Fuck, I was a pussy.

And an asshole.

Sloane needed to know.

I just wasn’t ready to see her brightness dim. I wasn’t ready for her to turn me away.

Fucking hell, how selfish was I?

“Baby, I need to talk to you about something.”

Smooth, asshole.

“Everything okay?”

No, I’m about to blow your world up.

I made my way to her, pulled the putty knife out of her hand, and tossed it on the banged-up floor, uncaring if there was another nick in the wood.

“Put your arms around me.”

“Asher?”

“Please, baby, trust me. Put your arms around me.”

She did as I asked. I lifted my hands and cupped her jaw, gently holding her hostage.

It took two tries to swallow the lump in my throat. Two tries before I got the words out.

“The FBI found Elise. I’m so sorry…”

I got no more out before Sloane’s blood-curdling scream filled the room. I quickly shifted and scooped her up into my arms. Her sobs started before I hit the first step and only got louder and louder the closer I got to my bedroom. I put a knee on the mattress and twisted around to my ass, keeping Sloane cradled as I sat with my back to the headboard.

“I’m sorry, baby. So fucking sorry.”

She shoved her face into my neck and continued to cry. I rested my cheek on the top of her head and held on.

Never in my life had I felt so useless. There was nothing I could do for her to make this better. There were no words to erase her pain. All I could do was hold on to her while she shook in my arms with big body-wracking, uncontrollable tears.

“I got you, Sloane. Anything you need, baby, I got you.”

Her body bucked followed by a pain-filled shriek.

“Hold on to me, Sloane.”

She pressed closer.

I wrapped my arms tighter.

This went on for a long time. Slowly, her sobs turned into crying, then the crying became intermittent. Until she went completely quiet.

“Sloane?”

“I knew,” she whispered. “I think I always knew but my heart refused to let me believe it. I needed to have hope. Until she was found, I had to hold on to a sliver of hope, so that if a miracle happened, she’d know I never stopped believing. But she doesn’t get a miracle.”

Christ.

The timing was fucked, totally jacked, but I finally understood Sloane’s draw. I loved the way she loved. I loved the loyalty. I loved her bravery. But it was more than that. Sloane’s draw was her hope—she was blinded by it. Against all odds, she remained faithful to it—steadfast in her determination not to let it go.

We settled in the silence until Sloane fell asleep.

I tipped my head back and stared at my ceiling as I held my woman while she slept.

I did this hoping Sloane would allow me to see her through the days to come.