8. Gage

Chapter Eight

GAGE

I wasn’t rushing as I headed toward the family cemetery. Gideon could wait, and I’d never liked this part of the property.I followed a gravel path that wound through a dense thicket of live oaks, draped in swaths of Spanish moss.The air was thick with the cloying scent of magnolia, and just below that, the ever-present smell of nearby bog.Mosquitos buzzed around my head, frantic to gorge themselves on blood before the heat dropped them flat.On the other side of the oaks, the land sloped down to a shaded grove that was speckled with crumbling headstones.

The family plot was older than any of us.Older than the Beaufort name itself, I figured.It was the final resting place of the mortal remains of dozens of Jesuit priests and too many orphans to count.Most of the headstones were humble, cracked and covered in lichen, but some of the senior clergy had been given elaborate markers with tall, ornate crosses.Marble angels with outstretched wings stood guard over the graves, their faces softened by moss and the endless march of centuries.The newer portion of the cemetery was flashier but distinctly less sacred.Death on display, that was the style of the Beaufort family ancestors.

Cemeteries creeped me out, especially this one, where shadows moved like people in the corner of my vision if I turned my head too fast.But Gideon loved it here. When most teen boys were playing video games or riding dirt bikes, he was tending the graves of the old priests, ripping creeper vines out by their roots like it was a holy edict.For him, it was meditation. That was one thing that hadn't changed, at least.

I found him beside Boone’s grave, staring down at a sparkling new headstone that hadn't been there before.He stood perfectly still, reminding me eerily of the statue of Saint Michael that guarded the gate.Guardian of souls, defender against evil.The statue was impressive, but if I had to bet, I’d put my money on Gideon every time.His broad shoulders and muscled frame could go toe-to-toe with even the toughest of God’s angels.

He’d probably sensed my arrival long before the gravel crunched under my boots, but he didn't look up.His hands were clasped behind his back and his head was bowed, but he wasn’t praying.He was waiting.

Sorrow crept through me as I looked down at the name carved into white marble: Boone Beaufort.The man who’d pulled us all from the edge of hell.Somehow, now that he was gone, I felt closer than ever to falling.No one had warned me that his health was failing.

I swallowed hard, but the lump in my throat didn’t budge.It swelled, doubling in size as I read the inscription carved into the stone: humbled by sin, forgiven by grace.

I coughed, but my voice was still a garbled mess when I spoke, scraped raw with old resentment.“He sent me away. Never told me how much he was struggling.Never even gave me a chance to help.”

Gideon tilted his head to acknowledge he'd heard, though his eyes never left the headstone.“That’s how he wanted it."

“Bullshit,” I snapped, fists curling so tight the scabs on my knuckles split.“You knew he was having a hard time.You must have known—you and Dominic both—and you said nothing.”

Finally, he turned those pale, unnerving eyes toward me.“I knew some of it,” he admitted.“Not everything. You know how proud he was."

“He spent his whole life trying to make this town a better place, but when he needed help, y’all just sat on your hands and let him deal with it alone," I snapped.Blood was starting to pound in my ears, the roar of that old, familiar beast I'd been trying to tame since I was a kid.Gideon's impassive expression only infuriated me more."Is that what you’re telling me?”

“I’m not telling you anything, Gage.He made his choices, just like the rest of us.Just like you. Maybe if you'd handled things better, he wouldn’t have felt the need to hide so much from us.”

That barb hit the target and snagged deep into my soft, weak underbelly.Exactly where he’d known it would hurt worst.The roar in my ears grew louder."So, I'm the problem, is that it?All that time I was out in the wild, I thought we were stuck playing by the same rules.Turns out you were all operating from a different playbook.Boone confided in you. He funded Dom's little criminal empire.But he left me out there alone, like some loose cannon he couldn't trust!"

Gideon’s eyes were fixed on me, unflinching, and it only made my anger burn hotter.His voice was maddeningly calm when he said, “You would’ve killed Vanderhoff in cold blood and ended up in a cell right next to Ben.None of us wanted that. You needed time to grow up and learn control."

“Control?” I hissed, giving him a hard shove.My vision blurred at the edges, and before I knew it, one fist was bunched in his cleric’s collar while the other drove a sharp right jab into his face.“How’s that for control, you self-righteous bastard?”

His head rocked to the side with the punch, and he stumbled, catching himself on the edge of the headstone.“I know you’re angry,” he said in a voice that had gone suddenly deep, “but this isn’t about me or Dominic.”

“Then what's it about?” I snarled.

He straightened and tilted his head toward the new grave.“You’re angry he sent you away.Angry that he didn’t think you were strong enough to stay.Most of all, you're angry at him for dying before you even got a chance to tell him thank you.”

The world blurred, and I lunged, swinging at him like a sledgehammer before I could think twice.He knew it was coming; I saw it in his eyes, but he didn't make a single move to avoid it.My fist crashed into his rock-hard jaw.The impact split my scabbed knuckles open, and I breathed into the pain, infuriated when he wasn’t even knocked off balance.

The bastard didn’t even flinch.

“That all?” he asked, running his tongue along his lip, testing for blood he didn’t even have the decency to spill.The pity on his face was worse than any taunt.

I lost it and threw my full body behind the next swing, landing a hook across his face.Growing up, we’d all had our share of scraps.That was part of the deal with a bunch of kids who had no concept of boundaries.But this was different. I wanted blood.I was thirsty for it, zoned in on nothing but wiping that condescending look off his face and making him hurt as much as I did.

Gideon took each punch like he was rooted to the earth, turning his head just enough at the moment of impact to deflect the worst of each blow.He just stood there, braced against Boone’s headstone, letting me hit him.And the more I hit him, the angrier I became—because I knew why he wasn’t fighting back.Not because he was a pacifist.He just didn’t see me as a threat.

“You sanctimonious bastard,” I spat.“Ben's in prison because of me, and because that asshole Vanderhoff lied and said my father was unarmed.I would've shared that load in a heartbeat!But Boone chose keeping the peace over his own family.All Ben’s suffering these last five years wasn’t God’s will; it was Boone’s.”

I swung for his gut this time.He didn’t like that, so he sidestepped, catching my arm on the backswing.He clamped my shoulder and elbow in an iron grip, twisted, and pinned me face-first against Boone’s grave.

His voice was like a crack of thunder.“Don’t forget where you’re standing, brother.”

But I wasn’t done. Not by a long shot.I wrenched free, putting so much torque on it that Gideon was forced to release me or else snap my elbow.As I spun, I finally caught him off guard and cracked him across the face with a backhand.

That’s when I knew I’d crossed a line.

Darkness flashed in Gideon’s eyes.He blocked my next shot with a forearm, deflected, and then with brutal precision, drove a sharp jab into my taped ribs.

The pain was white-hot and so intense, I couldn’t breathe.Air ripped from my lungs in one agonized blast, and I dropped.Like a fucking rock. No matter how hard I struggled, my shocked lungs refused to inflate.All I could do was huddle on the ground, clutching my ribs, and wheeze.

Gideon loomed above me, cold as stone.He didn’t look angry, and there was no hint of victory in his tone when he spoke.He just sounded exhausted. “You want to throw a tantrum?Go ahead. But it won’t make you feel better.Only forgiveness can do that.”

“He’s…not here…to f-forgive…anyone,” I gasped, clawing for oxygen.God, I needed just one deep breath, but there wasn’t enough air.

“Not from him,” Gideon’s voice softened, and I could swear I caught a trace of sympathy.If I’d had the strength, I’d have swung again and wiped that look off his face.

Instead, all I could do was glare.“I’m not giving you confession.”

He crouched in front of me and caught me by the chin, tilting my face up toward the light, what little there was of it with his huge shoulders blocking the sun.His face was cast in shadow, and to my watering eyes, he didn't look like he belonged on this earth.

“I’m not asking for your confession,” he said, his gaze roaming over my face without judgment.Just seeing me. All of me, even the parts I wished he’d ignore.“I’m telling you that this pain you’re carrying?It’s going to eat you alive if you don’t face it.Your reaction to confrontation isn't normal, Gage.It's a coping mechanism."

"No shit," I wheezed.

He ignored me. "You need to forgive yourself for what happened between your father and Ben.They both made choices that night that had nothing to do with you.Boone did what he thought was best to protect you.Forgiveness won't change the past, but it will free you from it."

I let out a cracked laugh and pushed myself up on one hand, clutching my ribs with the other.“It’s not Sunday, Gideon, and I’m not one of your flock.You can stop acting like you’ve made peace with everything.”

His face hardened. “None of us are at peace.We’re all carrying the same weight as you.We all want Ben out of prison as soon as possible, and we’re all grieving that Boone didn’t live long enough to see it.But I’ve learned something you haven’t.Look at yourself. Holding onto pain doesn’t make you stronger.It makes you weak, little brother.”

My brain wanted to reject everything he was saying, but I couldn’t.His words churned up all the ugliness inside me, and I fumbled stupidly.“Everything was supposed to be different after he adopted us. We were supposed to be different.Now he’s gone, and I…I…”

I couldn’t finish. I couldn’t force myself to say what I really meant: I’m still the same lost boy I always was.

Gideon was quiet, watching me with thatsteadygaze of his.He sighed and dropped my chin, standing to his full height and staring down at me.“He took us in because he saw what we could be, not just what we were.But he never promised an easy fix,Gage.None of this was ever going to erase thepast.We’re meant to carry on, and now that you're home, wewill.Ben has waited for us longenough.”

My jaw clenched, and I swallowed back a bitterretort.It would just be meanness for the sake ofmeanness.I listened to the sound of Gideon’s footsteps as he walked away, but it wasn’t until the iron gate clanged shut behind him that I finally managed to take a full, shudderingbreath.It felt like being stabbed by a serrated knife, but it wouldpass.Pain alwaysdid.

With a groan, I rolled over onto my ass and leaned against Boone’sheadstone.The marble was ice cold against my shirtlessback.It felt good. I lifted one knee and draped my arm across it to ease the ache in my ribs, letting the breeze cool my sweatingskin. Tippingmy head back, I stared up at the blue, bluesky.It felt endless—and empty.

When I finally got tired of the silence, I called, “Come on out.I know you’re there.”