25. Hart

"If you wake up in the morning and feel no pain, it is to be feared that you died in the night."

Hart woke up in increments. And he certainly hadn't died in the night, because his entire body ached. There was a throbbing just behind his eyelids, a stiffness in his muscles that made moving his body harder than it should have been. He felt heavy, weighed down and fixed in place.

But his mind felt clearer than it had before he'd passed out. It felt…transparent. Like someone had cleaned the windows to the outside world and he could see through them again.

He cracked his eyes open just a sliver, noticing tiny things about his surroundings, like the light peeking through the curtains, the feeling of soft blankets under his fingers, and the scent of his favorite laundry detergent in his nose.

Familiar things.

HIS things.

He opened his eyes fully and realized he could see clearly, despite the cobwebs of sleep still lingering in the corners.

He was in his room, in his bed, in his clothes. But most importantly, he was in his own skin. He felt in control again. He pulled his hand out from beneath the covers and moved his fingers in front of his face.

It made his eyes prickle with tears, that small, simple action conveying the autonomy that had been stolen from him when it shouldn't have been possible.

He noticed the raised and angry welts on his wrists and remembered fighting, screaming, wanting it to hurt, wanting to hurt others. It was hard to face, his stomach rolling with sickness. He wanted to hide it away, to pretend it had never happened, pretend he hadn't been rendered helpless.

But he couldn't keep doing that.

Maybe it was the only thing the curse had taught him.

He continued to watch his hand for a moment, trying to judge the delay between his brain and his hand's response. It was hard not to second-guess and fall into a spiral of self-doubt. Did he really have full control? Was he really him?

It didn't feel like someone was whispering in his ear anymore. Like someone was making him move in directions he had no business going. He searched his heart and found the building blocks of who he loved and what truly mattered to him, their bases damaged but intact, radiating warmth.

That more than anything reassured him.

He was Hart again, and Hart had made a mess of his life. A mess that now waited for him just outside his bedroom door.

He lowered his hand and took a deep breath before sitting up slowly, ignoring the dizziness that came, with the movement.

"Easy there," a low grumble cautioned him barely above a whisper, like they were scared to disturb Hart even though he was awake.

Hart snapped his head toward the sound, finding Cane sitting in Hart's plush armchair, which had been relocated right next to the door. He was slumped low, with his head resting on his knuckles like he'd been there for hours.

Hart's insides jumped at the sight of him, not believing he was truly there at first, and not something he'd just dreamed up because he wanted it so badly. His stomach curled with the need to bridge the yawning, cold gap between them, to mold himself to Cane's body and never let go. To draw on the strength that had helped him in his worst moment and abandon himself into his care like he always had. Cane always made him feel the most like himself. He didn't think he could trust anyone more to let him know whether he was real or not.

But a chasm of misfortune and uncertainty ran between them now, and Hart didn't know if he could find a way across, even though he yearned for it. The realization that he'd almost lost Cane like he'd nearly lost himself was sinking in.

Hart didn't dare take his eyes off him, drinking him in, refusing to blink, so scared that he'd vanish. That he'd wake up in that motel alone, twisting on the sheets, stuck inside his own body.

Cane didn't look any better than Hart felt.

There were dark circles around his eyes and a bloom of bruises in every color littering his body in more colors than his tattoos. Hart didn't know which ones had been made by his hands, and he felt sick to his stomach. Cane's vest and jeans looked like they hung on him more than they had only a couple of weeks ago.

Hart swallowed against the guilt in his throat, the silence getting to be too much.

"You're here," he whispered.

Cane huffed, raising his head and rolling his eyes. "Where the fuck else would I be?"

Hart looked down to pick at the blanket. He felt so vulnerable. Flayed open. He remembered every reason why Cane could have left. How the curse had made him act. The things he'd said and done to implode his entire life. Shame colored his cheeks and his heart beat unevenly, unable to find a steady pace with the maelstrom swirling inside of him.

"Hart," Cane said, softer this time. "Where else would I be?"

"Away from this mess?" Hart answered hoarsely, hardly able to get the words out over the lump in his throat, trying to fight back the prickle in his eyes.

He startled when Cane rose from the chair and strode over to his bed. He sat on the edge of it, reaching out until he was cupping Hart's cheeks and holding his head to look at him.

"I don't mind the mess," he said.

Hart searched for the lie, looking for any sign that Cane was just telling him what he thought Hart wanted to hear.

He found none, and it made his heart ache.

"You don't?" he whispered.

Cane shook his head, pulling Hart forward until their lips were just a breath apart. "I never did," he said before claiming Hart's lips in a kiss that felt lighter than anything ever had before.

Cane's hold on Hart was still firm, still keeping him in place the way they both liked, rough thumbs stroking over his cheeks, fingers sliding into his hair. But the way his lips moved over Hart's was different, the kiss tasted like them, familiar and achingly welcome after what Hart had been through. But the force behind it was gone. Cane moved slower. His lips featherlight against Hart's. His tongue asking permission instead of invading.

Like he thought Hart was fragile. Like he needed coddling now after everything.

It was too much. More than he thought he deserved, and nothing he was used to.

He pushed harder into the kiss on instinct. His fingers reached up and wrapped themselves around Cane's shirt, pulling him closer. He tongued at Cane's piercing, tilting his head so he could grip the warm metal between his teeth.

He wanted Cane to respond. For things to go back to the way it used to be. To tread the same path, hoping it wasn't completely broken.

"Please," he whispered, tugging at Cane's shirt, feeling the fabric stretch and hearing the seams strain in the quiet room.

"Hart," Cane breathed, bracing himself on a hand to avoid being pulled down.

"I need you," Hart begged, and just like that, his sore wrists were wrapped in Cane's strong hands, the kiss broken completely.

"I need you too, but…"

Hart felt cold and frozen over, like one knock would shatter him all over the floor. He pulled his hands away and Cane let them go easily. It made the sadness in his chest deepen. The strangeness of wanting complete control of himself and wanting to give it to Cane, who didn't seem to want it, played discordant notes in his chest.

"But…" Hart repeated dully.

"Not like this," Cane said, grasping Hart's chin to look into his eyes. "Not before we talk about things."

Things. What an innocuous word to hold so much.

It meant their very future. Cane had said he'd want an answer by the end of the case. That was staring at them now, but Hart was unsure if Cane's stance had changed. All the chaos that had surrounded them not just since the curse had appeared, but before then was a weight around their necks. A noose waiting to tighten.

Had Cane finally seen that, just when Hart had realized how much he wanted them forever?

"We can put it off until tomorrow if you're not feeling great," Cane continued into Hart's silence. "That cursebreaking was fucking intense…"

"No." Hart shook his head, dread filling him to the brim. There was no sense in dragging out the inevitable. "Never put off until tomorrow what you can do today."

The words tasted like ash on his tongue, but he was surprised by Cane's amused snort as he stared at him with some unnamable emotion lifting the corners of his eyes and mouth.

"I missed you, sweetheart," he said, and the nickname sent Hart's mind into a spiral.

He was still sweetheart. There was still something of him left with Cane. Maybe he hadn't completely ruined his life. Maybe…

"Keep me."

"Keep…" Cane frowned, his eyes turning wide and incredulous.

Hart grasped Cane's hand on his chin with both of his own hands, his heart drumming in his ears as he tried to breathe. "It's the end of the case, and you said you wanted an answer. I'm making the decision. I'm…I want you to keep me. I want to have you too."

Cane closed his eyes and dropped his hand to the bed. "You have no idea how long I've waited to hear that. Fuck, Hart. But…we need to talk first."

Hart tried to move closer. "No—"

"You need to know the filthy details before you decide, sweetheart," Cane said, keeping him at arm's length.

"What could be worse?" Hart asked, frustration making his eyes water again. "You said you knew me, Cane. So how do you still think I'll care about any of that?"

"Because it's my fault you got cursed," Cane said, digging his fingers into his knees as he stared at Hart, waiting for his reaction.

Hart opened and closed his mouth a few times.

"That's ridiculous. The curse was hopping around somehow and landed on me. I don't know how. I shouldn't be susceptible to curses. But I know it wasn't your fault. You didn't choose it," Hart said. "You're not a caster."

"But I killed the mother of one."

Cane dropped the bomb, and Hart felt the echoes of the word like shrapnel in his flesh.

"Excuse me?"

Cane swallowed hard before nodding grimly. "I told you I was in jail before you and I first met."

"That was for murder?" Hart asked heavily.

He knew Cane was into some shady things. He'd always been aware which side of the line Cane walked. But…

"No," Cane said. "The other way around."

"I'm not sure I follow," Hart said, feeling as faint as his voice had suddenly become.

Cane let go of his knee to tug at the gauge in his ear.

"The murder was revenge," he said. "For being put in jail."

"You're gonna have to give me more than that, Cane," Hart said, feeling himself tremble in reaction to what he was hearing.

Shady was one thing.

Dabbling illegally was another.

Both of those things Hart could live with. Had lived with to give himself time with Cane. Murder was…

"You know some of it already," Cane said. "You know I was on the street as a teenager. And that I found a partner I built my business with when I was really young."

"How young?" Hart asked.

"I met her when I was fourteen," Cane said. "She was just a couple of years older, but to a fucked-up kid without a home, family, or any sort of stability she was a savior. She picked me out of the mud and made me her right-hand man. We started out small—petty crimes, enough to pay for a place to stay and have food each day."

Hart wanted to ask questions. He wanted to interrupt and dig deeper and find whatever he could to make this not be the truth. But he had no choice but to let Cane say what he needed to say.

"She was ambitious, though," Cane continued. "She knew how to get into places uninvited, knew how to swindle people into doing her bidding. She kept finding these jobs for us, each one bigger than the next. She made friends with some pretty fucked-up people. But powerful. She saw them as tickets to a better life. And I followed because I trusted her. I didn't see myself as her errand boy, even though I did all of the dirty work. I thought we were equal. It was just me and her against the world."

"Were you ever…" Hart trailed off, jealousy sticking to the backs of his teeth like caramel.

"We got together a year or two after we first met," Cane said, making Hart's insides turn. "The whole thing was just as volatile and toxic as everything else about our lives was, but I thought that was how it had to be. It wasn't until I met you that my perception flipped. It wasn't even the sex either. What me and Sarah had was certified vanilla in comparison, but the ways we interacted were… Well, let's just say that what eventually happened shouldn't have shocked me as much as it did."

"What happened?" Hart asked to take his mind off the images in his head. Of Cane loving someone else. Wanting someone else. Seeing someone else as his whole world.

"She found a big deal dude she thought she could swindle," Cane said with a snort. "Planned a long con on him, intending to take over his entire empire. She had a plan that sounded great. She had the brains to pull it off, and she had me at the ready to do whatever she told me to."

Cane shook his head for a second before continuing.

"I just didn't know that my part in her little plan was that of the fall guy. She'd fucked up along the way, but she'd convinced the guy it was all my fault, and to prove her loyalty to him, she offered to end me herself. She lured me to his place, then let him watch as she shot me like a fucking dog."

He lifted his shirt and framed the scar on his stomach hiding under a tattoo of a skull with his hand. Hart had noticed it before in passing, but had never paid too much attention when Cane had moved him away from that spot when they were intimate.

Now it made sense.

Hart sucked in a sharp breath, the image of Cane bloody and beaten against the wall in his apartment coming to mind. Hart had been cursed then, but his horror and hatred had been real. He felt it now too.

"They packed me up in the trunk of a car and dumped me in Mechaven, under a tree right at the border," Cane said, dropping his shirt. "She just had to be poetic, all the way to the end."

"What's poetic about being left to die?" Hart asked, his throat constricting.

"We used to bury the money we picked off people under that tree. Marked it with an X so we knew where it was. It was our spot."

He sounded both wistful and venomous, the combination a confusing contrast. He spat the word "our" like it was poison on his lips, and Hart wanted to take it all away. But he couldn't rewrite Cane's history for him.

He couldn't give him a loving mother who hadn't run and left him. He couldn't give him a father who hadn't lost himself in drinking. He couldn't prevent Cane from running away from home as a kid, trying to find something for himself and then stumbling across the wrong person who took advantage of how much he wanted. To have things of his own. To finally belong to someone.

It was written clearly now. Hart could see it like it was a book. The pages that made Cane who he was. A heartbreaking tale that was far too common.

"I pulled through because some homeless asshole found me and called an ambulance," Cane continued, looking everywhere but at Hart. "By the time I recovered enough, she and her new friend had found out I was alive, but they couldn't do anything to end me while I was in the hospital, so they reported me to the police and set me up for all the shit they were suspected of. I went down like the fucking scapegoat I was always supposed to be."

"So you…"

"I did my time," Cane said. "And she apparently did hers, because she climbed up the ranks in the underworld in the years I was away. She'd visit me. To gloat. To point out people she'd paid off to try to off me inside. She'd hand them cash in line of sight so I'd know she meant it. She laughed the entire time. Treated it as a game. She never seemed disappointed when the attempts failed. She'd just come for another visit, with a new idea, a new threat."

"That's…" Hart shook his head. He'd seen his fair share of horrible people—no one who cast curses was ever ‘nice,'—but he had always thought people could be redeemed. Sarah though…the systematic way she had tried to destroy Cane. It wasn't just a mistake. It had been an abusive campaign spanning years and years. "She's unhinged."

"Oh, she was," Cane said, putting an emphasis on the past tense.

"Right. Was," Hart said, and he found the word didn't bother him as much. The meaning behind it didn't make his stomach turn. Instead, it made him feel satisfied. Cane was there with him because she wasn't anymore. He couldn't even force himself to try and find wrong in that. Just like the twins.

Maybe that was horrible. Maybe it was immoral or wrong.

But Hart could make his peace with it.

"I made connections inside too," Cane continued, unaware of the shift in Hart's head. "I made myself invaluable to a few hot shots. Saved their lives a little, threatened others a little bit more. Had my outside guy help with some stuff."

"Outside guy?" Hart asked, and Cane actually cracked a smile.

"The homeless jackass who saved my life," he said. "Ares."

"Oh!" Hart said, eyes widening.

Cane barked out a laugh. "Proved himself to be an asset, that one. Had an eye on Sarah the entire time I was in. When she wasn't cackling in my face, that was."

"And then?"

"And then I got out," Cane said, holding Hart's gaze like it was a challenge. Like he was pushing him to balk at the words and tell Cane to get out. "And I handled it."

"You killed her."

"I actually had second thoughts about it, once I was out." Cane huffed at himself, running a hand over his hair. "Had a moment you'd be proud of. Water under the bridge and all that crap."

"That does sound like me," Hart murmured.

"She had a hit man ready and waiting," Cane said. "She didn't want me spreading the word about her and what she's capable of. She didn't want her new partner to know she was bleeding him dry and setting him up the same way she had me."

"How did you get out of it?"

"Ares knew where she was, like I said," Cane said, hands straying to the blanket under them like he needed to hold on to something. Anchor himself. "I won't go into detail, but he made sure I knew where she'd be every second of every day. Enough for me to intercept her and end her before she could end me. Ares took the body after that. Put her somewhere even I don't know where. Plausible deniability and all that if the police ever came knocking. It's better that way. She already haunts me enough."

Quiet descended between them at those last words, and Hart peered at Cane's face. He didn't look ashamed exactly, or like he regretted what he'd done, but there were clearly some burdens he carried to go along with the scars. Sarah's death hadn't been easy on him, but he'd obviously seen it as a necessity.

Kill or be killed.

Hart swallowed, his hand trembling as he reached out. Cane tensed, but didn't stop him as Hart slipped it underneath his shirt and rested it gently over Cane's warm stomach with the scar directly under his palm.

"Was it the only one she left?" Hart asked softly.

Cane made a little choking sound, then managed to shake his head. "Just the one that cut the deepest."

Hart was sure he didn't just mean physically.

"So you said it was Sarah's child who cursed you. That this was revenge for her murder," Hart said, putting all the pieces of the messed-up puzzle together. "Was that…Arianna Layton? The name that came in."

Cane nodded. "Ares couldn't know everything. He was mainly there to make sure I had a location of where she'd moved to. But she had a child somewhere along the way. She must have kept her hidden from everyone. The child was never tested and she was never registered, but she apparently has a fuckload of power and can do shit nobody's seen before."

"You can say that again," Hart said, his mind reeling with the information. "I've never seen a curse act the way yours did. I had the theory it moved, so I was somewhat on the right track, but I still don't understand how."

"It's because of me," Cane said quietly. "The curse was designed to destroy me. The twins, my fighter, Ares…all key members of my inner circle. All capable of causing damage to my business and my reputation. Which they did."

It rang in Hart's head. The names of the people, their connections to Cane and his business. He didn't fit anywhere. He didn't belong to Cane in the same way. He shouldn't have been brought under the way he was.

"And me?"

"You weren't supposed to be involved. She didn't know about you, and even if she had, apparently it shouldn't have worked on you. But…the curse changed. Beyond what she thought it would be."

"What do you mean it changed?" Hart asked.

"It was supposed to get bigger and bigger as it jumped from person to person, chipping away at me until it was all gone," Cane said. "It all hinged on how important certain people or things were to me. How important I thought they were. Ares was supposed to be the last one."

"But…"

"But it was you, in the end," Cane said, looking into his eyes as he admitted his biggest weakness. "The curse recognized you as the one who could fuck me up the most."

"But I'm a cursebreaker. I have nothing to do with your business," Hart whispered, hope growing even though he was scared to let it. He felt like he was a soft breeze away from falling off a precipice.

"Don't play stupid with me, sweetheart. And no need to fish for declarations either. You know."

"What?" Hart asked, feeling his face flame, his entire body set on fire. Cane had implied it before. He'd shown Hart. Told him the crude version of the truth. But this was different. This was THE moment, and Hart knew now that he couldn't let it slip through his fingers again. "Tell me."

"You know what you are to me," Cane said, shuffling closer with Hart's hand still on his stomach, putting them nose to nose. "What you've always been. The power you hold over me."

"I need you to tell me," Hart breathed, knowing he was playing dirty, but he needed to hear it. Needed the lingering voices in his head telling him he wasn't enough to shut up. Needed the words put into the universe so he could know they were real and tangible.

"You were always mine, Hart," Cane said, tucking a lock of hair behind his ear. "In my heart I never let you go. I just waited for you to figure it out and come back to me. I was hoping this would…"

He trailed off and let the words drift away, frowning slightly before pulling back.

Hart crawled after him in panic. "Cane…"

"The curse is gone now. The case is done, and you're safe. That's what matters. You're safe, and you'll be safer away from me."

Hart crawled straight into Cane's lap. He did it gently, mindful of the injuries Cane had sustained, but still firmly enough to show Cane he was there. He was with him. He was staying.

He wrapped his arms around Cane's neck and leaned his forehead against his.

"I need you to hold me back," he said into the tiny sliver of space between them. Cane's arms came up without a second of hesitation, wrapping themselves around Hart's waist and pulling him closer.

Possessive. Just like he should be.

And safe, the way Hart only ever felt with Cane.

"The curse never had a thing to do with us, Cane," Hart said, closing his eyes. "It still doesn't. I want you."

"Want was never an issue for us, sweetheart. We're from different worlds though. I think you always knew it, but this shitfest just proved it to me beyond a doubt. You could have been hurt. You could have had your life fucked up beyond repair. Because of me."

"No." Hart shook his head. "This wasn't on you. It wasn't your fault."

"I contributed to it. I played my part, Hart," Cane said, stroking his back. "I gave you so much shit for it, but you were right to disappear on me."

Hart gripped Cane's face in his hands, mindful of the stitches.

"Listen to me," Hart said, his heart thundering in his chest. This was it. He couldn't mess this up. He couldn't hide anymore. "No, I wasn't. I was wrong the moment I walked out on you without a word. I was wrong every single time I put the phone down instead of calling you. I was wrong when I tried to find you in other people, and I was wrong for behaving like I hated you when I never did. Cane…"

"Sweetheart…"

"I need you," Hart said, conviction dripping from his lips. "I accept what you did, and I still need you."

Cane was solid beneath his fingers. Real. Tangible for the first time since they'd met. He felt like an actual option, and Hart allowed himself to want that. More than he'd ever wanted anything else. He allowed himself to take for himself. He allowed himself to be selfish in the right ways.

"And not just to fuck me out of my own head so I can keep being perfect, but to stand with me when I'm not. Because I'm really not. I never have been. But you're the only one who never had an issue with that. The only one who saw straight through me and took me with all the broken bits without ever trying to make them fit together."

"You're not broken, Hart," Cane said, his voice thick and his arms around Hart tightening even more.

"I am," Hart said. "We both know I am. I think everyone knows now. I did some stupid shit while I was cursed."

"Hey," Cane said, "if I can't blame myself then you definitely can't blame yourself either."

"I said and did some really awful things. To everyone," Hart said. "To you."

"Not your fault," Cane repeated.

"I'm still sorry," Hart said, shaking his head when Cane went to respond. "Not just for the curse, but for everything. For not being really yours, for keeping you hidden, for not giving you a clear response. For using you."

"I don't feel used, sweetheart."

"But—"

"Did you ever hear me say no to you?"

"No, but—"

"And you never fucking will," Cane said, and Hart's insides burst with a hope he couldn't contain anymore.

"So you'll keep me?" he asked, quiet and looking into Cane's eyes like he was the last thing he'd ever see.

"I'll repeat this however many times you need to hear it," Cane said. "I was yours from the moment I met you."

"Then I want to be yours too," Hart said. "For real this time."

He watched a smile bloom on Cane's face. Not the vicious, threatening, shark-like one he used to scare people off. But a real, open one Hart wanted to tuck inside his chest and keep forever.

You can, his mind whispered, and he shivered at the thought.

He could. He'd found his way to where he belonged, and now he got to stay. Close to Cane. By his side the way he was always supposed to be.

Returning the smile, he leaned in and captured Cane's lips in a kiss, pouring everything he was into it. Giving it all to Cane because he owned it anyway. He felt Cane's hands splay over his back protectively, his lips matching Hart's slow pace.

It was a kiss of promise. Of devotion. Of all the things neither of them would probably be very good at voicing. But they had years of practice at showing them with their actions, and he had no doubt they'd only keep getting better.

He licked his way into Cane's mouth slowly, exploring, tugging on the piercings he found on the way, mapping out the warmth, and stealing Cane's breath to fill his own lungs.

It felt like they were turning into one person, tied together, their frayed edges matching up perfectly.

Hart sighed against Cane's lips, his chest heaving and his mind completely still for the first time in forever.

"I wish I wasn't roughed up like this," Cane groaned. "I'd bend you over every surface in this room, sweetheart."

Hart's body trembled with need, but he knew he wasn't really up to it either. He was still bone tired and aching. But the thought…oh, the thought was delicious.

"You have time to do it, though," Hart said. "When we're both healed. We have time."

"Time," Cane said, holding Hart's gaze. "With you."

"Yes," Hart said, simply because he felt drained of other words.

"I like the sound of that," Cane said, leaning in to kiss him again.

But before he could, a thud reverberated through the room and reality came crashing in, carried on the wings of Black's screech. "OKAY! We've waited long enough!! YOU GOTTA COME OUT NOW!"