Page 128 of Killing Me Softly

But he didn’t.

Instead, he turned the very thing that had haunted him into his strength. He wrote his dissertation, pulling from real-life horrors, from the true crime he had lived. He dissected the psychology of inherited guilt, of surviving the sins of others, of navigating an identity shaped by blood but rewritten by will.

Kenny had read it.Devouredit. Told him, without a hint of exaggeration, that it was the best damn thing he’d ever seen submitted.

But Kenny wasn’t marking him. Not anymore.

Because Kenny had stepped down. Had walked away from the world Aaron had fought to remain in. He’d walked into his office the day he was given the all clear from the doctor, sat through another tedious faculty meeting, listened to them dance around the scandal of the past year withoutactuallyaddressing it, then, as soon as the meeting ended, he’d pushed his resignation letter across the table, stood up, and walked out.

And it didn’t matter. It never had.

Because Aaron was smart.

He walked away with a 2:1.

But, more importantly, he walked away on his own terms.

He didn’t get up on the ceremonial stage, though. Despite he was dressed for it in the cap and gown. He only attended to cheer on Mel. And he whooped at her from the back while Kenny packed the last of his office things into boxes. He applauded and whistled as she accepted her certificate and took a bow. Then he met her at the end and hugged her.

“You better stay in touch,” she said, slapping him on the arm with her scroll.

“I will. You better come see me. When you get a break from your Masters at Cambridge, come visit us.”

“I will. I need the extra tuition.”

Aaron snorted, shaking his head. They hugged once more—a little tighter this time—before he turned away, leaving the University of Ryston behind, stripping off the cap and gown as he walked, tossing them into the back seat of Kenny’s car. Together, they loaded up years of Kenny’s research into the boot like an afterthought.

Then, with their fingers laced, Kenny pulled out of the car park, driving away from the place where he’d been part of the furniture for years.

Home was waiting. But first, they had bags to pack.

Because Kenny had sold his house.

Aaron had finally been given access to his trust fund—the blood money he’d spent months trying to ignore, trying to deny any claim to. He couldn’t erase where it came from, but hecoulddecide where it went. And so, without hesitation, he sent a chunk of it—three hundred grand—to Jayden’s charity, along with a note scribbled in the same lazy scrawl he’d always used:

Told you I’d pay you back. With added zeros for interest. Come see me on the island, bruv.

And just like that, the past loosened its grip.

Now came the move.

He and Kenny packed up the car with everything they could carry. The rest—old furniture, old memories—they left behind, selling off what didn’t matter, keeping only what did. Jack and Fraser dropped by, bringing a farewell gift of a bottle of good whisky for Kenny and a full-fat Coke for Aaron to wash his down with.

Aaron watched Kenny and Jack hug it out, saw the quiet exchange. A goodbye spoken through tight grips on shoulders and the slight, reluctant delay before letting go. He couldn’t hear what either said, and he didn’t want to. That moment belonged to them.

When Jack pulled him in for a hug, though, tapping his back, Aaron heard every word. “Go live the quiet life. You both deserve it.”

He planned to.

So they left.

Drove out of Ryston, out of the west Midlands, without looking back, down to the south coast, where they boarded aferry, and watched the sun set over the Isle of Wight as they arrived.

Their new home was tucked away on the quieter side of the island, nestled near a small coastal village where the sea stretched out in endless shades of blue and the cliffs cradled the horizon, and the world moved at a slower, softer pace. The house was a stone-built cottage, old enough to have character but strong enough to hold them. The walls thick, the windows deep-set, framing views of the endless coastline where the air smelled of salt andclean, not carrying old ghosts.

It had a garden, too. Overgrown, wild, alive. Bit like him. But Aaron had a plan to make it beautiful. He’d try, as best as he could not to kill the plants before he got the hang of it. He made a vow to not let anything die because of him ever again. Not even a house plant. There’d been too much death in his life already.

The back of the house opened onto a quiet stretch of beach, a place they could walk barefoot in the early mornings, when the world was still waking up. Where he could, as Kenny said,“Feel the sand between your toes for the rest of your life.”

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