His eyes look dark today. Not the usual blue I’m used to. No, today, the blacks of his pupils are larger than normal.
But that’s not all. His jaw is set in a hard line.
Something is wrong.
Continuing my assessment, I see that he’s holding something.
A bottle of whiskey.
Shit.
Something is very wrong.
“Tobias?” My voice is low. Unsure. Asking him with one word to tell me why he’s here and praying I’m overthinking this.
“Can I come in?” Even his voice sounds different. Typically, it’s strong and commanding, but tonight, it’s softer and filled with sympathy.
“I guess,” I mumble, trying not to jump to conclusions.
Moving back, I quickly scan the small living room. Luckily, it’s not a mess, although my sweatshirt is on the loveseat, which reminds me—I look down and remember that I’m wearing a white camisole, my nipples clearly visible under it. Great. Just great.
When I look up to see if Tobias noticed, I see that he’s not even looking at me. He seems to be lost in thought.
“Tobias?”
“Yeah . . .”
Everything about Tobias is off tonight. He’s lost in his thoughts as I lead him farther into my little apartment.
“You’re actually scaring me a little. Why are you here?” I ask while crossing my arms in front of me. “Why are you here?” I say again, more forcefully.
“I need to talk to you, but I think maybe—”
“Spit it out!” My voice echoes through the small apartment, bouncing off the walls. If I weren’t so nervous and angry, I might care that I shouldn’t be screaming when my walls are paper-thin, but I can’t find it in me to care when I need to know why he’s here.
“I found out what the paper was.”
“And?” I croak as my heart starts to thump radically in my chest. Time stands still as he moves closer to me. It feels like my heart might burst open.
“Please just tell me, Tobias.”
“Your dad’s sick, Skye.”
“Sick, how sick? He was just at the doctor’s. He said it was routine. He said he’d be fine.”
“He lied, Skye.”
“How sick?” My right hand cups my left wrist as I try to calm myself. “Please tell me.”
He takes my hand in his, and then his finger is on the pulse. The pulse under my tattoo.
It feels like I’m breaking apart, but with his fingers on my tattoo, I breathe.
“Your father has stage four liver failure. He’s terminal.”
Despite how strong I am, I can’t hold back the sob that tears through my lungs.
My knees drop from beneath me, my body plunging into an abyss.
Falling.
Falling.
But I never crash.
I’m cradled in his arms.
Pulled tight to him.
His arms are around me, holding me tightly. “Shh,” he coos, or at least, that’s what I think he says.
It sounds like jumbled words spoken underwater. I can’t make them out beneath the sound of my sobs. Before I know what’s happening, I’m being lifted and carried to the couch.
Then Tobias is sitting and placing me on his lap. The small rational part of me knows this isn’t right. He shouldn’t be holding me. I shouldn’t let him, but it feels like I have been ripped in two. I’m bleeding out all over my rug, and without him, I would surely die.
My face nuzzles into his neck. The smell of his cologne, or maybe aftershave, infiltrates my nose, keeping me tethered to the earth.
I inhale him in and will myself to stay and not escape into the crevice of my mind where I used to go. His hand is on my back. He rubs softly as I hiccup through tears.
“I have you,” he tells me. I hold him tighter. “Inhale.” He rubs my wrist.
For a minute, I’m transported back. To a far-off world. Long before.
Tobias isn’t holding me now. No, I’m being held by a boy with crisp blue eyes.
I shake my head and push away the memories.
Tobias isn’t that boy.
That boy died.
But my fucked-up brain doesn’t want to believe that. It wants to worm its way into my brain and send me back in time, but I can’t go back there. Not when he just told me my father is dying.
Lifting my hand, I swipe the tears under my eyes, but I’m still not strong enough to move away. I still need the protection of Tobias’s arms. A thought I won’t allow myself to think about now, no, that will have to wait until tomorrow. For now, I’ll take comfort, even if it’s from him.
23
Tobias
As she cries in my arms, I hold her.
The desire to fix all her problems tightens around my chest. It feels suffocating. The need to protect her fills every inch of my body.
If only I could.
You can.
She doesn’t even remember you.
Why help her?
You weren’t important enough to remember.
A voice in the back of my head tells me to get over the anger and let it go. I sound like a little bitch, singing a Disney song meant for little girls dressed in princess costumes. Who the fuck cares anymore? Get over it.
I pull her closer, and her soft breath tickles my neck.
Having her in my arms feels right. Despite everything, I know I need her.
Not now, though. And not on false pretense.
Once I find out if I can trust her, she’ll be mine, and I won’t let her go. But how do I see if I can trust her?
It feels wrong setting her up. It feels like a betrayal. Give her information to see if she leaks it? That is the only way. Take her with you to a meeting and then set her up to see what she does.
The idea feels wrong, but before I tell her the truth, my truth, I have to see if she’s worth the risk.
A part of me knows she is.
But another part still wonders why she’s working with Felix or if that is a mere coincidence. I don’t believe in coincidences, though.
“I can’t lose him, Tobias.” Her voice cuts through my inner rambling. I can give her false promises, but I read the report Jaxson provided. There’s no hope. Once I found out what tests they had billed to insurance for her dad, I had Jaxson dig even deeper.
Ralph Matthews is dying.
It’s not if, it’s when, and by the reports, it doesn’t look good. The doctors are anticipating six months, if not shorter.
I don’t offer any kind words. There’s nothing to say.
“He’s all I have,” she whimpers. My hand runs circles up her back. “H-He adopted me.” Skye’s voice sounds broken. She’s barely holding on, falling apart at the seams. All I want to do is hold her together.
Her words have my hands stopping. I’m surprised she’s offering this up to me. But as a greedy fuck, I take it.
“He did?” I ask.
I pretend not to know, but that’s a lie. I know everything about Skye. From the moment I recognized her in the courtroom, I have made it my duty.
“My parents died. He took me in. He is everything to me. He took a scared, sad girl”—a sob breaks through her lips—“and taught me how not to be scared.”
I feel like my throat is closing. I want to ask, but I don’t.
“I don’t talk about it. I don’t think about it. My brain sometimes has a hard time remembering, but he helped me. He helped me make peace. And when I couldn’t remember—”