Written with You (The Regret Duet #2)(8)

What a gigantic clusterfuck. It had been from the day I’d decided to become Hadley Banks.

It wasn’t hard to become my sister. She’d died in my car, with my purse recovered at the scene of the accident. Her body had been mangled and then burned. Beth had spared me the details, but I knew there were no fingerprints left to be found. All signs had pointed to me. It was why Beth had accepted that I had been in that car for two weeks before flying to Puerto Rico to clean out my house.

Hadley and I had pulled the twin switch numerous times throughout our life, but this was taking it to a new level. However, it was the only chance I had at getting to know little Keira—or Rosalee, as it turned out.

I’d never wanted to hurt Caven. That was always the truth. But I had been too afraid to walk back into his life as Rosalee’s aunt. If he had slammed the door in my face, there would have been no recourse. I had no rights to her.

But, as her mother, Hadley always would.

Never in a million years had I planned to take her away from him. That wasn’t my place. But she was all I had left. All I would ever have.

I just wanted to be a part of her life.

I just wanted art classes on Wednesday and Saturday.

I just wanted her to know that she was loved by our family, despite the fact that I was the only one left.

Beth had been the executor of my estate with the understanding that everything would go to Hadley assuming she was mentally sound and sober enough to handle the fortune we’d amassed. Technically, my sister still owned half the business, but after her first stint in rehab, she’d been removed from all the bank accounts. It was her money, and I’d put it in a savings account for her. But she’d been using it for years to fund her habit. I hadn’t cared that denying her access to the money made me the bad guy as long as it kept her alive.

In the end, I’d failed.

Everyone.

We were at the mall the day my parents died because of me.

And Hadley was on the road, high and furiously trying to get away from me the day she’d hit that tree.

I vowed not to fail Rosalee.

Though, after listening to Trent accuse me of being the fraud I truly was, I was afraid I already had.

Beth grabbed my hand and guided me to the couch. “Start at the beginning. I want to hear everything Officer Domestic Abuse thinks he knows about you. God, I wish you’d kneed him in the balls.”

In hindsight, I wished I had too.

For fifteen minutes, I told her everything. My birthday party. Trent showing up looking just like his father. Being cornered outside. His speculations. My conversation with Caven, then cake, presents, and rushing out of the house.

When I finished, Beth nodded. “I’m only going to say this one more time. Trent Hunt is not a threat. He thinks he knows the truth—”

“He doesn’t think, Beth. He knows!”

She covered my mouth with her hand. “No. He thinks. In order to prove any of this, he’d have to wave his Son-of-Malcom-Lowe flag loud and proud. That is not a risk he can take. Not with his job. Not with his personal life. Not with anything. He and Caven have been trying to keep that shit under wraps for years. If he tells Caven, hell is going to break loose and he knows it. Otherwise, he would have done it today.” She dropped her hand and leaned in toward me. “I am telling you one last time: Do not worry about theoretical ramblings from a man who has way bigger skeletons in his own closet. My advice is to steer clear of Trent for, oh, say, forever. And never. Ever. Let Caven see your scar.”

A flicker of relief washed through me. Maybe she was right. Trent hadn’t said anything to Caven. And maybe he wouldn’t. Hell, maybe I even passed his little physical assault lie detector test.

But there was something else. I sucked in a deep breath and then told her everything.

“I slept with Caven. But I didn’t take my shirt off. He never saw my scar, I promise.”

She blinked.

Once.

Twice.

Thrice.

She swallowed hard. “Who do you want right now?”

“What?”

“Who do you want? Beth Watts, Attorney at Law or your best friend, Beth Watt-a-licious Watts.”

It was my turn to blink.

Once.

Twice.

Thrice.

“Which one doesn’t involve you yelling at me for sleeping with Caven?”

With a curt nod, she replied, “Watt-a-licious it is. Spill. I want all the dirty little secrets about you losing your virginity to a man who doesn’t even know your name.”

I shot her a glare. “It wasn’t my virginity.”

“Sorry to inform you, but Hadley and I voted years ago that ten seconds of just the tip when you were seventeen doesn’t count.”

“It wasn’t just the tip.”

“Oh, sorry, I forgot it was pencil dick Brad Harris. Just the eraser is more like it.”

Another round of blinking later, I curled my lip. “You know what? Give me Attorney Beth. I’m not in the mood for you.”

“Not a problem.” She shoved off the couch and leaned into my face. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

“I don’t know, okay? It just happened. I thought I was texting you, but I was actually texting him. And then he showed up at my door and kissed me. And the next thing I knew, we’d gone through two condoms from the apocalypse.” She arched an eyebrow, but I kept going. “He told me he could have handled the woman he’d met at the bar coming back. He was ready for her. But that he wasn’t prepared for me. Me, Beth. Me. Not Hadley. Me.”