Page 137 of Darling Venom
Again, no answer.
But I’d already come to the conclusion myself. My heart had finally caught up with my head. There would be no forgiveness.
No future between us.
No confrontation.
There was nothing to say. The final crack to the mirror had been dealt.
We couldn’t fix it.
We were irreparably damaged.
The intent didn’t matter.
It just didn’t.
All I could focus on was the outcome. Kellan died, and I could’ve prevented it.
No wonder Leah ran into the burning house that day. Because the alternative—this—felt like shit. Like failure. One I was forced to remember every single day I spent breathing while he couldn’t.
I stared at the letter as if it were my lifeline to Kellan.
“This time, I won’t fail you.”
I had nothing to say to Leah.
But I had plenty to say to Tate.
Starting with the manuscript.
Terrence Marchetti never failed to invent new ways for me to hate him.
I woke at three in the morning to the doorbell ringing nonstop without any pauses. Like a child would do.
In other words, Terry.
And probably the seventh time this month he’d forgotten his keys and made a ruckus in the middle of the night.
Goddammit.
For once, I’d like to know what a normal family dynamic felt like. Instead, I smashed my face into my pillow, gunning for a few more minutes of sleep.
No such luck.
Terry graduated from stabbing the bell to punching the door.
The fuck?
I stormed down the stairs, taking them two at a time despite my bleary vision. If I ended up in the hospital with a broken neck, Terry would probably find a way to sue me.
I white-knuckled the knob and yanked it open, sucking in cold air.
“New house rule: if you forget your key, don’t come hom—”
I came face to face with the bane of my existence.
She wore the same thing she’d worn at the hospital earlier today. An unimpressive skirt suit that reached her calves and drowned her curves in an excess of cheap cotton. An oversized hoodie covered her torso.
