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 me her back as she pulls off her wet bra and panties and puts on the dry clothes.
I pull the covers back and lead her into the bed, but as I draw them over her, she shakes her head. "Arrow?"
"Yeah?"
"Please don't leave me. I'm so tired of hurting all alone."
I draw in a ragged breath before nodding. I shuck off my wet jeans and toss them over the back of her desk chair before climbing into bed beside her. She rolls to her side, and I pull her back against my front and hold her as tightly as I can without hurting her.
"Brogan would have done the same," she says. She finds my hand at her waist and squeezes my fingertips in her palm. "What Coach did to try to protect you . . . had their positions been reversed, Brogan would have done whatever he had to do to protect you. It still would have been wrong, but he loved you. He wouldn't have wanted your life to have been ruined by one mistake."
I don't know what that means. I don't know if it means she understands but she still has to go to the police, or if it means she plans to carry this secret, too. All I know is that right now she's in my arms, and I thought I'd never get to have her here again. I know she's safe and dry and warm, and the dirt from my best friend's grave isn't knotted in her hair. All I know is that whatever she decides, the only sure thing I have is this moment. So I take a breath and I accept it for the gift it is.
"You choose everything, Uriah. You chose that we stayed in this house. You chose that your delinquent son would serve his house arrest with us when I wanted nothing to do with him. You even fucking chose that we got married in Vegas instead of giving me a real wedding. You're not choosing this. Her father brought a gun into my house, and she's fucking your son. You don't think you're next? You don't think she'll spread her legs fastest for the one with the most money?"
My door flies open and Arrow walks in, his jeans unbuttoned and slung low on his hips, a towel in his hand, his hair still dripping from his shower. Apparently he's been listening to Gwen scream, too. Not that we could miss it at the volume she's carrying on.
I woke up to an empty bed and Gwen shouting. I guess they got home earlier than expected.
He stares at me and shakes his head. "Don't listen to her."
The thing is, I don't even care that she thinks I'm a whore. She had no idea what I've been through and why I've made the choices I have.
"You think I don't know about her mom?" Gwen shouts. "That I don't know you denied me and used your dying wife as an excuse when you were fucking the trash?"
Uriah's voice is a series of low murmurs, and though I can tell he's been weighing in on this conversation, I have no idea what he's said to his wife.
Arrow squeezes his eyes shut. "Jesus, Mia. I'm sorry."
"Either she goes or I go," Gwen says. "And that prenup might keep you from doing right by me, but my lawyer will make damn sure you do right by your daughter."
I grab my suitcase from the closet and put it on the bed. I can't do this. I can't tear apart another family. Maybe Arrow was driving the car, but I'm the reason Brogan was on that road. I'm the reason my brother showed up, and I'm the reason they were fighting instead of going home.
"What are you doing?" Arrow asks, as I open a drawer and pull out a stack of clothes. I ignore him and take them to my suitcase. "She'll get over it, Mia."
"It's time for me to leave. I've been unprofessional."
"Jesus, Mia. I . . ." He turns toward the sound of Gwen's heels as they grow closer on the wooden staircase.
She throws the door open and scowls at Arrow before leveling her angry gaze on me. "I'm done," she says. "You think I'm not a fit mother. You think I can't do this on my own."
Have I really been so bitchy? Do I come off as if I think I know how to raise her daughter better than her? "I never said that."
"There are plenty of people who'd be thrilled to have your job. Who I could pay a whole hell of a lot less because Uriah doesn't have some irrational sense of guilt toward them."
That's a slap in the face. I pride myself on making my own way, but they don't pay me like they do because I work hard. My paycheck is about Uriah's guilt. It shouldn't hurt-shouldn't matter-but it does.
"I'm not fighting with you, Gwen." What could I say anyway? That I deserve that check? I'm not sure it's true. That I haven't been sleeping with Arrow? At this point, everyone seems to know I have.
"I am," Arrow says. "She's the best fucking nanny you're going to find around here. She does everything for you and she loves Katie. What are you-"
Gwen holds up a hand. "Get out of my face. This is about my baby. This is about my baby's life."
"Are you sure?" Arrow asks. "Because it sounds like it's about your petty jealousy over a woman who hasn't lived in this city for almost six years."
I still at Arrow's words. He's defending me. I don't want to compare him to a dead man-it's not right, and it's not fair-but Brogan always found a way around defending me to his mother.