Coco frowns up at me, her beautiful green eyes flashing with what looks so much like concern. Not anger, not pain, not hatred.
She’s wearing jeans and the same soft pink sweater she wore to Dad’s. Memories warm me, slaughter me, but she’s here. It has to mean something.
Her frown deepens. ‘Ash...?’
My throat is so dry I can’t speak. I wet my lips and run a hand over my face, stopping to grip my jaw as my eyes narrow and focus, still disbelieving.
‘Coco?’
Her lips quirk just a little. ‘Can I come in?’
‘Sure.’
My voice sounds so fucking weird, so distant, but I can’t function past the crazy flutter taking off inside me. I step back to let her past and her familiar scent wafts up to me, messing with my head, telling me she’s real, that this is happening.
‘I’ll have one of those.’ She nods to the drink still in my hand.
‘Sure,’ I repeat, swinging the door closed and making my way trance-like back to the kitchen, my ears attuned to her soft footfall behind me.
She’s here. She’s here. She’s here.
I set my glass down and get another one for her, then reach for the bottle and start to pour. But I’m shaking so much the liquid sloshes outside the glass.
‘Ash...’
She places her hand over mine. She’s right alongside me, her perfume in the air, her presence radiating down my side.
Slowly I set the bottle down and look at her. It really isn’t hate I see. ‘I’m so sorry.’
‘I know you are,’ she whispers.
I go to pull her in. I need to hug her, feel her, believe that she believes me. But she steps back, shaking her head, and my stomach plummets. My hands fall helplessly away.
‘But...?’
Her throat bobs, her eyes lift to mine. ‘I can’t... When I think about it...the idea of you following me—all that time—and not once telling me...’ She shakes her head again, her palm pressing into her chest. ‘It hurts... It really hurts. I feel sick with it.’
‘I know.’ Hearing her say it, seeing the flash of pain, of disgust, I feel sick too. ‘I would do anything to change what I did. To go back and do it differently. I’d do anything not to have caused you this pain.’
‘I know you would.’ She breathes in deeply. ‘Philip said the same.’
‘You spoke to him?’ My heart spasms in my chest. ‘About what he did? About me?’
She nods, her hand shaking as she reaches out and picks up the glass of whisky I poured for her. I stay quiet as I watch her take a sip, my eyes desperately searching hers, looking for a sign—any sign of what is to come.
‘He had his reasons—I know he did; I think I understand more than he knows.’
She swallows and takes another breath, her eyes locking with mine.
‘I know about the research you did into him too—the case you built against him to protect me.’
‘He showed you?’
‘He tried to, but I don’t want to know. I think he’s hit a turning point and I’m hoping we can repair things.’
‘Repair things?’ I frown at her, feel a flare of anger, even jealousy, that she can think to forgive him while we...we flounder...
‘Our relationship,’ she confirms softly.