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He turned to look at her, his gaze as icy as it had ever been. ‘Where are you going with this?’

‘I just…want to know what you felt for her.’

His gaze sharpened, the point of a laser drilling into her. ‘Why? What does that matter?’

She swallowed and met it. ‘Because I’m trying to understand why you refuse to remember being at the home. And why you’re so very, very angry.’

Something like shock flickered over his face. ‘I’m not refusing to remember. I just don’t—’

‘You don’t have to be loyal to her anymore, Kai,’ she interrupted, unable to help herself. ‘She’s gone.’

He stood there for a second, still staring at her, his face blank. Then his expression changed, and he took a couple of steps towards her. ‘Why does this matter so much to you, Liberty? Why do you care?’

She caught her breath, knowing she had nothing to give him but the truth. ‘Because I care about you,’ she said huskily. ‘I always have, and I hate to see you lying to…’ She bit off the last word. It was needlessly accusatory and she didn’t want him to get angry again.

But he already knew what she’d been going to say. ‘You hate to see me lying to myself, you mean?’ The words were edged with ice. ‘If I am, then I’m not the only one.’

‘What do you mean?’

All his attention was directed on her now, and she felt caught by it. Pinned to the spot. ‘You were never adopted, were you?’

A thread of old pain wound through her. ‘No,’ she said stiffly. ‘I wasn’t.’

‘And that hurt.’

It wasn’t a question, but she answered it anyway. ‘Once it did, but not—’

‘Now who’s lying?’ he said quietly. ‘You tell yourself it didn’t hurt, but it did. And it’s hurting you still.’

Completely against her wishes, a lump rose in her throat, a bitter grief and hot anger winding through her. The memory of watching friend after friend get adopted and leave the home, desperately hoping and praying that one day, that would be her. And yet it never was. It never, ever was.

She blinked furiously, trying to stop the prickle of unexpected tears. This wasn’t supposed to be about her. It was supposed to be about him. ‘No, it doesn’t,’ she insisted. ‘I’m fine with it now.’

Kai took a couple more steps towards her, then reached out unexpectedly and cupped her cheek, his palm warm against her skin. ‘So why are you crying?’ he asked softly.

* * *

Her skin felt smooth and silky, but there was no denying the sharp, jagged hurt that showed on her face, or sudden glitter of tears in her amber eyes. All his anger at her questions about Neve had vanished beneath a sudden, intense wave of guilt. He’d been accusatory and furious, especially when she’d started to tell him that he was lying to himself, and he’d hit back at her without thinking, using the fact that she hadn’t been adopted to make a point.

But he should have known that would hurt her, because no matter what she said about it not being an issue, it was an issue. In fact, he couldn’t imagine how terrible that must have been for a warm-hearted, generous girl like her, to watch people leave, to always be the one who got left behind.

You do remember her. You do.

He’d placed the angel on top of the tree and had turned to smile at her, and in that moment, he’d had a sudden flashback of himself sitting at a table, drawing an angel for the little girl who’d wanted one to go on the top of the tree. A bright, sunny little girl with golden hair and huge amber eyes, who’d attached herself to him for no reason he’d ever been able to see.

The memory hurt, though, leaving him with a sudden, gaping sense of loss that he hadn’t wanted to explore, so he’d turned to the tree instead, trying not to think about it. But then she’d mentioned Neve, and how he was refusing to remember, as if it was a choice, and it wasn’t.

Isn’t it? She’s not wrong. Neve’s gone. You don’t have to forget anymore.

But he wasn’t ready to think about that, not just yet. What mattered now was that he’d pushed too hard and she was crying, and he hated himself for him.

‘I don’t know,’ she said at last, her voice husky. ‘It’s been years and years. It shouldn’t matter.’

Yet it did; he could see that, and a surge of protectiveness rose inside him. Yet another emotional response that he shouldn’t have, but this time he let it fill him. This was Libby, and she was leaning into his palm as if she derived comfort from it, and it made him feel even more protective. He stroked her cheek with his thumb. ‘No, it shouldn’t,’ he agreed. ‘But it does. And for what it’s worth, I have no idea why anyone wouldn’t have wanted you.’

‘No,’ she said. ‘I have no idea, either. No one ever told me what was wrong with me.’

Dear God, did she really think that? That something was wrong with her?