Page 180 of Bones
I took it, my fingers trembling.
“And I just wanted to make sure you knew, I don’t blame you,” she added in a whispered rush. “It wasn’t your fault, Bones.”
I looked down at the soap in my hands. I didn’t deserve her forgiveness. Hawk at least agreed with me. I’d seen him a few times around the hold. He hadn’t said anything, but the simmering anger in his eyes when he looked at me spoke for him. Hawk hadn’t forgiven me for what I’d done, and it made me feel relieved. I would never forgive myself for the torture I’d helped Madame afflict, and it strangely comforted me to know at least one other person out there felt the same way.
“I’m sorry about Trey,” Mist added in a trembling whisper. ”He was a good man.”
My breath caught, and she squeezed my shoulder, her eyes glimmering with tears before she turned and left. I caught a glimpse of Apple and Sky watching, their faces solemn. I had to bite back the impulsive urge to snap at them to leave. They shouldn't be here with me. They should go help someone better, someone like Leda, where they could learn how to begoodfrom people naturally that way. What could they learn from me? How grief could make a person wither away until they crumbled into dust?
I didn’t see Clarity at all.
I tried to convince myself it would be disrespectful to go to her. If she didn’t want to see me, I could at least honor that. She probably hated me, and I couldn’t blame her. Seeing me would probably just cause her more pain, and gods, hadn’t I done enough?
30
Ithought the grief would eventually fade like Leda had said, but instead one day I woke up still heartbrokenandburning with rage. I thought it would go away, but it didn’t. The anger crackled under my skin like lightning, burning me from the inside out, but even worse, I was angry atTrey. Suddenly the beautiful stories that people told me about Trey grated on my fragile sanity. I tried to avoid talking to anyone as much as possible because I didn’t want to hear about how Trey had stayed up all night helping somebody patch a leaking roof or how he’d taken on extra work to help people who were sick. Everyone had a story about Trey, and every single one just made me angrier. The guilt ate me alive. What kind of person did that make me? How could I be angry at the person who died because of me? If anybody knew I felt this way, they’d probably be horrified.
Somehow a couple of months passed. The snow began to melt during the day but still froze at night. Mud coated everything, the kind of mud that sucked at my boots and reminded me far too much of when I'd jumped in the pit to fight Brimstone. I wished I could fight someone like that again. Maybe it would release some of the anger that crackled in the back of my mind like radio static.
I headed back to the clinic alone one night, covered in no small amount of blood from helping a woman give birth to twins. The babies seemed to be strong and healthy, both of them letting out an ear-piercing wail after I patted their backs. Still, coming back a storm grew heavier and heavier in my chest. I couldn't shake the horrible, selfish thought that seeing new life brought into the world just reminded me of the life I'd had ripped away from me. I swore under my breath. What kind of person hated innocent babies just for being alive?
You’re a good person, Bones.
If Trey could see me right now, I doubted he’d still say that with such certainty.
I came to an abrupt halt, staring at the little path that led toward the cemetery. I passed it every night, pretending not to see it, but for some reason, I couldn't walk past it now. My feet slowly took me down the path, that empty hole in my chest aching worse with every step. It took me a while to find Trey's grave as I squinted in the moonlight at the names carved in the simple wooden markers. When I finally found it, reading his name hurt a lot worse than I expected. I sank to my knees at the side of his grave, the cold damp mud seeping into my pants.
Despite watching a bullet go through his head, despite being painfully aware of his absence every second, apparently a stupid part of my mind still hadn’t actually believed it until now. Now seeing him reduced to a simple, plain grave marker reading “Trey Mason,” that last tiny shred of delusional hope shriveled away. Trey was never coming back.
I hated him for leaving. I hated knowing that he probablywouldsee his death as a noble sacrifice or some shit. I hated him for charming me with his kindness and for breaking down all my defenses. I hated him for making me fall in love with him and then fuckingleavingme here alone. What the fuck was I supposed to do now? I leaned forward and dug both my hands into the dirt. Dirt was all that was left of him. I clenched handfuls of it, fighting the urge to fling it at the marker bearing his name.
I knelt there for a long time, shivering and burning with anger as I gripped handfuls of ice-cold dirt. I startled when someone crouched beside me and looked up to see Mac. He still wore his tactical gear, so he must havejustreturned from his latest mission.
“C’mon, Bones,” he murmured, “let’s go home.”
I let him pull me to my feet. He wrapped an arm around me, tucking me against his side. He was taller than Trey had been, I noted numbly. Dirt caked my hands and knees and blood coated my clothes. He noticed the blood and frowned.
“That’s not your blood, is it?” he asked, a slight edge to his voice.
“No,” I said, “Miss Hatch had her babies.”
“Babies?” he repeated with surprise.
“Twins.”
“Everybody ok?”
“Yeah,” I mumbled.
We didn’t speak for the rest of the walk. We entered the clinic to find it empty, but warm, the fire roaring in the wood stove. I wished it could thaw the cold that had settled in my very bones. I went to the sink, washing the dirt off my hands.
“Bones, how can I help?”
I twisted to look at where Mac stood by the exam table. In the dim light, his scar looked like a grim slash across his cheek. His grey eyes glittered but with something softer than his usual fire. He ran a hand through his black hair, shoved both hands in his pockets, and shifted on his feet.
“Please,” he added even quieter, “I want to help.”
“Help with what?” I asked, my voice hoarse.
