For once, I can’t say I’m glad I was right. Nash had a copy of the video, as I suspected he might. I take a seat on the other side of the tissue box, absorbing this. We have her in common, and Brittney clearly cares deeply about her. When did I grow a conscience? When did I start caring about people? “You couldn’t have.” I leave a box of tissues beside her and wonder at myself. “I am sorry you had to see that,” I murmur, and I mean it. I hand her one of the bottles of water on the nightstand, intended for Aspen when she was here earlier. I can’t imagine that would be easy for a woman to witness, even knowing now that Aspen is safe and healed physically. Our perspective isn’t precisely the same, but we both have reason to be shaken to the core by what we saw. We’ve never had a close relationship by any standards, but now we are united in this. Her head bobs up and down before a broken sob tears itself out of her. I sit her down on the bed, and she wraps her arms around herself before rocking back and forth a little. A-and I c-can’t imagine how.” Tears rolled down her cheeks, leaving trails of mascara behind. “What happened? Where is she?” I take her by the arms and barely stop short of shaking her. I open the door to find Brittney weeping, and immediately my heart leaps into my throat. “Quinton? Please, open up.” That’s not Aspen’s voice, but it is one I vaguely recognize.
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