“Not that you haven’t told me countless times already, but what’s one more? It was my fault you were mistaken for me. It was my fault your girlfriend at the time was murdered in front of you.”
“No, it was your fault you let them walk away. I stood on the other side of that fucking door thinking that you, the actual person that was meant to feel pain beneath his hands,” —Niklaus pointed over at Luka, though his attention was still on Mishca— “would want to make them pay for what they did, but one little cut over Jetmir’s eye and blinding him in it was enough for you. Would it have made a difference if it was in you that seat, Mishca? Or maybe you would prefer having to watch Lauren burn alive even as she told you she loved you.”
His words…laced with such hurt and accusation were enough to make Reagan feel a pang in her chest as she digested everything Mishca hadn’t said, and all that Niklaus had revealed.
She knew about his torture, he had told her as much, not to mention that scars those days had left behind. But he had never, not once, mentioned that he hadn’t been alone that day.
Sarah, she thought Mishca had said.
Reagan had always wondered whether there had been someone Niklaus had cared for and perhaps lost because when she met him…he had seemed so lonely.
It would also explain a lot…like why he left and why he was so guarded.
How could he have ever moved past that?
“You told me not to lay my weakness at your door, remember? It no longer is.”
“Then what will you deem acceptable, hmm? I’ve offered you everything I could possibly—”
“There’s nothing you could give me that I want—not anyone that would matter to me.”
And that cut a little deeper.
Reagan withdrew her hand from his body before realizing she had. The minute she moved, all eyes came to her, as though only now remembering that she was in the room with them.
Understanding dawned in Mishca’s eyes, but Niklaus…she couldn’t read anything from him, only that he was extremely unhappy.
He started to say her name, but she cut him off with a forced smile. “You should let her finish with your arm.”
Time stretched between them as he merely stared at her, as though that would give him time to work out how she felt and make sense of it, but she didn’t—or rather she was afraid of what she would learn.
Accepting her silence, he grabbed the stool from the floor and sat, but before Lauren could go to him, he grabbed the wipes from the pack and gently cleaned the last of the blood from his arm.
Clearing her throat, Lauren’s gaze turned to Sacha as he toddled over to her, pointing at his uncle with his little finger, then making a face. “Yeah, Uncle Niklaus hurt himself.”
With all the careless grace of a child, he went over to Niklaus, grabbing on to his leg as he reached up with the other arm and waited.
Niklaus, whose body was taut with tension, relaxed a bit as he tossed the wipes on the ground to pick up his nephew. Sacha didn’t waste a beat, reaching up to rub his hand through Niklaus’ hair, and giving him a few pats on the head before pressing his mouth to Niklaus’ cheek in a wet kiss.
His job done, he slid back to the ground, leaving Niklaus smiling in his wake. But it wasn’t to Lauren that he walked, but to Mishca, who was already reaching for him before he got close.
When he was settled in his lap, Sacha did the same to him, as though trying to erase the pain his father must have felt.
In moments, he had calmed the near raging storm between them.
And all it had taken was a pat on the head from the smallest person in the room.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Leaving the penthouse, Niklaus knew he had fucked up somewhere during that whole argument with Mishca, if the way Reagan was acting towards him now was any indication. She had hardly said two words to him after they had boarded the elevator, and not even before then.
He tried to cast his mind back, think of everything he had said in the heat of the moment, but none of it had been about Reagan, and most of it had just reflected his feelings for Mishca, but he hadn’t been particularly cruel…at least in his opinion.
But he didn’t attempt to ask about it yet, not until she calmed down.
Back at her place, she disappeared into her bedroom as he stopped in the bathroom, grabbing his bag along the way. Hunting for a new shirt, he dropped it on the toilet before carefully reaching up to remove the bandaid off his shoulders, then replacing it with a new one.
After, he washed the dried blood on his chest and hands, scrubbing the flecks from beneath his nails. By the time he finished, and splashed water on his face, carefully pulling the clean material on, Reagan was coming back out, heading in his direction.
One thing he had always loved about her was the way she never backed down from him, how fearless she was in that regard, but now she looked almost afraid to speak.
It was selfish of him, he knew, to be afraid of what she might say next and how it would affect him. If she asked him to leave, though he might have even wanted to leave her in peace, he didn’t think he would be able to.