5. Reed

Reed

5

Carter walks over to the safe and punches in the code.

"What are you doing?"

"I told you." He turns around, and I spot the gun in his hand when he does. "I can't do this without you."

He places his finger over the trigger and positions the barrel under his chin.

"No." I drop the clothes I was putting in the suitcase and rush over to him. "Don't do this."

"I'm fucking sorry, Reed. Don't you get that?" His breathing is frantic. "I told you I was sorry, and you're still packing your shit."

I grab his forearm, trying to pull the gun away, but he's too strong. My nails dig into his skin, but I'm shaking and losing my strength as I panic.

"Don't do this." I'm pleading, trying to pull his arm with my entire body weight. "I love you."

"You're leaving." It's so loud, I jump. "I didn't mean to hurt you. It was an accident."

Excuses. Excuses.

I've heard them all so many times, and I still want to believe them. My pain is nothing compared to the thought that he might kill himself. Because hating what he does to me doesn't stop me from loving him. And I hate that more.

"Please." I'm hanging on Carter's arm, trying to pull the gun away, sinking slowly down to the ground in front of him. "Please."

His posture is loosening slightly as my knees hit the ground, and I'm kneeling. Begging. Crying.

Am I anything anymore without this man?

He relaxes his arm, and the moment he does, I point the gun at myself.

"Please don't do this, Carter. I love you."

For a moment, his finger tenses on the trigger, and I think this is it. He's changed his mind, and his rage is turning from himself to me. I stare down the barrel and part of me wants him to do it.

At least then I can stop living with the fact that I'm a coward.

"Reed." Like he's coming to, he drops the gun to the ground, dropping to his knees in front of me. "I'm sorry."

He grabs the sides of my face in his hands. His fingers slip over my tear-streaked cheeks, and he pulls me in and kisses me.

"I'm sorry." He kisses me again. "Don't go." Another kiss. "I'll get help." Kiss. "I'll get better."

Every time he pulls back, I accept the lie and let it fill the cracks.

He'll get better.

He'll be who he was in the beginning.

He'll love me again.

But even as he pulls me in for another kiss—I see it. The barrel of the gun. The one I can't seem to stop staring down.

"Reed." My name snaps me out of my thoughts.

I'm staring at the bronze door handle because something about it reminded me of the barrel of a gun.

Guns never scared me when I was surrounded by them as a kid. My dad taught me and my brother how to shoot when we were young. But pulling the trigger isn't the same thing as being at the other end. Especially when someone you should be able to trust is the one pointing it at you.

My gaze moves to Lyla standing in the doorway, and even if she tries to hide it, she flinches. Her whole body tenses when she looks me over. Her purple eyes skim my face, and it's clear she's biting back whatever she wants to say.

She brushes her black hair off her shoulders and straightens up tall as she walks to meet me at the edge of the bed.

"I'd say it's good to see you, but under the circumstances…" I trail off, forcing a smile.

It's awkward, and I know that. That's why I normally hide myself away from work and social events when this happens.

"You don't have to do that for me, Reed. You're practically my sister." Lyla sits down on the bed and takes my hand.

"Do what?"

"Pretend you're okay for my sake." Her gaze trails over the cuts on my face. "It's okay for you to not be okay. It's okay to let yourself feel it."

Pressing my lips together, I take a breath through my nose. Lyla and her sister Ellie grew up on the Twisted Kings compound with me. They were practically family, so I know I don't need to hide my pain from Lyla. If anyone can understand it, she can. She's experienced worse herself, and it resulted in her losing Ellie.

Still, my defenses are in overdrive, and every time I try to let my walls down to process it all, something holds me back.

"What if I don't want to feel it?"

"Then that's okay too. There's no right or wrong way to process this."

"Did your cards tell you that?"

Lyla and her tarot cards might as well be attached at the hip. She's always reading the future and the signs of the universe. It's why I think she saw this coming last time I was here, even if she didn't know exactly what it was that I was hiding.

"The cards only say so much." Lyla squeezes my hand. "The rest is your story to tell if and when you're ready."

"When did you get so calmingly insightful?"

Lyla tries to bury her grin, and that's when I notice her face is brighter than it was the last time I saw her. It might be love or something else, but she's practically glowing.

"Wait." I let go of her hand and turn to face her on the bed. "What's different?"

"This isn't about me, Reed." She shakes her head and brushes her fingers over her cheeks like she can sense her body's giving her away. "I'm here for you."

"And I'm so tired of thinking about me right now, that if I have to face one more person looking at me like I'm broken or scared, I won't be able to handle it. So please, forget me for a minute and tell me what's going on."

Lyla bites her lip, a smile creeping up in the corner of her mouth. "It's early still."

"Early for what?"

"I'm pregnant." It's almost a whisper, but the smile that spreads her cheeks speaks volumes.

"What?" My hands fly to my mouth as tears spring to my eyes. Pulling her in for a hug, I'm shaking. "I'm going to have a niece or nephew."

Lyla is crying and nodding, and I can't hold back my own tears.

Pulling away, my gaze drops to her belly, and my heart grows in my chest. Sage and Lyla have been through so much to be together, and they're finally getting everything they deserve.

Nothing in the past forty-eight hours has made sense, until now. It settles that Lyla's growing my brother's baby, and I finally find the clarity I need. I find a kind of love that offers me strength.

For my family. For my niece or nephew.

I need to be stronger for them.

"I just found out." She smiles. "I'm still in shock, and I don't think Sage is going to survive the stress of it. The second I say I'm nauseous, he wants to tie me to the bed and take care of me."

My brother is so soft for her, and I love it.

"Let him take care of you. You don't have to do this on your own." I squeeze her hand, thinking about how Mason said something similar to me this morning.

"I'm so happy for you guys."

"You're going to be an auntie." She smiles.

An aunt. Someone another person is going to look up to.

My gaze moves to the mirror—to the darkening bruises on my face. This isn't who I am, and not something I want my niece or nephew to see. I was strong once—maybe I can find her again.

Somewhere deep.

I could at least try searching for her.

"I brought you some things." Lyla hops off the bed when she notices me staring at myself in the mirror.

Walking to the doorway, she picks up the bag she dropped when she came in.

"I know we don't have the same style, but I grabbed what I thought might work, and we can always go shopping."

Lyla wears a lot of fishnets and short skirts. She likes band tees and has more edge than I do. So I appreciate that when she digs through the clothes she brought, it's more subtle. Jeans, tank tops, sweaters. More my style.

"I should have brought my things."

"You can always get new things." Lyla shakes her head. "Or your brother can have the guys go get yours. That isn't important. You got out, and that means you brought the only thing that matters. Yourself."

Myself, and the ever-present ghost of Carter, rattling around in my heart.

Her hands pause on the clothes, and she looks at me.

"Did you bring any makeup?" I feel like a coward for even asking because it's just another way I hide from reality. Still, I don't like walking around this raw. Where everyone can see all my secrets.

Lyla nods, digging to the bottom of the bag. "Foundation, eyeshadow, mascara. The basics."

She sets them on the bed beside me, and I gather them.

"Thanks." She found a tone that matches my skin, which is a shade warmer than hers. Which means she must have asked around the girls at the clubhouse.

It won't hide my eye, but at least it will do something. It's always the worst when he bursts blood vessels in my eyes. They take a couple of weeks to fade, and I'd be confined to the apartment I shared with him so I wouldn't be seen.

The isolation was nearly as bad as the punishment.

I wasn't allowed access to my own money.

Friends.

He'd come home or he wouldn't. And I lived in that hell, while on the outside, everyone assumed I was Carter's fairytale princess.

Lyla nods, her eyes glossing over. "Sorry, I'm just emotional. Pregnancy hormones."

"At least you've got an excuse."

Between the nightmares and sporadic crying fits, I wish I had a reason other than the fact that I stayed too long with the wrong man.

Standing up, I make my way to the mirror and start coating my cheeks with foundation. If I wasn't a journalist, maybe I'd be a makeup artist. I've become a professional at hiding things. Slowly skating from one bruise to the next, I watch them disappear. One by one, I erase the truth of what Carter did.

When I'm done, I almost look like myself. I'm presentable, except for the blood pooling in the white of my left eye. It's the best I can do until it fades. It will get worse like it always does, and eventually, it'll get better.

The same can't be said for the bruises and scars no one sees beneath the surface.

Lyla walks over to me and grabs my hand, offering a sad smile as she stares at me through the mirror.

"It'll be okay, Reed. Maybe not today. And maybe not next week or next month. But eventually, it will be okay. I promise. We'll get through this together."

"Has Sage heard from Carter?" I swallow, and the lump in my throat feels like concrete sitting there.

Lyla's lips purse, and I can tell she doesn't want to answer, but she will out of loyalty to me. Which is why I asked her and not my brother.

"Carter called him this morning." She squeezes my hand. "Sage dealt with it."

I'm sure he did—for now. But just like the makeup covering my bruises, it's a temporary fix.

Lyla might be right; this might all work out eventually. I'm just not sure how bad it's going to hurt trying to get there. Or how much more I can take.