Page 243 of Sins of the Hidden

I just couldn’t fucking do it.

The front door burst open, and Claudia rushed in, face streaked with tears and makeup. Her eyes found Oakley instantly, and something between relief and anguish crossed her features.

Claudia pulled Oakley so fiercely into her arms that, for a heartbeat, I thought she was trying to fuse them back together, terrified that even a breath of space could mean losing her again. "My baby girl," she choked out, crossing the room in seconds. "I would've died if I lost you." She pulled Oakley into her arms, crushing her daughter against her chest like she might vanish if she let go.

Claudia was across the country when Oakley was kidnapped. She couldn’t get a flight out here and drove straight through. Oakley's arms circled her mother's waist, face buried in her shoulder as Claudia rocked her gently. "I'm okay, Mom," she whispered, but didn't try to break free.

"When they told me—" Claudia's voice caught, fresh tears spilling down her cheeks. Her fingers threaded through Oakley's hair, checking for injuries that weren't visible. "What they did to you—I couldn't breathe."

The scent of Claudia's perfume filled the air between them, mixing with salt and grief. Her shoulders shook with sobs she'd been holding back. "I thought I'd lost you."

The room went quiet, giving them space for their reunion. Law watched from the bar, throat working as he swallowed hard.

After a long moment, Claudia pulled back enough to cup Oakley's face between her palms. Her thumbs brushed away tears neither of them realized Oakley had shed. Her gaze shifted over her daughter's shoulder, landing on me.

"I'm so glad you're okay, son," she said, voice warm despite the tremor running through it.

Something twisted in my chest. Being called son more times recently than I had in my twenty-six years of life was fucking weird.

I nodded once, unable to find my voice.

Pulling my gaze from Claudia, I saw Tyrant as he watched Callista from across the room where Joslyn and Nyla haddragged her away, a softness in his eyes that seemed foreign on his brutal face.

The people we never wanted became the people we couldn't live without. Monsters could learn to love. And sometimes, destruction was the only path to peace.

We survived. Scarred, broken, but whole. That was all we had ever really wanted.

And if peace didn't last—it never did in our world—we'd face whatever came next. Together. My bat in one hand, Oakley’s fingers laced through the other.

On our way home, the night wrapped around us, dark and quiet except for the distant sounds from inside. Oakley squeezed me tight, reminding me of the night I wanted her to teach me how to love her. I felt her cheek snuggle, the faint sigh as I could hear a smile in her voice. I felt a raindrop against my hand looking to my left. I swore I saw a lanky boy broken with only a bloody baseball bat against the world standing beside someone who looked a lot like Chet. His shit eating grin lit up as he winked at me.

That wasn’t me anymore.

Eleven years ago in the rain, I asked if someone would see the monster I was becoming and still choose to stay.

And now the boy who never survived that basement finally found something worth living for—and the girl who once ran from him now hid in the wreckage they built together.

Morning light carved golden paths across worn concrete as Dad and I moved through downtown. My fingers curled around his elbow, footsteps falling into the rhythm we'd perfected over two decades of Sunday walks. The familiar weight of his presence anchored me to memories of smaller hands and scraped knees, when the world fit neatly between crosswalk lines.

The air held the crisp promise of winter, carrying the scent of coffee from the corner shop and exhaust from early morning traffic. My heels clicked against sidewalk cracks, each step echoing memories of all the walks we'd taken together.

"Do you remember when you were seven and refused to walk anywhere but between Mom and me?" His voice was warm with fondness. "You said the sidewalk cracks were lava and we were your bridges."

Laughter bubbled up. "I remember Mom carrying extra bandaids because I kept falling into the lava anyway." I squeezed his arm gently, feeling the solid comfort of his presence.

"Claudia always came prepared." His eyes crinkled with the memory, decades of shared moments threading through his expression. The love he held for my mother, I always hoped would find me one day.

It didn’t, but the one that did was better.

It wasmine.

We walked in comfortable silence, our footsteps creating a steady rhythm against the concrete. The morning hustle moved around us—joggers with earbuds, dog walkers navigating the sidewalk, the familiar choreography of a city waking up. Dad adjusted his pace to match mine, the way he'd done since I was small enough to struggle keeping up with his longer strides.

The scent of fresh bread from the cafe three blocks over mingled with exhaust fumes and the distant smell of rain threatening in the gray clouds overhead. My dress brushed against my knees with each step, the fabric catching occasional gusts of wind that carried the earthy smell of fallen leaves.

We'd reached Sweet Summers without me realizing it. Through the large front windows, I could see something was different inside—chairs overturned, scattered debris across the floor like the aftermath of a storm that had blown through our dreams.

Dad's steps slowed, his hand finding the small of my back as we approached the entrance. The building looked wounded in the morning light, its broken windows catching sunlight and throwing fractured rainbows across the sidewalk.

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