“I’m sorry. I know you miss her.”
“Yeah, but I’m trying to kill that.”
I wince. I shouldn’t because I understand what he means. It killed me how much I missed my mom too. It killed because she left me, because she left Lily, because she left us with him. I thought if I smothered her memory enough, I would be whole again.
Correction: I would be whole for the very first time. Eventually, I discovered my mother was taken from me, and maybe Griff will discover something took his mother too. Booze, men, something.
But it won’t ever replace this: Neither of us was ever enough for our parents. Life would be so much easier if you always loved the things that would love you back.
I clasp both hands together. “I know it’s a stupid question because I know you’re not, but still . . . are you okay?”
“Are you?”
Once, that would’ve been sincere. Now, it’s a challenge. We look at each other, and this time, Griff’s the one to look away.
“I’m glad you told Bren everything,” he says to the kitchen beyond me. “I had no idea . . . until it was too late.”
My throat funnels shut. “Griff, there were all these things I couldn’t tell you. I wanted to, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it.”
“So you just what? Buried them inside you? Let them hurt you instead of me?”
For a second, I’m suspended above us, and then, suddenly, I crash into me. “Yes.”
His laugh is so soft it should sound sweet. Instead, it makes all the hairs on my arms stand up. “You don’t get it, do you, Wicked? When you hurt so do I.”
He says it like he hates it. Again. We’re staring at each other. Again.
Or we are until my eyes swing to the carpet and stick.
“I couldn’t watch you destroy yourself anymore. You’re demanding, difficult, sensitive, difficult . . . and so incredibly perfect.”
His breath catches and I glance up. This time, I don’t look away. I can’t.
“And you’re so far into this,” Griff says softly. “I’m going to have to watch you drown.”
My vision blurs. Tears. He’s not going to make me cry. He’s not. “Then leave.”
“I can’t.”
“If you want to play the tortured hero, go somewhere else.” Blurry. Blurrier. I blink and blink. “It won’t work for me. I don’t need it. But—” I force myself to meet his eyes. “I’m sorry I let you down and I’m sorry about what happened to us.”
For a long moment, neither of us says anything. Tears are sliding down my face and I’m pretending they’re not there. Stupid really. I know he sees them and that’s worse.
Griff’s bandaged hands go to his knees. “I’m sorry too. I wanted you for you, but I didn’t fully understand who that even was and I punished you for . . . well, I had my own shit that I didn’t come clean about. I just didn’t want to talk about it. I wanted to pretend it was happening to someone else.”
“I get that.”
“I know. I understand that now. I wish I’d understood it sooner.”
More quiet. It makes fresh tears crowd my eyes. This is all that’s left of us: awkward pauses and broken promises and realizations that come too late to save anything.
“You went so dark, Wick. Where you were . . . I wanted to reach you and I couldn’t. I don’t think anyone could.”
“You’re right. I didn’t know what I wanted or who I was.”
Or maybe I did.
“Maybe,” I say, rolling the word carefully because this feels so true and so foreign. “Maybe what you find in the dark is what you really are? Maybe it’s what’s really there?”
His jaw tightens and his eyes narrow and I don’t care because I’m picking up speed and this needs to be said. Not for him.
For me.
“How do you find your way when you can’t see through the shadows, Griff? You grope. You stumble. You feel for every crack, every hold, every edge. I know all of my broken places now. It used to be something I was ashamed of, but now it shows me what I want.”
His eyes briefly widen and that beautiful, ruined mouth opens. Shuts. Griff shakes his head. Because he doesn’t understand? Or because he doesn’t want to hear?
“How much did you find out about Looking Glass?” I ask and I know I’ve broadsided him. I need to. I need to wrench this conversation somewhere else, anywhere else. “Did you know Milo is Dr. Norcut’s son?”
“No.” There’s a long pause. “Shit. Are you sure?”
“Yeah.”
“Then that means . . .”
“They were engineering my arrival for a while. I have no idea how long they’ve been watching—long enough, I guess.”
Griff examines his hands. “Did you really torture Bay?”
“I thought it was a training exercise.”
“Anyone willing to back you on that?”
I close my eyes, shake my head, but I can still feel Alex’s hands on mine just before she slipped. “My roommate would’ve—Alex—but she ran. I helped her escape. Considering her skill set, she’s probably halfway across Europe by now. At least, I hope she is.”
“Good for her, not so great for you.”