Page 161 of Sins of the Hidden

For a moment, I just watched him, his features softened in a way I'd never seen before.

I pulled the blanket up over V's chest, tucking it around him with more tenderness than I wanted to admit to feeling. I couldn't help thinking about Dad's strange behavior tonight—the way he'd looked at V, the absence of his usual contempt. Whatever had happened between them had changed something fundamental, and the thought unsettled me.

"He almost looks harmless sleeping like that," Chet noted wryly. "You know, if you ignore literally everything else about him."

I lingered a moment longer, making sure V was comfortable, then followed Chet back into the living room, gently closing the bedroom door behind me. My body suddenly felt ten times heavier, the adrenaline of the evening crashing all at once.

I sank onto the couch, exhaustion washing over me in waves. Chet settled into the armchair across from me, his usual carefree demeanor edged with something harder, more calculating. The air between us felt thick with unspoken truths, heavier than the metallic scent of V's blood still clinging to both of us.

His eyes tracked to my trembling hands. Without a word, he got up and returned with a glass of water, offering it to me without comment. I took it, my fingers trembling slightly around the cool glass as I tried to pull myself together. He also grabbed a cherry cupcake I'd baked for Daphne's weekly visit.

"Chet," I began hesitantly, the question that had been burning inside me all night finally finding its way to my lips. "C-Can I ask you something?"

He looked up, licking frosting from his thumb. "Shoot."

I twisted my hands in my lap, fingers restlessly interlacing as I gathered my thoughts. "How do you forgive someone who doesn't know how to be sorry? Who doesn't understand why what they did was wrong?"

Chet's expression shifted, the usual mischief in his eyes replaced by something darker, more calculating. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and I suddenly felt the weight of his full attention—something I realized he rarely gave anyone.

"This about him?" he asked, jerking his head toward the bedroom where V lay.

"He doesn't understand why certain things are wrong," I said carefully, my voice barely audible. "In his mind, he's... protecting me."

"That man in there," Chet said, his voice dropping to match my whisper, "is broken in ways that can't be fixed. The wiring's all wrong. He's not missing pieces—he never had them to begin with."

"That doesn't excuse what he did." Disgust coiled in my stomach as I remembered waking up married with no memory of the ceremony. And it wasn't just V—it was Mitchell and two others. I had no idea who else watched V violate my trust.

"No, it doesn't," Chet agreed, surprising me. "Nothing excuses it." He was quiet for a moment, his gaze fixed on something distant. When he spoke again, his voice carried an edge I'd never heard before. "But I know something about living with choices you can't take back."

I stared at him, seeing for the first time the carefully constructed layers to the man I thought was just Daphne's easy-going boyfriend.

"You ever wonder why a man chooses to dig graves?" He asked, a strange smile playing at his lips that didn't reach his eyes. "Nobody asks questions when you show up with a shovel and dirt on your hands."

His phone buzzed in his pocket. He checked it, something cold flashing across his face before he silenced it with a precise, controlled movement.

"Listen to me," he continued, voice dropping lower. "Forgiveness isn't about the other person. It's about you." He pointed at my chest, the gesture somehow more threatening than comforting. "You can keep carrying the weight of what he did, or you can set it down. Doesn't mean you forget. Doesn't mean you let him do it again."

Something in his words cracked open a door I'd been keeping shut. My teeth scraped my lower lip until I nearly broke skin, the threat of pain somehow grounding. My hands trembled as I wrapped my arms around myself.

"I'm terrified," I whispered, the confession burning my throat. "Not just of him. Of myself. Of what it means that part of me feels safer with him in my bed than I do alone."

Chet didn't look disgusted. He just nodded slowly, something knowing in his weathered features. "The heart recognizes what it needs, even when the mind rebels against it." His voice carried no judgment. "You can hate what someone did and still need what they are."

"He's a killer," I said, the words falling between us like stones.

"Yeah," he leaned forward, eyes serious. "But he doesn't pretend to be anything else." His eyes studied me with uncomfortable intensity. "Whatever happened to you, Oakley—that wasn't your fault."

I froze, breath catching. "I never said?—"

"You didn't have to," he said quietly. "That kind of damage leaves marks. I know what it looks like when someone's been shattered and put themselves back together wrong."

Tears slid silently down my face as the weight of a secret I'd carried for years suddenly lightened. "I couldn't..."

"I know," Chet's voice carried none of its usual humor. "He makes you feel safe because no one can hurt you when death itself is holding your hand." His phone buzzed again, more insistent this time. He checked it with a frown. "I need to go."

He stood, gathering his jacket. I noticed a small braided bracelet on his wrist. He caught me looking and his expression changed in a way I couldn't read.

"I've got two reasons that taught me carrying that kind of weight only destroys you in the end." His fingers brushed over the bracelet almost protectively.

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