Chapter 44

Poppy

A cold hand touches me.

Julian ' s hands are always warm.

Or is it Julian grasping me, and everything just feels cold and numb now?

I turn, but I can ' t see the details, just a hazy silhouette kneeling next to me.

Fingers grip me tight. Julian ' s fingers.

Who ' s fingers belong to the coldness?

Henry. He ' s here, kneeling next to me.

Looking directly at me.

Crying.

Every little piece of me that feels broken now feels like it ' s being swept up so it can be sorted out again. Hopefully, it will not be tossed aside.

For years, I waited for Henry ' s hazel eyes to look at me. I always envisioned they ' d be filled with hate, not tears.

He reaches for me, grabbing me from Julian's hold and tugging my chest against his so our hearts can share a mirrored pain of shock and grief.

" I ' m sorry. I ' m so, so sorry, Poppy. I ' m sorry. I ' m sorry." His voice continues to break and fade, making him sound like the little boy who used to play hide and seek with me in the backyard.

" I ' m sorry. I ' m sorry." He repeats.

I want to reach up and hug him back. Why can ' t my arms move?

I open my lips. Why can ' t I speak?

Henry ' s hand gently probes my back, touching as if he ' s not sure I ' m real.

It ' s confusing me, this comfort, this love.

" I know we have a lot to talk about," he mutters, his lips close to my ear. " I just need you to know I ' m sorry. I fucked up."

I try to pull away, but he hugs me tighter. I realize then that he needs to say this without looking me in the eye. It ' s easier and allows for more clarity and less judgment—like a confessional box.

So I sink into him like jello poured into a mold, sensing Julian ' s presence behind me.

" Why?" I whisper. It ' s the million-dollar question that can be asked a trillion ways. Why did you leave? Why ignore me? Why care for me? Why?

His chest heaves. "I was mad at you, at myself, at Peter. Mad at the world. All I saw was red. It took me a lot of time to learn how to live seeing that color. And once I did, I didn ' t want it to touch you. Taint you. I deserve your absence; I don ' t deserve to have you in my life. You kept fighting for me all these years. I don ' t deserve your love, Poppy. I deserve emptiness. I thought if I kept ignoring you, you ' d see that and move on. You did."

I jerk; it feels like I ' m a butterfly, finally breaking free from my cocoon. Henry ' s here; I ' m in his arms. But his words ripped my wings off.

"I didn ' t leave because I wanted you to suffer, Henry. I didn ' t stop fighting or caring. I just needed to start living again. I left, but that didn ' t mean I wanted to live without you. You ' re all I have left. You ' re my last memory of Mom, Dad, and Peter." I look at the ash that was our home. " You ' re my memories now. Please don't take that from me. Please don't leave and go back to ignoring me."

His chest rises sharply, his breathing ragged. Resting his chin on my shoulder, he murmurs close to my ear, "I'm not a good person. I'm not the boy you knew." His words tremble through the air between us, almost lost in the exhale.

I shift slightly, turning to face him, though his arms remain locked around me. "Then let me teach you how to be good again," I reply.

How do I fix him?

I press my cheek against his heart, his still beating heart. I close my eyes. It ' s not too late. This is our second chance. I can hate him, but I can also forgive him.

We all handle grief differently. I know how I handled it; it wasn ' t perfect. I lived life on repeat in the past.

Henry handled it by numbing himself.

Finally, my arms move, and I hug him back. My fingers press into his still-breathing flesh. Relief soothes me.

" You never looked at me," I whisper painfully. " For three years, all I wanted was a look."

" I looked; I just made sure you never saw."

" Why?" Why not look at me with hate if you wanted me to leave so badly?

" I didn ' t want to give you hope in me. I changed." His fingers curl around my shirt, " I wanted you to hate me because I hate myself for how I acted. I knew if I looked at you, if I noticed you, that you would stop everything and try to fix us. I didn ' t want to be fixed. I don ' t deserve it, Poppy. I wanted you to move on without me. And when you did, when I heard you were looking for a new job and wanted to move, I was so happy and…"

My tears soak through his shirt. I know he can feel them now.

He continues, " I was devastated too because I knew it meant I lost you, but it was a different loss than Peter. Peter died, but you were leaving me to live."

" I could have lived with you," I sob.

His shoulders shake, " You try to save people, Poppy. Not everyone deserves to be saved or have a second chance."

His words hit me. Hard.

I gave Andrew too many second chances. First after he verbally scolded me, then after the physical blows. When I was finally willing to give up on him, he wasn ' t going to let me go.

" I just needed to know you were safe, so I asked Theo to look out for you," Henry says.

" It should have been you."

" I know, but as strong and hard as I look on the outside, I ' m so shattered within. It was easier to see you from afar. I didn ' t have to see you smile and think of when Peter, Mom, and Dad made you laugh; I didn ' t have to see you cry and remember how you cried at Mom and Dad ' s funeral. I ' m a coward."

You are.

So am I.

" I forgive you."

" You shouldn ' t."

" If I didn ' t, then I ' d let evil win. It wants to tear us apart, and I won ' t let it anymore." I hug him tighter.

For a few heartbeats, we just hugged each other, filling the gaps in the past three years.

***

The fire marshal allowed us to move closer to the house. We can start to sift through the rubble tomorrow, and by then, the soil should be cool enough.

Julian's on the phone with Theo, but I know his eyes haven't left Henry and me as we make our way closer to what was once our home. I can't stop shifting my gaze from the house to Henry. I've lost something but gained another.

" There ' s nothing left," I whisper. I swing my foot around and kick the damp soil. " There ' s no point in looking even."

" That ' s not true," Henry looks down at me. " We have each other." He taps his temple. " We have memories. They can ' t be burned away." He takes my hand and looks at what used to be the house. " We ' ll make new memories."

" That sounds like light in a dark tunnel."

" Then hold onto it," Henry replies.

If the trade-off for losing my childhood home was getting Henry back... well, I can live with that. It ' s not going to be easy, but we will make new memories. We will buy new items that we attach memories to, and I ' ll get to set those material things aside and start a new collection.

" I don ' t want you to hate yourself, Henry."

" I don ' t want you to blame yourself either," he replies. " What happened to Peter was an accident. I don ' t blame you. I..."

I look up to find him squeezing his eyes shut. All that guilt I feel floods back; it feels like someone is chasing my feet, trying to trip me, so I fall, and the emotions swallow me whole.

I called Peter that night. How do I not feel guilty because of that?

" I know what Andrew did to you that night," Henry says, his tone dropping to a dangerous register that I've never heard from him before. Realizing that I am discovering this new side of my brother is like watching a play unfold, act by act. I'll see his love, but I'll also witness his dark side. " Theo told me everything when we took over the investigation from Daniel and Harper."

Who has the power to take over an investigation from the CIA? My brother does.

So much is a mystery.

"You were right to call Peter that night. I would have killed Andrew. Back then, I didn ' t have the connections I have now; Oliver Sinclair would have slowly destroyed us all for killing his son. He was... Oliver was a very dangerous man," Henry says as he steps in front of me. " Don ' t you see, Poppy? You made the right decision. You ran. That was brave of you. You called for help. You chose the brother who thinks before he acts. I would have just reacted. I was young and foolish. Oliver would have killed us all."

" I could have called the police," I whisper.

" Oliver had them in his pocket. We ' d all be dead," he replies.

I hang my head. He ' s right. It doesn ' t wash away my guilt, though. It ' s more like pouring sanitizer on my hands. They still feel sticky; I need to wash them thoroughly. However, the sanitizer killed some of the thoughts.

" Poppy! Poppy!" Harper shouts.

Henry and I turn as Harper comes barreling through. Her feet stop when she reaches the driveway, and her blue eyes scan the plot of land that used to have a beautiful house on it. " Jesus," I read her lips mutter. She stumbles closer to us, her head shaking.

" I ' m ok," I tell her. I reach my hand out as she comes to us, but instead of taking it, she balls her fist and slams it into Henry ' s jaw.

" Harper!"

I knew that was coming.I can ' t blame her. I imagine one of her punches is from me.

" You fucking prick."

She swings again; Henry lets it happen. I try to wrangle her, but it ' s like herding a wild cat into a cold bath.

" Harper, stop. He apologized."

" Fuck apologies. I want blood and tears; I want his head on a spit."

" Well, your dramatics haven't dulled with age," Henry jabs.

" Harper, please." I grasp her bicep. Girlfriend ' s got muscle!

My plea does it. She stills. Her fist turns to a furious finger jab. A finger can be more deadly than a bullet, more threatening than the discovery of the nuclear bomb. It ' s a promise, a whispered silent vow of vengeance.

One single finger.

The freckles on Henry's face, like patches of camouflage, are barely visible beneath the flush of his reddened skin. Harper's frustration boils over, her voice dripping with a venomous edge. "Poppy might forgive you, but I won't," she hisses, her words cutting through the air like a sharpened blade.

" I ' m happy you didn ' t forget how to throw a punch, Harper," Henry replies. For a moment, he appears unfazed by the onslaught, a hint of appreciation flickering in his eyes.

Henry was the one who taught Harper and me how to punch. It was the summer when we were fourteen and just about to enter high school. During school orientation, a boy smacked both Harper's and I's asses. Harper and I giggled at the time. We were naive and thought the attention from a guy was like God whispering in our ears.

Henry, well, he didn't laugh. That boy had a black eye during the first week of school and never looked at Harper or me again.

When we got home, Henry took Harper and me to the backyard. He duck-taped my pillow to the tree and showed us how to punch.I slept on rolled-up towels until Peter ordered me a new pillow, which arrived a whole week later. Peter didn't even punish Henry for stealing my pillow because he was happy with the lesson.

Gosh, it's been years since I thought about that.

"Thank you," Henry tells Harper, his voice steady as he rubs his jaw, where redness hints at a recent clash.

Harper's confusion materializes in a blink, and her eyes widen in disbelief. "What?" she stammers, caught off guard. "Thank you." she hisses, taken aback.

Yeah, why did he say that?

Her irritation crests into a tangible wave. "That's not the response I wanted, you idiot," she snaps.

Brushing off her fury, Henry edges closer, a careful approach that contradicts his earlier laid-back attitude. His sincere and steady gaze meets Harper's. "Thank you for filling all our shoes for Poppy," he says, each word measured and heavy with sincerity. You've been there for her when my parents couldn't be when Peter couldn't be, and when I should have been."

My lips part. That's exactly what Harper has done for me. She's the mom I can talk to, the father I can trust will defend me, the brothers who look out for me, and the best friend I can gossip and make mistakes with.

Harper licks her lips, then sneers, " Fuck your ‘ thank you.'"

I can see the shock and the pain she is trying to sniff away.

I pinch the bridge of my nose. "Please, stop fighting. I ' ve finally got my family back, and I'm not going to allow us to argue. We all messed up. We can waste the present bickering over the past, spoil the future, plotting over how to get revenge, or we can just be thankful we ' re all alive, standing here together after everything. Please, for me, learn to forgive each other." I grab both of their hands and hold them tight.

My eyes find Julian. Surrounded by cinder and soot, I'm finally surrounded by people I love, people I'd do anything for. Our material items might have turned to ash, but as long as we are flesh and blood, with breathing hearts and blinking eyes, I'll keep fighting to stay strong for them.

For a long portion of my life, I wished I could be with my parents and Peter; I wished all the emotions, the good and bad, would just stop.

I ' m so happy I didn ' t get granted that wish or take it upon myself to make it happen.

Tunnels can be very long, the blackest of black. They can be terrifying, lonely, and so perilous that you want to close your eyes, stop walking, and never see the light. But remember this: a tunnel is just that, a line; there is an entrance and an exit.

Keep fighting.

Keep going.

I ' m proof that no matter what, you can find the strength and walk to the exit.

I see the light now. I ' m so close to stepping into it, and now I ' ll get to with Julian, Harper, and Henry by my side.