“What?”
“Their property was vandalized last night. Windows were broken. Tires slashed. Farm equipment was stolen, graffiti was written all over the siding in black spray paint—awful things, calling me names. God…Lex…” She cups a hand around her mouth, her shoulders shaking. “I never thought about this. How my family could be affected. I just…”
My chest caves in.
Heart shatters.
Stevie collapses against me, but I just stand there, a brick wall, my brain fritzing out. I can’t will my arms to lift, to hold her back, to offer anything of value.
I knew it.
I fucking knew it.
Everything was going to reach a breaking point, and our future would become crystal clear.
She sniffles against my shirt, her arms tightening around my middle. “Why would someone do that?” Moisture leaks through the fabric of my T-shirt. “They’re good people. I don’t understand how anyone could be so horrible. It doesn’t make sense.”
It makes perfect sense.
This is the fallout of my actions. The inevitable wrecking ball.
I’ve let her down.
I was selfish, pulling her into a mess not meant for her, and now her family is caught in the cross fire.
I take a step back, rubbing a hand over my mouth. “Go pack. I’ll book you a flight.”
She wipes wet streaks off her cheeks, blinking up at me. “Are…are you sure?”
“I’m sure. You need to go be with them.”
Nodding, she glances around the room, still sniffling, her emotions frayed at the seams. “Okay,” she whispers. “Okay…I should go.”
“I’ll get you the first flight out to Chicago. Adrian will take you to the airport.”
She rubs her lips together, face chalk white. “Did you want to come with me?”
My jaw clenches. “Can’t. I have a meeting tomorrow.”
A look of confusion crosses over her face, her heavy green eyes trying to read me. “Oh.” She glances down at the floor. “Okay. I’ll…um…just pack a few things.”
I send her a tense nod before she races up the staircase, then I pull out my phone to book the flight.
Stevie returns to the living room fifteen minutes later, one small suitcase rolling behind her. She’s dressed casually in jeans and an oversizesweatshirt, her hair pulled up in a loose ponytail. But nothing else about her is casual as she ripples with anxiety, her face flushed, eyes bloodshot and misted over.
I stand from the couch when she approaches. “Text me when you land.”
“I will.” She swallows. “Thank you for getting me the flight. Let me know what I owe you—”
“You don’t owe me anything.” I gesture over her shoulder. “Your check is on the counter.”
Blinking slowly, she glances behind her at the slip of paper left on the kitchen island. “Right,” she says, pivoting back to me. “I’ll grab it when I come back. Let me know when the return flight is supposed to—”
“It’s a one-way flight.”
The words register like thick molasses. Stevie stares at me, her grip tightening on the suitcase handle. “What do you mean?”
“It’s not round trip,” I tell her, voice splintering. “You’re not coming back.”
