of what could be considered abuse. Give it some time, and voila, no love.” He stood.
“I love you.”
“For now.” He shrugged. “But you asked for the truth, and let’s be honest—damn, did you work your ass off to deserve it. So here it is: I’m the reason she’s dead.”
“Why would you think that?” I ignored the blatant dig at my character and concentrated on his confession.
“Because it’s true.”
“I don’t believe that.”
“I don’t give a shit what you believe.” He lifted one of the bags to his shoulder. “He never touched her—at least when I was there. He saved all that shit for me. I figured it was because she was a baby. Or because he loved her. I loved her too. It was impossible not to. And I went. Year after year, summer after summer, I went just so I could be with her, so I could protect her, like big brothers are supposed to.” He sighed. “And then I turned eighteen.”
“And visitation ends.” I drew the obvious conclusion.
His gaze flashed toward mine. “It was the first time in my life that I didn’t have to explain myself. I was an adult. Besides, he always took my phone when I got there, and I had too much college shit to organize to let that happen. He couldn’t touch me anymore, and I convinced myself—like the selfish bastard I am—that he’d never hurt Kay—” He flinched. “He loved her in a way he’d never loved me, and hey, you don’t hurt someone you love, right?”
My chest tightened, making it almost painful to breathe.
“She cried at graduation when I told her I wasn’t coming for the summer, but I promised I’d teach her the guitar. I bought one for her with the money I’d been given for graduation—Mom was never in short supply in that department.” He adjusted the bag on his shoulder and reached for the handle of the luggage. “Then I turned down every offer but Washington, because it meant I’d be close enough to see her. You got that one right back in Seattle—first person to see it.”
I didn’t feel like I’d scored a point, not with the loss I saw coming from a mile away.
“I gave it to her on her eighth birthday, but he was there, and I didn’t stick around long enough to even show her how to tune it. It was too big for her anyway. I should have gotten her a kid-sized one.” His face crumpled for a breath before he locked his jaw and lifted the suitcase to the ground. “She was dead a week later.”
“I’m so sorry.” I swallowed back the lump in my throat for what they’d both been through as I walked to the end of the footboard and lifted my hand to his chest. His heart was racing, his muscles tight.
For a second, our gazes collided, and he was there. He was still mine.
Then he froze me out with a single blink. “Why? It wasn’t your fault. It was mine. I’ve always done whatever was best for me, Shannon.” He focused on the wall. “Anyway, there was no record of my abuse, no pattern to go on, so it was ruled as manslaughter. He got thirty years. I got back the guitar I’d given her. I don’t even have a picture of her.” That last part faded into a whisper.
The acoustic. He didn’t say it, but I knew it from the bottom of my soul—the acoustic was hers. It was Kaylee’s. I didn’t know what to say, what to do, or how to even begin helping him. “It wasn’t your fault.”
“I chose not to go. She died. That’s a pretty easy line to draw.”
A car honked outside.
“That’s my ride. Amazing that even a town as small as Legacy has Uber.” He walked right past me, as though my hand hadn’t been touching him. As if I wasn’t even there.
“Where are you going?” I followed him into the hallway.
“Back to Seattle,” he answered over his shoulder. “I figured we should leave the Rover here in the garage, but now that we’re traveling separately, you can do whatever you want with it.”
“Traveling separately?” This wasn’t happening. I couldn’t fathom a world where Nixon would actually walk out and leave me. Somehow my legs got the message and raced after him.
“Well, yeah. I asked you to drop it. I asked you to pack. I asked you to choose.” He was already in the entry hall when I caught up to him. “You