Cynthia Eden - Sharpshooter

He didn’t walk back into the room with Sydney then. He walked down the hallway, went outside.

I shouldn’t have touched her. I should have stayed away.

Because now—now he knew what he’d be losing.

What he’d lose, even as he found his brother again.

I’m sorry, Slade. Because he’d just taken the one thing that his brother loved most.

HER EAR WAS pressed to the door. The resort might be fancy, but the room doors were thin, and Sydney could hear every word that Gunner and Logan said.

There is no me and Sydney.

The words hurt her, pounding through the numbness that had surrounded her ever since Logan had said that Slade might be alive.

Alive? How was that even possible? Gunner had been so sure that he was dead, and she’d seen Slade’s injuries. Too many injuries. Too much blood.

Slade had been dead. She’d been sure of it. If he hadn’t been…

We left him alone? For two years?

A tear trekked down her cheek, and once more, she heard Gunner’s gruff words echo through her mind.

There is no me and Sydney.

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