital. You watch me like a hawk but haven’t even hugged me.”

Fucking hell.

“It’s not you,” I ground out.

She let out a soft scoff. “Let me guess. ‘It’s not you, it’s me?’”

“You didn’t do a damn thing wrong. What happened is no one’s fault but Roman’s and those other animals. You didn’t deserve any of this. Not a damn thing. You fought for Luca, for yourself. You were smart and got free. Worked hard to build a good life for you and your boy.”

Sutton’s beautiful eyes glittered with unshed tears. “Then why have you been putting up all these walls?”

“I don’t deserve you,” I croaked. “I’m not good for you or Luca. I put you at risk.”

Her whole face transformed then, empathy filling her expression as she closed the distance between us. “I thought we’d been through this. I decide what I deserve and what’s good for me. ”

“You don’t understand.” My throat felt like it was on fire. “You don’t know.”

Those turquoise eyes searched mine. “Then tell me.”

I saw it then. This was the only way. The truth would send her running. So, I spoke the thing I’d buried for seventeen years. “I killed my dad and brother.”