Chapter 12

I was on my back in a strange bed and my world was spiraling out of control.

I felt like I'd been on a week-long bender—not that I'd ever actually been on one but I suspected this was what it would feel like. The room was spinning, my stomach was queasy, my muscles hurt, and I was hot all over. In some faraway place in my mind I wondered if this was my body's way of protecting me. If the physical pain I felt was masking the soul-crushing emotional agony I wasn't ready to deal with.

Physical was easier.

Physical I could get over.

But the other stuff, the way I knew my heart was shattering and my soul was crying I wasn't so sure.

Everything had been a lie.

Every. Thing.

Since I was twelve every single day had been a betrayal.

And the one person I trusted and loved had perpetrated the worst of it.

Charlie wasn't my hero.

He was the devil.

A chill slithered down my spine, cooling my overheated skin. Making me simultaneously hot and cold while at the same time making me vibrate with overwhelming rage.

I'd given up everything to be who Charlie encouraged me to be.

He'd molded me after Pigeon.

He'd told me she was the best mediator he'd ever seen.

There wasn't a deal she couldn't swing, a situation she couldn't negotiate, a man who hadn't respected her.

She was magnificent, Nebraska. Calm under pressure, persuasive, fair but tough when she needed to be. But most of all she had an iron will. No one crossed Pidge.

I heard the stories.

What Charlie failed to mention was he was telling me stories about my mother.

The same mother who was alive.

I was going to be sick.

Or cry.

I wasn't sure which.

But I knew I'd rather puke until I passed out than shed a single tear for the assholes who'd betrayed me.

I couldn't break.

Not yet.

Maddon had to be dealt with and now more than ever I was determined he would die by my hand.

I couldn't hold back the first tear and once it escaped the floodgates opened.

There in a room that was not mine, in a country far away from my home, I stared at the ceiling wondering how I would pick up the pieces of my life as the sting of betrayal leaked out of my soul and ran down my cheeks.

I was hot all over.

Not just hot, sweltering.

I opened my eyes to a dark room. I immediately knew where I was. And just as immediately I remembered.

Before I could roll away from the heat source I felt strong, calloused fingers wrap around the back of my neck then heard a rumbled, "You okay?"

Easton.

In bed with me.

What in the hell?

With great effort I forced myself to relax.

"Why are you in here?"

The fingers at the back of my neck pulsed.

"Babe," he murmured.

"Is that an answer?"

I laid perfectly still when the bed moved. I stopped breathing when I felt that heat get closer. I fought back a whimper when Easton's forehead gently hit the back of my head.

"I heard you, baby."

I wasn't sure what he heard other than me being a total bitch to him after I found out everyone in my life whom I'd once trusted lied to me. But that didn't explain why he was in bed with me.

"Easton—"

"I heard you crying."

Ohmigod.

My eyelids drifted closed as if by doing that I could block out the mortification.

"The walls are thin," he went on quietly. "Heard you. Waited. Then I couldn't take it and came in here. When I got into bed with you, you quieted."

Okay that wasn't mortifying, that was mortification times a thousand.

"You had a rough day." He made an easy excuse for my mental breakdown and sobbing fest.

Rough didn't cover finding out you were living a big, fat lie.

But I didn't correct him.

"Tomorrow's gonna be a long day. Try and get some more sleep, yeah?"

Easton was still murmuring softly. If I was in my right mind, and not trapped in the fog of having him so close touching me I would've contemplated his kindness. He was being gentle with me after I'd been nothing but a royal bitch to him since I'd found him in my hotel room. I'd lost count of how many times I'd told him he was a dick or called him an asshole. Yet, there he was in bed with me, offering me comfort as my world shattered apart. He'd heard me crying and came to me after I'd been nothing but ugly.

I needed to apologize.

I should've told him I appreciated his kindness but I was fine, and let him off the hook so he could go back to his own bed.

But my voice caught in my throat.

It had been many, many years—so many of them, they could be measured in decades since I'd felt… well, safe. Not in the physical sense but emotionally. I hadn't been allowed to have an honest, emotional reaction in so long I didn't know what to do with how I was feeling. Nor did I know how to allow myself to feel it.

Since I couldn't speak, I nodded.

Easton's fingers gave my neck another squeeze before his hand slid to the side, down my shoulder, arm, and finally rested on my hip.

I was still in my loose linen pants and cream button-up shirt. My hair was still twisted up into a messy bun though I figured it was now messier than it was when I'd pulled it up that morning. I'd already kicked off the ballet flats I'd worn that day when I first crawled into the bed.

All of that to point out I was fully dressed and I assumed Easton was as well.

Yet, I'd never felt more naked in my whole life.