Sadness and pain crushed her. How ironic that a man was touching her for the first time in her life, and she’d never felt more alone.
And Shea… Shea might have hated this man with all her life. Shea might have hated her mother more than she ever had before. But not nearly as much as she hated herself.
I STOOD IN THE hallway outside Mark’s door. My chest heaved as I sucked down a steeling breath, hand shaking on the knob. Searching for courage just to open the fucking door.
Quiet echoed down the hall of the huge house. All the guys were gone and Austin was tucked away in his room down the opposite hall.
We’d been back in L.A. for two days and my girls would be here tomorrow. This needed to get done and soon.
We were pressing on with our original plans, refusing to back down to Jennings’s threats. Besides, we figured it was safer for them to be here. With me.
God knew I’d sleep better.
Had Kenny, another attorney, and some of their guys here in L.A. digging their heels in deep, trenching through any shit they could find on the pompous bastard. Shit that had nothin’ to do with Sunder or Shea or any of us. Safe shit that would still send him straight to hell, because we knew where his greedy hands had been.
What Shea didn’t know was I had a reserve. A backup plan. That I’d gladly incriminate myself to finally make Jennings go away.
For good.
One way or another, we were going to make sure he had no say about anything in Kallie’s future.
Now I just needed to make it through this door. Just didn’t know it was going to be so damned hard.
Cold raced up my arm as my hand clutched the metal knob, and I squeezed my eyes, forcing myself to turn it. The door swung open, hinges squeaky from disuse.
The smell clinging to the abandoned room hit me like two tons of bricks.
I squeezed my eyes tighter as I fought it, before I finally released the breath I’d been holding and shuddered through a deep inhale.
It was musty and stifled, but in it was him, like the leather of that old jacket he’d always worn and a hint of the herbal cigarettes he’d always smoked.
Grief that’d been locked up tight battled for escape. Gathering like a thunderstorm in my chest. Slowly building. Enclosing on my throat.
The loss of Mark had been so sudden and traumatic, part of it still didn’t feel real. Sometimes I imagined I’d look up and find him rounding the corner—that shy, insecure smile he always wore spreading into something genuine and honest when he looked at me.
God, he’d been a lost soul.
So fucking lost.
But that didn’t mean the bond between the five of us wasn’t solid. Distorted, warped pieces that somehow perfectly aligned and fit. My fucked-up family. But I thought maybe the bond between Mark and I had been even greater because I’d been so fucking lost, too.
Dazed, I drifted out into the middle of the room as I felt the weight of my friend’s loss. Rays of light streaked in from the gap in the blinds, cutting into the gloom. The king bed was unmade, a rumple of sheets and blankets that spoke of a thrashing spirit, sheets of paper strewn about the floor, the words so often silent on his tongue lashed out across the pages.
I wandered over to his desk. My fingertips trailed over the picture displayed in a frame. It was all the guys with our arms slung over each other’s shoulders, beers in our free hands, Zee and Austin there, too. It brought on a wistful smile, and I shook my head, wondering how the hell I was ever going to get through this.
But I had to.
Had a little girl who was ready to shine her light on this desolate room.