but Oliver sure as fuck did.
I used the time I spent at the wash station outside the NICU to reflect on what the hell I was doing. I already knew what I wanted. Destroying my father and everything he hoped to build wasn’t just for River but for the chance to offer Tyra what I couldn’t give her before. Go fucking figure. The biggest obstacle turned out to be convincing her to take the leap with me. I could always shove her ass off the cliff, but that wouldn’t be satisfying for either of us.
I didn’t want a captive.
I wanted someone who couldn’t wait to wake up to me in the morning. I wanted to feel my heart beating inside my chest again. I wanted someone who laughed at my jokes even when they weren’t funny, someone to share all of my secrets until we were old and gray and in the grave. I wanted a wife. Unfortunately, I’d waited too long to realize it, and even when I did, I couldn’t admit it to the one person who made me want it.
It wouldn’t have been possible without Tyra. I would never surrender and allow myself to feel those things for anyone else but her. And if I couldn’t convince her of that, I suppose I could settle for her tying her to bed. It wasn’t ideal, but it was better than living without her.
Sighing, I dried my hands before stepping into the NICU. I wasn’t sure I’d ever grow used to the sound of crying babies. Two seconds and I could already feel my head splitting.
When I stepped inside of River’s room, the first thing I noticed was the photos.
Every single one was of Tyra and covering the floor, arranged in chronological order. The girl in question was kneeling before them with a deep frown on her face, not in disbelief of what she was seeing but in concentration. The empty folder I’d place them in had been tossed aside.
Hearing me, she looked up, her pink lips parted. I wasn’t sure how long we stared at each other before she spoke. “What is this, Vaughn? Why do you have these?”
Kneeling, I wordlessly started collecting them. The first one I grabbed was a photo of Tyra crossing the street. Her hair had been blowing in the wind, her eyes downcast as if she didn’t care whether or not a bus ran her over. The second was a shot of her entering her dorm. The third… I inhaled and exhaled. The third was her sitting alone on a bench, crying her eyes out. I didn’t have to question whether each one of those tears had been because of me.
The rest of them were much of the same, and in each one, she’d been sad. Not a single one held a smile, and I knew from the gauntness of her face she’d lost weight despite her being pregnant and not knowing it at the time. I wondered if River’s early birth had been because of me. Because I’d reduced Tyra into not caring whether she lived or died.
The irony that I’d given up everything so she could live wasn’t lost on me.
“My father had them taken,” I finally told her after I’d gathered all of the photos and shoved them back into the folder.
“Why would he do that?”
I almost blinked in surprise. I expected shock, tears, screams, and accusations. Instead, she seemed almost resigned.
“Up until two months ago, I’ve been his prisoner. He kept me locked up, but he didn’t use chains. He hurt me, but he didn’t use his men to make me bleed. This…” I waved the folder full of surveillance photos—all of Tyra seemingly safe and sound. With one phone call that could have easily changed. “This was how he tortured me.”
“The last one was taken some time after Thanksgiving. Harvard’s holiday committee didn’t hang Christmas decorations until after everyone was back.”
I nodded, remembering how insane it had driven me, not knowing whether Tyra was still alive or not. My father had taken more pleasure in that than anything. “I didn’t realize why until I saw you again. Until I knew about River. My father didn’t want me to know you were pregnant.”
It also explained his toast the day he finally let me free. He’d known about Tyra having my baby and had been waiting for me to lead them both right to him. It was all I could do not to rush home and slit his throat. The