Page 62 of The Reckoning
“That I caused.” He pulls his hand away, shifting to put more distance between us. “And then I made it worse by being a coward. By going along with the lies.”
“You were in shock. Traumatized.”
“Stop.” His voice hardens, a flash of the old Aries breaking through the vulnerability. “Don’t make excuses for me. Not for this.”
I fall silent, recognizing that my attempts to comfort are only pushing him further away. For a moment, we sit in the quiet of the cell, the weight of the revelations pressing down on us both.
“I don’t deserve your kindness,” he says finally, staring straight ahead at the blank concrete wall. “Or your forgiveness. Or your…whatever this is between us.”
“That’s not for you to decide,” I reply, a firmness entering my voice that seems to surprise him. “My feelings, my forgiveness—they’re mine to give, not yours to reject.”
He glances at me, confusion mixing with the guilt in his eyes. “How can you even look at me after what you heard? After what I did?”
“Because I see you, Aries. All of you. Not just the mistake you made as a kid, but the man you’ve become. The good and the bad, the strength and the weakness. All of it.”
“The man I’ve become,” he repeats with a bitter laugh. “The perfect Hayes heir. The dutiful son. The coward who let his brother suffer for his crimes.”
“Also the guy who’s trying to protect me now,” I counter. “Who survived months of captivity without breaking. Who’s finally facing the truth he’s denied for so long.”
He shakes his head, not ready to accept any version of himself that isn’t completely awful. “You should go. Be with Arson. At least he’s honest about who he is.”
“No.” The word comes out stronger than I intended, echoing slightly in the concrete space. “I’m not going to let you push me away. Not anymore.”
“Lilian—”
“No,” I repeat, moving closer despite his attempt to create distance. “I’ve spent my entire life being controlled, being told what to do, who to be, how to feel. By my mother, by doctors, by everyone who thought they knew what was best for me. I’m done with that. Done with people deciding for me.”
Something shifts in his expression—surprise, maybe, at the steel in my voice. I’ve never been one to push back, to stand my ground. The perfect, fragile daughter, following the rules, taking her meds, and accepting the limitations placed on her.
Not anymore.
“I choose who I care about,” I continue, holding his gaze. “I choose who gets my forgiveness, my understanding, my—” I hesitate, not quite ready to name the other feeling swirling inside me. “And right now, I’m choosing to be here. With you. Whether you think you deserve it or not.”
For a moment, I think he might keep arguing, might keep trying to push me away out of some misplaced sense of nobility or self-punishment. Instead, his shoulders slump, the fight draining out of him.
“I don’t understand you,” he says softly.
“You don’t have to understand me,” I reply. “Just accept that I’m not going anywhere.”
Tentatively, I reach for his hand again. This time, his fingers curl around mine, holding on like I’m a lifeline in a storm. A shadow falls across the floor, and I look up to find Arson standing in the doorway, his expression hard as he takes in the scene before him—Aries and me, sitting close, hands intertwined.
“Well, isn’t this touching?” he says, voice dripping with sarcasm. “The prodigal son, repenting his sins.”
Aries tenses beside me but doesn’t rise to the bait. I shoot Arson a warning look, silently pleading with him not to push things further.
He ignores it, of course. “No matter what I do, no matter what I reveal, you always go back to him, don’t you?” The accusation is directed at me, sharp with something that might be jealousy or might be simple resentment. “The golden child. The chosen one.”
“That’s not what this is—” I begin, but he cuts me off with a dismissive gesture.
“Save it. I don’t need your explanations or your pity.” His gaze shifts to Aries, cold and calculating. “Enjoying the accommodations, Brother? I can always lock the door again if you’re feeling nostalgic. It’s not quite the same, but I could make it work.”
Aries rises slowly, his hand slipping from mine. “I deserved worse than that cell,” he says quietly. “We both know that. And I know you think I had it good being on the outside, but you don’t know my side of the story. What happened after you left.”
The simple acknowledgment seems to throw Arson off balance, as if he were prepared for denial, argument, or anything but acceptance.
“It’ll have to wait. We have work to do,” he says after a moment, defaulting to practicality when emotions become too complicated. He waves his phone between us. “The backers are getting impatient.”
“What does that mean for us?” I ask, standing as well, trying to defuse the tension vibrating between the twins.
