Chapter 6 - WHISPERS OF THE PAST
The isolation forced the truth to the surface. Sitting by the fire one evening, wrapped in a heavy wool blanket, Elena finally asked the question that had haunted her.
“Why didn't you just tell me? Why make me think you didn't love me anymore?”
Luke stared into the flames, pouring two fingers of bourbon he wouldn't drink. “Because you are fiercely loyal. If I told you my father wanted you dead, you would have stayed to fight beside me. You would have died on principle. The only way to make you leave was to make you hate me.”
Elena touched her stomach, the small swell now undeniable. “I didn't hate you. I just hated myself for not being enough.”
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Luke closed his eyes, a tear cutting a clean line down his rough cheek. “You were the only good thing I ever touched. My blood is poison, Elena. Literally and figuratively. I thought I was cutting out the rot. Instead, I let it infect you.”
She reached across the distance, her pale fingers wrapping around his bruised hand. It wasn't forgiveness, not yet, but it was a bridge over the ashes.
