“I found out she’d been lying to me, and I confronted her.” I scrub a hand over my face. “It didn’t end well.”
That’s putting it mildly.
Miles’s eyes widen in surprise and he sits up straight. “What exactly did she lie about?”
He’s not going to let this go. So even though I want nothing more than to get up and walk out, I tell him. I explain that Scarlett’s the one who’s been stuffing the suggestion box, that she manipulated me into approving her ideas, and that she has an entire file of “observations” based on my childhood trauma and disastrous split from Ashley.
When I’m done, Beck simply says, “Wow.”
“Wow is right,” I mutter. “I can’t believe I ever thought I could trust her.”
“Let me get this straight.” Miles leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. He’s trying to appear casual, to put me at ease. It won’t work. “You broke things off with Scarlett because she didn’t tell you which ideas from the suggestion box were hers?”
“That’s one reason, yes.” A reason that sounds petty when he says it.
He rolls his eyes. “Did you ever ask her if she’d used the suggestion box?”
“No, but that’s hardly the point. She had every opportunity to tell me.”
“Right,” he says drily. “Because you’re so open-minded and approachable.”
Guilt gnaws at my gut, but I push it aside. I’m not the one who screwed up here.
“I told you. Scarlett isn’t as meek and mild as you think. She’s perfectly capable of speaking her mind.”
With me, anyway.
“Be that as it may,” he says, waving off my concern, “can you honestly say that if she’d come to you about the suggestion box, or the project, you would have listened?”
“Yes.” Probably. Maybe. That’s not even the point. The point is she lied. How can I be with someone I can’t trust?
“Bullshit. We all know you wouldn’t have heard a damn word she said.” Miles smirks. “What bothers you more, that she didn’t tell you or that she called you out on your obsessive need for control?”
For the second time in as many weeks, I want to throttle my brother. “I’m done talking about this.”
“Yeah, well, I’m not.” He sighs. “I love you, Nick, but you need to get your head out of your ass.”
The fuck? “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means you need to accept that you can’t control everyone and everything around you.”
“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but he’s right.” Beck gives me an apologetic smile. “The world doesn’t work that way. Sometimes shit just happens and you have to roll with it.”
“You think I don’t know that?” I demand, anger welling up from my gut. “I lost my parents. My fiancée. My reputation. I will not put myself in that position again.”Ever.
“We understand,” Miles says quietly. “Better than anyone.”
Of course they do. They’ve also shouldered loss. Had to rebuild from the ashes.
“Then you understand Triada is all I’ve got. All I need.” And I’ll hold on to it with both hands if that’s what it takes.
“You’ve got us.” Beck is solemn but steadfast as he gestures between Miles and himself. “And Mama Hart. Nothing can change that.”
Family by choice, not blood.
“From where I’m sitting,” Miles says, “it looks like you’re so afraid of losing control—of being hurt again—that you jumped on the first excuse you could find to push Scarlett away.”
Hadn’t Scarlett said the same thing last night?
