by Lana Sky
The moment I reach the doorway to his room, I realize that once again Blake Lorenz has already foiled my plans. He’s standing, a sight that I have to blink twice just to accept. One of his hands clings to an IV pole for balance while the other holds a cell phone to his ear.
“Find her. Please,” he demands, his voice rasping and hoarse. “I need to see her. Just find her—” He breaks off abruptly, spotting me in the doorway. Slowly, he lowers the phone, even as the distorted voice of someone blares from the speaker. “Snow,” he says, his eyes widening. “You’re here.”
“Not for long.” I don’t intend to sound so cold, but I don’t try to soften my tone either. He looks awful. A hastily tied hospital gown leaves his backside exposed, baring his scars to the harsh daylight that enhances every brutal imperfection in the flesh. A bandage clings to his shoulder, already seeping droplets of blood in some places. The doctor claimed the bullet missed an artery by mere millimeters, saving him a lethal or crippling blow.
But it’s yet another scar added to the damage he already bears.
“You shouldn’t be standing,” I hear myself croak.
The next second, he’s on the bed, eyeing me from behind a fringe of hair. “What did he tell you?”
He doesn’t sound angry for once, or suspicious, or defensive. Just so damn tired. I doubt he slept longer than an hour judging from his bloodshot gaze. He’s running on mere fumes now, determined to avoid letting his guard down even for a second. “I know you’re angry,” he says. “Just let me explain.”
“Explain?” I parrot the word in a hollow voice I don’t even recognize. “Maybe you can explain how you knew Lyle Harlow before you used him to ruin my family’s company.”
He winces, gritting his teeth. “I…”
“Were you lying all along?” God, it’s unfair how my voice carries more pain than his does. His wound is superficial but mine were always soul-deep, impossible to heal. “Why? Just tell me why? Did you enjoy watching me suffer?”
“No!” He forms a fist and slams it into the bed. When I jump, he clears his throat and forces the fingers apart. “No… I came back, needing money. My father’s businesses were under attack in Europe.”
I say nothing, remembering what he mentioned about Masha’s husband.
“Admittedly, I could have taken any company,” he adds. “But real estate is my forte and I needed enough collateral to sever my family from his creditor, once and for all.”
“So you took over Hollings enterprises,” I deduce.
He nods, his expression weary. “More than that. I wanted all of it—but you have to believe me when I tell you that I had nothing against you or your brothers. Not at first. You were cogs in the machine, insignificant in the grand scheme. But then…” He swallows hard, his gaze darkening. “I reached out to Lyle Harlow for assistance. Your father wasn’t the only one who utilized his ‘talents’—but the bastard saw right through me, I don’t know how. He called me out by name, and he mentioned you. How you jumped at Forrest’s beck and call, so eager to do his bidding. I spent years believing the worst Snow, but I never hated you. Not like I did then, hearing him describe it. Then seeing you…”
He blinks as if remembering where he is.
“I lost my fucking mind, seeing you again. Healthy. Happy. I’d always imaged you the same shy, awkward little girl, but you weren’t. You were living, when I was just a shell of who I used to be. I can’t even think of myself as Brandt anymore.”
I remember a chilling snippet from the night he took my virginity. I’m not him, he swore. Not anymore…
“Still, I planned to avoid you. Leave you to Daniel. But then I saw you.” He laughs brokenly, shaking his head. “You weren’t just living, but you were thriving. Perfect, beautiful Snowy Hollings without a care in the world—”
“You sent the book to my engagement gala,” I croak. His slow nod compounds the agony ripping through my chest. Of course he did.
“I wanted to see how you’d react,” he admits. “I wondered if you’d even fucking remember.”
But I did remember.
I could never forget.
“And then you came to me at the offices,” he adds. “And again at my private residence. It’s like you were haunting me, I couldn’t fucking escape.” He sounds crazed, a man possessed. “Seeing you again drove me insane, Snow. I can’t explain it, and I know that it doesn’t excuse what I did. But I was so convinced you deserved it, every fucking bit. Until the letters. Until I heard you say what Forrest did and I realized…I was no better than that son of a bitch.” He looks up, meeting my gaze directly. His eyes are more than bloodshot now—they’re blazing, welling with emotion that takes my breath away. Regret? Can I trust it?
God, I don’t know.
“I’m not asking for forgiveness,” he insists. “Not even reconciliation. I just want…I just want us to start over. Not Snowy. Not Brandt. Just two people who made fucked up mistakes. That’s all I want.”
I should leave, I know I should. At the same time, a part of me recognizes that this may be my only chance to do something. Say something. Hurt him. Kick him. Scream. Anything.
My lips part, but all I can muster in the end is…
“Lie down before you rip your wound back open.”
He does, a reluctant frown tugging at his mouth. “Snow—”
“Stop!” It’s not enough to refuse him, I have to throw my hands out in front of me, a physical barrier against more lies. “I need you to listen to me, for once.”
Warily, he stays, but one of his hands remains outstretched, reaching for me always.
It takes everything I have in me not to grasp for him in return.
“I love you.” The confession spills out unbidden, laced with so much pain. I could choke on it, if my lips didn’t keep moving, churning out admission after admission. “God, even after all you’ve done. Even now… I love you so damn much. I do—”
“And I love you.” The ferocity of his statement robs my breath, making me sway on my feet. “God, I love you—”
“But we’re not right for each other.” Tears spring, welling beneath my fluttering eyelids. Blinking doesn’t keep them at bay—they drip down, painting my cheeks in spite. “We’re not. Not anymore.”
Beautiful sweet Brandt and foolish, selfish Snowy.
The people we used to be are dead and gone. In their place?
Strangers. Hell, I barely recognize the caricature I’ve become.
But I’m growing surer of one thing: she doesn’t deserve this.
“Just tell me what else you’ve done,” I plead. “Just tell me everything.”
Uncertainty makes his eyes so goddamn blue. Like an ocean, swirling with years of agony I could only imagine. Pain I’m partly responsible for—no. Was. Shaking my head helps to drive that new perspective in: I refuse to keep wallowing in guilt.
We hurt each other.
“Tell me.”
“Riley Haverty,” he says thickly. “I sent her. I gave her a donation large enough to convince her to approach you.”
A pinch in my chest has me seeking out the wall for balance. I can’t lie. This deception stings just as much as the others. “Why?”
He looks away, his jaw tight. “You needed to speak to someone. Anyone.”
“Because you care so much about me?”
“No.” He laughs, shaking his head. “Because I know what it’s like, Snow. You wouldn’t talk to me. Maybe Riley could reach you. Get you to show your face again. Believe in something again.”
In a way he was right—a sick, twisted, degenerate way.
“And now?” I ask. “What am I supposed to believe in?”
“Us,” he says simply. He starts to stand only to clutch his chest and remain seated. “We lost each other once. I can’t lose you twice. I can’t.”
“But…” My tongue flicks over my dry lips, desperate for traction. “You already have.”
“Don’t say that.”
He’s so beautifu
l like this that I could almost forget. The pain. The torment. Almost. But, even now, pleading for forgiveness, he guards his secrets too well. I can’t tell if he’s even truly sincere or just pretending.
The strangest fact of all? I don’t feel a shred of guilt for doubting him this time.
“Please,” he says, but there’s no real energy in his voice. Just a plea so raw it snaps me back ten years into the past. When I was just a girl and he was just a boy, and there was no hostility between us. “Hear me out—and I know that you don’t owe me a damn thing. Just listen…”
He waits, and I linger near the door, my heart swelling in my chest. Just a few steps forward would carry me beyond his reach. I will myself to move.
But I’m frozen.
“I thought I lost you once,” he says and his rasping tone sinks into me like a hook, leaving me flailing for freedom. “At the lake. And even then, when all I wanted was to hate you, I couldn’t—even thinking for a second that you were really gone…” His voice trails off, leaving me with only memory to fill in the gaps of what he holds back. Me in his arms. Him begging me to live.
You don’t get to leave me. Not until I let you go.
“And, it nearly happened again. I almost lost you, and I know that I don’t deserve forgiveness. Not this time. But fuck, Snow.” He looks up, capturing me in his endless blue stare. I’m enthralled just as was all those years ago, forever under his spell. “I would give anything to hate you. I would. Because it would be easier than the need I feel. I need you, even when you’re gone, you’re the only fucking thing that feels real.”
But not real enough to change for.
“I’m sorry.” Finally, my body remembers how to move.
And I’m already racing down the hall, leaving him there.
Alone.
Chapter 19
One month later…
“This is your chance, Snowy,” a soothing voice urges. “Now, once and for all, you can tell the truth you’ve been holding onto for so long.”
My mouth opens, but the words won’t come.
Not yet.
Ten years later and the truth shouldn’t be so hard to say. Like stone, it sticks in my throat, forming a wall more formidable than the one Humpty Dumpty decided to sit on.
But once upon a time, a beautiful boy convinced me that I was stronger than any fall. No matter what, I could always piece myself together again.
And, in his memory, I refuse to remain shattered.
Licking my lips, I close my eyes and I let the words come slowly. “The past few months have been a whirlwind for me. My family fell into financial trouble. My fiancé was convicted of a federal crime.” Charges that would soon include attempted murder and assault. “And living through it all made me realize one glaring reality: I can’t move forward if I don’t look back. Starting with the fact that ten years ago, my father, Forrest Hollings. He…” My voice trails off, reverberating throughout the room with the aid of a microphone. Slowly, I open my eyes again, taking in the multiple onlookers giving me their sole attention. Seated across from me is Riley Haverty, her face schooled into the perfect, caring mask of a talented talk show host.
I have to give her credit. She did seem remorseful for her part in Blake’s deception. This moment is my payment. My one chance to speak on my terms in my own words.
Does it matter that the whole world is watching?
Maybe not. Beyond the stage lights and the rapt crowd are my brothers, lurking in the shadows. Some parts of my story I won’t reveal today—I can’t. But one day, when it’s right, I’ll tell them the rest.
As for now?
Breathing deeply, I turn my gaze to the nearest camera and clear my throat, ripping down the wall I’ve let silence me for so damn long.
“My father, Forrest Hollings, made me lie,” I say, my voice growing stronger with each word. “He urged me to commit perjury. And…when I was just a child…he assaulted me.”
Healing isn’t always cathartic. Not at first—and especially when your wounds have scabbed over and healed in hideous, jagged scars like mine.
Purging myself of that pain means ripping myself all over again and carefully stitching up the torn pieces.
It hurts like hell, but this time I can survive.
I know I can.
Even if I have to face each battle alone.
“Good morning, Ms. Hollings.” I look up as I pass the security booth where a smiling guard greets me with a nod.
Apparently this visit is more welcome than the day I first attempted to meet Blake Lorenz.
It’s funny how time can change your perspective so much. Back then I was terrified.
And now?
I’m resigned. In my hand is a simple invitation—more like a summons. Barely a week after my interview went live and Blake Lorenz chooses now of all times to restate his hold over my life.
Like hell.
Today, I refuse to cower. Reassessing my feelings, one word I don’t expect lingers on the edges of my mind anyway. Tentatively, I toy with it, testing it silently over my tongue. Free.
Entering an elevator, I find myself swaying on my feet. It’s as if a million pounds have been lifted from my shoulders, but as light as I feel, there’s an unnerving sense of weightlessness.
One wrong move and I might pitch too far. Trip. Crash.
Or fly.
When I arrive at the top floor, the executive suite is surprisingly empty. The secretary is gone from her usual spot, as is the security guard who usually monitors the property. There are no other employees scurrying about like they did down below.
Save for a lone figure who blocks my path.
His voice reaches me before my eyes finish taking him in. “Snow…”
God, he still looks beautiful. Untouchable, even despite the stiff way he holds his right arm. His hair has grown longer in a few short weeks and his chin is covered in overgrown stubble. As sharp as ever, his eyes fixate on mine, a pulsing, endless blue. “You look…” His lips part before closing again. Then he shakes his head and sighs. “Am I allowed to say that you look beautiful?”
I should refuse him. Run. Leave. My eyes dart to the nearest doorway, a tempting exit.
“Please, Snow.” He’s closer, advancing a dangerous step. “Please. I just want—”
“What?” I ask, my chin jutting in the air. “To manipulate me again?”
“No…” He frowns and my stomach clenches. “I want to start over.”
“So that’s why you brought me here?” I keep my chin tilted defiantly, forcing myself to hold his gaze.
“I brought you here?” he says, his brows furrowing. “But you invited me here—”
“No. I did.”
We turn in unison to find a slender, feminine figure dominating the doorway of the presidential suite. Her blond hair hangs loosely over her shoulders, framing her face and the determined expression on it.
“Masha?” Blake rushes to meet her. “What are you doing here? When did you get back?”
“This morning,” she says, enduring his hug. “I wanted to beat the news reports.”
“Reports?” Blake turns her to face him. “What reports.”
“That we’re freed from the debt our father owed,” she says softly. “All of it. Forgiven.”
“That’s impossible.” Blake shakes his head. “How?”
“It was simple in the end.” Masha looks at me, her eyes blazing. “I played his game. I saw your interview, Snowy,” she says, her tone soft. “And to prevent me from giving one of my own, I ensured that we will never have to worry about him again.”
“Hanz?” Blake grabs his sister’s shoulders, his knuckles white. “You met him? Alone? Are you insane?” His eyes blaze, jaw clenched. But the longer he meets his sister’s fearless stare, the more his tense posture deflates.
“We’re free,” Masha says. Her fingers graze his cheek in a silent caress. “All of us.”
She gingerly steps from her brother’s embrace, as lithe as a da
ncer. “I’ll meet you at home, Blake. Goodbye, Snowy.” With one last nod in my direction, she drifts through the suite, fading into an elevator.
Stunned in her wake, Blake recovers first.
“I swear I didn’t lure you here—”
“I guess this means you don’t need Hollings Enterprises,” I say tightly.
Needling him should be the last thing on my mind. But freedom doesn’t shroud me as easily as it does Masha. I still feel the pain underneath it all, biting deeper as he shakes his head, chuckling.
“I guess not,” he says, still laughing. “But I still want it—”
“Keep it.” Turning on my heel, I start down the hall.
“With you.” Heavy footsteps advance on my position. Only now do I realize that I’ve frozen mid-step. Warmth alludes to a body approaching mine, proceeding the fingers that trace my shoulder. “I want to run this company with you, Snow. Together. No games. No tricks.”
My breath catches, betraying the weakness I know he can sense. Hope. “How can I trust you?”
There’s silence for so long that I assume it’s my answer: I can’t.
“Wait.” His hands encircle my waist before I can even take a step forward. “You won’t trust me,” he says, his throat rasping. “Not right away. Maybe never, not fully. And I can’t lie. A part of me wants to ensure you will, any way I can. Even if I have to lie, or cheat or steal from you to do it. But that’s not what I want.”
“What do you want?”
“This.” His arms tighten around me. “Holding you. Touching you. Knowing that every second of contact is only because you want it to last. I’m on your terms, Snow.”
My terms.
“And if I told you to leave me alone from here on out?”
He stiffens. Then gradually his touch withdraws and he paces away. “Then I’ll do it. Even if it fucking kills me—but you’d have to say the words.”
And he doesn’t want me to.
“I don’t know if we can ever go back to where we were before,” I admit, hating how much that statement stings. “I don’t…”
