I pace the long wall of windows in the family room while I wait for them to return. I know they’ll find her at the cemetery. I just know. Like the night she caught Brogan cheating on her, I stayed in my room because I knew she was coming. I’ve always felt that connection to her—like our souls are hardwired together, no matter how much I try to let her go or tried not to care when she was with Brogan. Our connection is some cruel cosmic joke.
I don’t know how long it takes. Minutes pass. The sky grows darker, the storm louder.
I’m on the front porch when Chris’s car tears up the drive and parks behind my Mustang.
Mason climbs out of the back and scoops Mia into his arms. She presses her face against his chest and away from the rain as he carries her to me. She’s drenched to the bone, and her clothes are smeared with wet earth. Her hair is matted and clotted with mud.
“We found her at the cemetery,” Mason says, transferring her to my arms. “She was lying on Brogan’s grave. They have barriers around freshly filled graves for a reason, but apparently she didn’t care. She was just lying in the mud on his grave.”
This is my fault. I did this to her. I took her brother. I took Brogan. And now I’ve broken Mia. The realization makes me hold her tighter.
Chris meets my eyes. “She told us to bring her to you.”
She’s shivering now, and I wonder if it’s the first time all day she’s realized how cold she is.
“I’ve got you, Mia.”
She wraps her arms around my neck and clings to me.
“Need help?” Chris asks.
“No. I’ve got this.”
He nods. “Okay.”
“Call us,” Mason says. “Let us know that she’s . . .” He stops before saying okay. Mia is not okay, and everyone knows it.
“I’ll call you later,” I say.
I don’t bother waiting for them to go. I turn into the house, close the door behind me, and carry her through the living room, through my father’s bedroom, and into the master bath.
I sit her on the edge of the tub and run the water to warm it. She’s shivering full-force now. Every part of her shakes, from her shoulders to her hands to her toes.
“I need to warm you up, Mia.”
She nods and puts her hands to the buttons on her shirt, but they’re shaking too much. I do it for her, ignoring the ache in my heart that demands I hold her close and tight. I pull the shirt from her shoulders and take off her muddy canvas sneakers. She lifts her hips so I can pull her jeans down and off her feet.
I check the water to make sure it’s warm enough, and she climbs into the tub. In nothing but a bra and panties stained beige from muddy water, she draws her knees into her chest and wraps her arms around them.
I sit on the edge of the tub behind her and draw her between my legs. Turning the spray nozzle to the softest setting, I start the process of rinsing the mud from her hair.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers.
The words are a dull blow to my heart. “You have nothing to apologize for.”
She squeezes her eyes shut. “Then why do I feel like I’m drowning in regret?”
I swallow hard and focus on the task at hand. There’s so much mud clotted in her hair, and I keep rinsing, watching the brown water circle the drain. I rinse until it starts to clear, then slowly work shampoo through her long locks. She lifts her chin and leans back into me as I massage the suds into her scalp.
When her shivers have stopped and the water runs clear of dirt and shampoo, I turn off the water. My jeans are drenched and my shirt is soaked across the front. I yank off my shirt to get it out of the way and reach for a towel to wrap around Mia’s shoulders.
“I’ll clean the tub later,” she whispers.
“Mia.”
“I’ll clean the tub later,” she says, her voice stronger now. “Because it’s my job.”
I shake my head. I’m not going to argue with her about this now. I just want to get her in bed, get her warm, and know she’s safe.
I lead her up to her room, leaving a trail of footprints behind me. I find a sleepshirt and a pair of underwear and hand them to her. She gives