Page 111 of Midnight Between Us
He narrows his eyes slightly, suspicion flaring.“Then what’s your angle?Is this about her?About convincing Simone you’re suddenly not full of shit, so she’ll give you another chance?”
There’s heat under the question—protective, defensive heat.He’s guarding her.And even if it singes a little, it also makes me want to hug the version of him who still believes Simone deserves the world.Because she does.
“She deserves better than some asshole who took off the second things got hard,” he finishes, voice sharp enough to cut.
“She does,” I agree, without hesitation.“But I’m not here to ask for anything.I’m on a journey to heal, and yeah, it sounds like something you’d hear in a cheesy recovery brochure, but it’s the truth.I didn’t want to meet you as the man I used to be.”
He crosses his arms but doesn’t push back.“And who are you now?”
I pause.Think.Then say, “Someone trying not to be afraid of love.Of being known.Someone who doesn’t flinch at his own reflection.I’m not expecting anything from you.If this is the only time we ever see each other, I’ll be grateful just to have had this.”
He watches me.Really watches me.
“Tell me why you left her.”It’s not a question, but a demand.“If you want a chance at anything—me, her, whatever—you need to start there.”
My stomach tightens.The oxygen thins.I knew this was coming.But it still feels like stepping onto a stage naked, under a spotlight I didn’t ask for.
He wants the truth.
Not the polished version.Not the convenient one.
He wants blood.
So, I start at the beginning—my beginning.The version of my life that I no longer glamorize or excuse.I talk about my father.About how fear came standard in our house.How I learned to fight before I learned to breathe.How survival became instinct, and softness was weakness.
I tell him about the nights I protected my younger brothers, the day I first stood between Simone and the Montgomery kids, and how that moment redefined everything I understood about love and responsibility.
I explain how, over time, I became someone who confused control with care and silence with strength.And the end, because we can’t forget the night that changed everything and the reason I had to run.I ran because the next time, it would have been fatal for one of us.
So yes, I left not because I didn’t love her, but because I didn’t know how to love without destroying everything I touched.
This time, the words don’t come from anger.They’re not cracked with guilt or poisoned with excuses.They come from somewhere steadier—somewhere hard-earned.
When I finally stop, I don’t feel broken.I feel ...intact.
Lyndon doesn’t say anything right away.He’s staring at me, expression unreadable.I brace for a blow.
Instead, he exhales.“You stopped the generational trauma,” he says quietly.
I blink.“What?”
“Generational trauma,” he repeats.“You stopped it before it became more.”
The words hit like nothing else has—not the letters, not therapy, not even Simone’s forgiveness.Just this.A nineteen-year-old boy seeing the boy I used to be.
“Actually ...”He shrugs, while his eyes are still locked on mine.“Thank you.For what you did—for your brothers.For Sim.Even for me, when you didn’t know I existed.Leaving instead of staying and becoming the same monster who raised you?That took guts.”
I swallow, hard.His words—his grace—hit me in a way that therapy never did.This boy, this almost-man, doesn’t owe me anything.But he just gave me something I haven’t felt in years.
Permission to believe I didn’t completely fuck everything up.
“Thank you,” I whisper, and this time, I mean it like a vow.
It doesn’t fix everything, but it makes it easier to stand here without falling apart.
This is a good start, now to figure out how to live ...while I have to hide from the world again.
ChapterFifty-Six
