Love the Way You Lie(56)

I put my hand on hers. “I’m glad.” Something pricks at me. I have faint memories from the hospital and from coming home. I must have been awake enough to talk to Clara before, but the drugs make it all seem hazy now. And something is bothering me. “How did you know to trust Kip?”

“I didn’t.” She gives me a rueful smile. “I gave him hell, especially when I found out he was Byron’s brother.”

That’s my girl. “What changed your mind?”

“Well, he saved your life. Once the cops had questioned us about a hundred times, that much was clear. Even then he was demanding to see you and I was saying no. I wanted you to be fully awake and healed so you could decide for yourself if you wanted to see him.

I raise my eyebrow, a little nervous by the way she won’t meet my eyes. “Something must have happened, because I have vague memories of him in my hospital room.

Her pale cheeks turn bright pink. “You kept calling for him.”

“Oh.” Now I think I’m blushing too, imagining crying out for him. Shouldn’t I be angry at him? He lied to me. He tricked me. He also saved my life. And maybe, like Clara said, growing up like I did made me twisted or something. Maybe dangerous guys make me feel safe.





Chapter Nineteen





Over the next week I heal. And spend time with Clara. And read the book of Rudyard Kipling stories I had my sister steal from downstairs and bring to me. I even grieve for my father. He may have been twisted, but he tried to help me in the end. I believed he would have if Byron hadn’t turned on him. I had the real father I’d been longing for—but only for a few seconds. That’s who I mourn.

I do a lot in that week, but I don’t talk much with Kip.

Or rather, he doesn’t talk much to me.

I get one visit a day, and even that feels compulsory. His eyes are always shadowed, like he hasn’t been sleeping. He asks me, stiffly, if there’s anything I need. Like he’s some kind of formal host and I’m a guest. And not his lover. Not the sister of his sister.

I don’t know if we can be close again, if I can trust him again. I’m not even sure what trust is. It’s all a dark miasma of lies, a twisted knot in my stomach. My mother’s death. My strange sisterly relationship with Kip and with Byron. Maybe it shouldn’t matter to me if we’re not blood related, but if I’d known that I never would have touched Kip—not for any amount of money. And now I’ve touched him everywhere. He’s touched me back. Too late.

I consider leaving the house. I’m not even sure where I’d go. Maybe it would be a relief to Kip to have me gone. Maybe he’s only keeping me here out of guilt for what happened.

Or because of Clara.

What if he’s disgusted by the way he saw me on that bed, naked and beaten? What if he only spent time with me because I was a stripper, because I was easy, and now that I’m lying in bed, I’m no use to him?

The next day when he comes to visit me, I’m already sitting up.

He frowns when he sees me. His eyes look haunted, but at least he’s distracted enough from all that to admonish me. “You should be lying down. You’re not fully recovered yet. If you push it—”

“Come sit by me,” I say, patting the sheet beside me.

Normally he doesn’t sit at all. One time when I asked him to, he sat on the edge of the armchair, looking so freaking uncomfortable I asked for a glass of water just so he’d have an excuse to leave. But this time I’m not going to let him off that easy.

He looks ready to refuse. God, is he actually leaner than before? Like he’s not eating either…

After a long moment he nods and sits on the edge of the bed. My stomach sinks. He really does seem disgusted. “Is something wrong?” I ask softly.

He looks surprised. Then he laughs, a little rusty. “I’m not the one who got shot.”

“Mhmm, but I’m making a full recovery over here. You, on the other hand…”

He shakes his head. “The last thing you need to worry about is me.”

“Do you want me to leave?” My heart gives a pang as I ask the question. I don’t want to leave. But I will, if he wants me to. I haven’t figured out if I can live with him.

But I’m already figuring out I can’t live without him.

“No! Jesus, Honor. You’re way too sick to be moved.”

I frown. “You make it sound like I’m dying.”

“You almost did.” His voice is rough. “I held you in my arms, watching you bleed out. Do you have any idea how much I—You can’t leave. That’s the bottom line. Don’t try to fight me on this.”