12
“Good God,” someone muttered. Lucien, perhaps.
Charles held his breath, unable to focus, waiting for his friends to judge him, knowing he would deserve it if any of them walked out of this room. An inner torment twisted sharply inside him, because part of him wanted them to. At least then he’d know he was right all along, that he didn’t deserve them.
“I have regretted that decision every day of my life,” he said at last. “And I will understand if any of you wish to leave.”
“Leave?” Jonathan spoke up. “Why would we leave?”
Charles finally managed to look at the faces of his friends. There was no derision there, no disgust, no outrage. Only understanding.
“You challenged a man who beat his wife,” Godric said slowly. “That is not something to be ashamed of.”
“There are other ways to
