Resent, Reject, Regret

Chapter 9 You’re Free

we’d be stoking the same flames again! Don’t you get it?” “I know but… Can’t we do this in secret?” “No.” Finality reverberated in the man’s voice. “These are Mr. Brighthall’s wishes. Anyone who offends him will end up like this.” ‘These are Mr. Brighthall’s wishes.’ ‘Anyone who offends him will end up like this.’ The man’s words echoed in Deirdre’s mind. All the pain and sorrow that could ever have sprung from deep within her chest surged forward. The boundless darkness that had recently enveloped her paled compared to the biting cold freezing her heart. The frost hurt. The pain chilled her. Once again, she fell to the floor and wept. She then whimpered. ‘I regret saving you, Brendan. Why did I save you?!  ‘I thought the man I rescued would honor his pledge. I thought he would see me as someone precious—someone who deserved to be loved. But I didn’t save a man that day, after all. ‘I saved the Devil.’ “Miss McKinney!” Mercedes cried out. Alarmed, she hurried toward her. Deirdre’s lips trembled. “P-Phone…” “Sorry?” Tears rolled out of Deirdre’s unseeing eyes. “Phone… Please lend me your phone,” she pleaded. “I need to call him… Call Brendan… So I can ask him… How? How could he be so cruel to me? Why does he hate me so much?! What the f*ck did I do?!” Even as tears ravaged her face, her eyes remained dull and unalive. All that was left on her ashen face was dejection. She hated how unfair this had been. She loathed it down to her bones. Then, she heard the man who had spoken before. “You killed someone in a hit-and-run! You should be grateful that the court revoked the death sentence!” he scoffed. “I can’t believe you’re screaming ‘what did I do?’ as if you’ve learned nothing. What did the person you murdered do… to deserve running into you?!” “Conrad!” Mercedes hissed. She shot a glare at him and stuffed her phone into Deirdre’s hand. “I’m sorry. I’m afraid there’s little I can do. Miss McKinney? This might be your only hope.” Deirdre caressed the phone, feeling lost. “God, I’m sorry! You can’t see,” Mercedes said hastily. “I’ll help. What’s his number?” Deirdre would always be able to recite Brendan’s number from heart. This was the first time saying it aloud hurt, though—like being stabbed in the chest each time she said something. The call was connected, and Deirdre snatched the phone and held it to her ear. Brendan’s voice was frigid. “Who’s this?” Another voice—coy, feminine, and filled with feigned anger—called