Page 232 of Sins of the Hidden

"That night I found you—seein' you standin' there in the rain. Bloody. Broken. Just a kid with eyes that had seen too fuckin' much." He looked away, jaw working like he was chewing on words that tasted bitter. "You were holdin' that bat like it was the only thing keepin' you alive. Probably was."

A pang in my chest throbbed at the thought of my bat at the bottom of the lake.

"I failed my own kid," he rasped. "Never held her tiny hand. Never knew what color her fuckin' eyes were."

His massive shoulders shook slightly, an almost imperceptible tremor that shocked me more than any confession could. Raindrops trailed down his scarred knuckles like tears he'd never allow himself to shed.

His calloused hand touched my shoulder. "All these years, I told myself I saved you. But the truth is, I just broke you differently." He looked away, jaw clenched tight. "And then that dumb fuck Chet. I told him the longer he stayed, the more likely he wasn't gonna make it. Asshole had a death wish."

Chet.

His death should have meant nothing to me.

But it didn't feel like nothing.

I pushed the thought away, buried it with all the other weaknesses I couldn't afford.

A knot formed in my throat, impossible to swallow. All this time, I'd thought he'd taken me in as a tool, a weapon to be used and discarded. To hear that there had been something more, something almost like love in his twisted, broken way, made something shift inside me.

"Why?" I asked, voice raw.

"Because you've got something worth living for," he nodded toward Oakley. "Because I've got a lifetime of shit to answer for... and we both know there's no clean way out of this."

A soft whimper escaped Oakley's lips, barely audible beneath the sirens. Her lips parted with each shallow breath, unconscious but still clinging to life. I crushed her against my chest, hand splayed over the back of her head, like I could press her heart to mine and make it beat stronger. Like holding her tighter might stop everything else from falling apart.

Prez didn't speak for a beat. Just stared. Then— "Let me take the fall for you."

I stared at him. The words made no sense. Nothing about this night made fucking sense. "What?"

"You heard me, kid. Those cops get here, I'll tell 'em I did this." He gestured to the bodies scattered around us.

I don't hide. I. Don't. Fucking. Hide. "I don't need your fucking help."

"This ain't about you anymore," Prez said, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper as he jabbed a finger at Oakley. "Look at her."

I did. And something inside me shattered. Her face was ghostly pale, lips tinged blue, chest barely moving with each shallow breath. And I was wasting time trying to win a fucking argument.

"You want to learn to be happy with Oakley? Can't do that if you're locked up. You got capital murder on your hands, V. You'll never be gettin' out, even with Law's help."

Death sentence was almost guaranteed. Never seeing Oakley except through bulletproof glass. Never touching her. Never having the chance to be the man she believed I could be. Never having Summer.

My choices were strangling me from within. This was the man who taught me never to kneel, now offering his neck to the blade for me. Accepting his sacrifice felt worse than dying myself—it meant admitting I'd failed, admitting I hadn't protected what mattered most.

My jaw clenched so hard I thought my teeth might shatter. I wanted to refuse, to scream, to rage—but the pale, limp body in my arms made any defiance impossible.

Her fingers twitched against my chest. Her body fighting for life even as her mind remained lost.

"Kid, you're the closest thing to a son I ever had," Prez's words nearly lost in the wail of approaching sirens. "I fucked that up. I know I did. Let me do this one thing right."

Son.

I looked down at Oakley, mud and blood coating her pale face.

I would kill for her.

I would die for her.

… I would give up anything for her.

---