Chapter Thirty-Five

T WO DAYS LATER, I stare up at my ceiling in the same position I’ve been in since Denny dropped me off hours ago—boots crossed, back on my mattress, palms on my stomach. The heavy repeat of his Nova jars me from the backdoors of my mind, and not a minute later, Sean’s silhouette appears at my door—partially lit by the streetlights. He stands in wait, none of his typical ‘little spoon’ quips coming while the aftermath of the last forty-eight hours emanates from him.

“You’ve been busy,” I say, knowing Tyler proceeded with our plans—along with improvisations—in an effort to sweep up after me. While I was on lockdown at Denny’s, Layla paced next to me as reports flooded their TV screen of the statewide manhunt for the second suspected gunman, me , who’s still at large. Hours after I fled, Tyler utilized the birds he trusted to divide and conquer. They made good use of the guns we lifted from the warehouse in a free-for-all of victimless gunfire—shooting up abandoned buildings and closed businesses. Starting in Charlotte, they webbed out in all directions—from the edge of the Tennessee border all the way to Nags Head Beach, leading those investigating on a wild-goose chase.

Sean palms my doorframe. “Stroke of genius to put those prints on some of the bullets.”

We’d already devised the plan to put partial and full prints that we extracted from Spencer and the dirty military on his payroll on some of the shell casings so the guns would be traced back to them. The tactic is meant to keep all government alphabet agencies and military investigators as far as possible from our county line while searching for the guns now in our possession. After the evidence was not-so-subtly planted, Tyler flagged one of our feather feds as to which locations to look for those prints to get them all investigated and possibly indicted. Convicted is another story. In that, I have zero faith.

“They’ll get off,” I state, toeing my boots off before nudging them off my bed.

“Worth trying, right?”

“Where is he?” My question regarding Tyler’s whereabouts and the status of the grudge he may still be harboring against me.

“Not coming back tonight,” Sean relays, “but he has his ringer on.”

For me.

I don’t ask about Cecelia, but I can sense what’s coming as he takes a seat at the edge of my bed. “She’s wondering where you are.”

“Let her,” I snap in warning, looking over to him as he casts his gaze my way and swallows.

“You know she asked me not too long ago who my hero was—”

“Don’t,” I warn, throat burning.

“That answer changed two days ago,” he relays without hesitation.

“I killed a twenty-year-old kid.” The confession feels ripped from me as I say it out loud for the first time.

“You stopped an imminent mass murder,” he insists, tone unwavering. “Denny unloaded his backpack, and it was fucking horrifying...he was going to open fire on families watching fireworks. There’s no telling how many lives you saved. Your hands were tied. Tyler knows that—we all do. I know you couldn’t or wouldn’t have done it if you thought there was any other way, and you didn’t take him down until you were sure.”

Quiet seconds pass as the burn circulating through my chest keeps me silent.

“Please don’t torture yourself,” he says on a long exhale. “I can guarantee that you need something or someone right about now, and maybe you can’t put your finger on it. Or maybe you can—”

“She doesn’t need to be anywhere near us, Sean. It’s only going to get more fucking dangerous for all of us.”

“I tried...” He cups the back of his neck. “ That night , I tried to break it off with her...and I failed. I couldn’t do it. But I heard you,” he hangs his head. “I heard you, Dom, and I’ll respect whatever decision you make. But,” he swallows, “please know I’m sorry, truly, for everything.” He runs a hand through his matted hair, no doubt due to the ski mask he’s been wearing for days to help cover my tracks. “I’ll never bring this secret up again, but I wish you could have trusted me.”

“I did...I do.”

“Only when I forced your hand.” He stands and looks over at me, eyes glazing. “I might have lost your trust, but I would hand you my firstborn, Dom, no questions asked. From here on out, I’m done asking about shit you don’t want to answer, but I hope you don’t have to make me because I want that trust back if you’ll give it to me...and heads up, from now until France comes home, I’m not going to let you out of my goddamn sight.”

It’s no big surprise my sentence has been lengthened, no doubt one Sean and Tyler came to while en route to plant red herrings.

“Truth is, I want this time with you ’cause I miss you, man.” I don’t have to see his tears to know they’re there. “And you know I’m not above playing fucking dirty to get it, so don’t make me.”

“I won’t.” My reply has him pausing for any sort of dishonesty.

“But just so you know,” he says, contempt for Tobias clear in his voice, “or need a reminder: you’re a living, breathing fucking human being and allowed to behave as one.”

I don’t bother to tell him I was granted that clarity by the one person in the world I shouldn’t have gotten it from.

“And you might think I’m ignorant to it,” he rasps out, “but the night of the Meetup,” his Adam’s apple bobs, “if he had reached me. If you hadn’t stopped him, I wouldn’t be standing here.” His voice cracks. “I will never sell you out to France.” He slaps at his tears. “He doesn’t have to know. You don’t have to cop to it. I’ll—”

“I didn’t mean it.” My whisper is just as guttural, and he exhales harshly in relief, fingers twitching at his side. He wants a cigarette, but I already know what’s coming before he puts a voice to it. “I’m in love with her.”

“I know.”

“So, if you’re going to break her heart, you’re going to have to do it alone.” His voice is raw when he speaks again. “I’m just so fucking sorry I messed us up in the process.” He stares down at his boots, running his forearm along his jaw. “I love you, brother.”

He leaves the door open as my vision blurs, and I move to sit at the edge of my bed, staring after him before catching my half-lit reflection in my bathroom mirror.

Part human, part monster, and stuck in limbo for the foreseeable future.

I’ve always labeled the other side “monsters” because at least then I could justify slaying them. The truth is, those monsters are human beings capable of doing unspeakable acts outside of moral lines—where I dwell to stop them—but pulling the trigger was different for me this time, and we all know it.

Tyler knows it, Sean knows it, and even though I knew that kid’s future was only cut short by an hour at most—that he would die by his own hand or someone else’s—I was the one who saw him draw his last breath because I made it so.

For now, I have to let it go. The list, the need to fix what’s broken because it’s breaking me. I have to accept what I’m capable of.

Of what I’m not.

My limits have been repeatedly shown to me as of late, and I feel that defeat start to settle low in my gut.

Opening my laptop, I press my palm to the keyboard, and it lights up in a fiery red welcome before I start to file it all away, temporarily laying it to rest—for a time when I can do something about it. It feels like nothing short of bloodletting as I allow it all in. All of my failures in the last few months and the guilt that multiplies daily because I can’t get them all. No matter how much I want to.

Maybe this is how my brother felt, waiting all those years for us to catch up to where he was. If he did it, so can I. Because whether I’ve outgrown them or not, this is my family, and the men surrounding me are the only men I trust to help me see this through. Until the time comes when we’re aligned on the same path, ready to pull the trigger, it can’t happen.

Purging as failure runs down my face, I drown in it, allowing the emotions to take over while I mourn for the path I can’t travel until I’m freed. I make peace with it because I don’t want my eyes to ever match the void I saw in the eyes that are starting to haunt me.

“Dom, when you...feel this way, you can come to me...”

But I can’t anymore. That’s the hardest part to swallow.

Exhaling due to the sting that truth brings, I plug in my earbuds and scroll through my playlist for a beat before tuning into the mics planted in Cecelia’s bedroom. Lengthy seconds of silence ensue as I lie back in bed, her room just as quiet as mine.

Just as I go to switch it off, I catch a faint drum in the distance. Thunder . The light pattering of rain follows, the clarity of the sound telling me she left her French doors open tonight. Turning my volume all the way up, I settle in for the restless hours ahead but manage to drift away just as her storm catches up to my roof.

*

Shrouded in the dark, I search the wall for a way in as cries sound from the other side. Pushing against it, the screams grow louder, as if I’m hurting them by trying to break through. But that’s not the truth of it—that rings clear as echoes of pain and torment fill my ears, elevating my panic. Exhausted, I continue to try to force my way through, to make it stop. Terror filters in when, one by one, the screams start to cut off abruptly. A spark of fire flashes in the distance, and I turn to look for the source, seeing Sean’s profile before he clicks his Zippo closed. My shout for help is absorbed by the pitch dark, my fists useless as I pound on the wall, exertion futile as they bounce off the impenetrable stone. The more their cries die, the harder I hit and fail. Gritting my teeth when the last wail is stifled, I sag against it, knowing I’m too late. Lingering silence sucks every ounce of hope from me while midnight shadows start to weigh me down, paralyzing me slowly in their grip. Sinking against the wall, I land in a puddle, palms splashing before sinking to the ground beneath. Lifting my hands, I run what’s covering them between my thumb, my roar swallowed by the blackness as my mother’s voice reaches me. “It’s only a storm—”

“—storming, I hope that’s okay.” My eyes pop open from where I lie on my stomach, facing my bathroom. Cecelia lies on top of me, just out of my line of sight, her weight covering me like a security blanket, her tender whisper in my ear. “I came in from my shift, and you were already out. I’m sorry I woke you.”

The sound of rain patters outside as I try to get my bearings, her whisper pulling me back toward her as the shadows disperse.

“Were you dreaming? Your arms were jerking a little.”

Coming to fully, I realize I’ve got the forearm she has wrapped around me in a tight grip and release it. I move to get up, and she presses against me, pinning me to the mattress.

“No, stay in bed,” she orders, running her fingers through the damp hair at the back of my neck.

“I fucking hurt you.” My voice sounds like sandpaper and exertion.

“No, you didn’t. Not at all,” her tone fills with concern. “You okay?”

“I’m good.”

Even as I lie, I take long drags of air until the pulse pounding in my ears starts to even out.

“Better,” she whispers. “Was it a nightmare?”

“I don’t remember.” More like my definition of hell.

“Consider yourself lucky,” she murmurs. “Just sleep, okay?”

Feeling raw and more exposed than I can ever remember, all I can do is nod against my pillow. Hearing the rustling as she sheds her uniform, I lie in wait—eyes closed as the thin veil of sweat produced by my dream cools on my skin.

That was most definitely my subconscious’s warning of too much to process, the dream far too easy to pick apart. I’m still somewhat between worlds when the bed dips a second before her bare thigh slides over my lower back, her arm snaking around me before the soft skin of her breast is pressed against my bicep. My body becomes lax as her scent, her skin, and her soothing touch lull me along with another gentle whisper, “You’re so warm. Always so warm. I missed you.”

She’s come for me again, constantly showing up for me without motive because she’s worth my time, effort, and attention. Something I’ve known far longer than I’ve let on. The urge to lose myself in her begins to hum, but I don’t move, too weak, drained from my dream while knowing the illusion I’m feeding into with her is about to come to an end.

My throat constricts at the comfort she brings and the fact that this is the last time I can lose myself in it. But I do lose myself one last time as her nails gently rake up and down my spine, pulling me into a blissfully deep, dreamless sleep.

Waking a few hours later, dream forgotten, my room lit in a deep shade of purple, I rouse her with the soft press of my lips. A slow smile appears before her eyes do. Slipping between her legs, condom already secure, I take her mouth, the need to drive inside her taking over.

Cupping the back of her head to cradle it, I don’t break our kiss as I part her thighs and ready her, swallowing her noises and soaking every bit of her in as I slowly press into her.

Palming her thigh up with one hand, cradling her head with the other, I fuck her nice and slow, to the point I’m barely moving inside her. Even without friction, we’re deeply fed by connection. What was meant to be a thank you turns into something else entirely as she washes away all remnants of what haunted me. Rain ticks against the window as I tip over, losing myself in rapture for the last time. It’s only when I’m forced to come up for air that I lift to hover. Keeping my hand beneath her head, her thigh firmly at my waist, she stares back at me, caressing my bicep. Wordlessly, I roll my hips, chest detonating with tiny explosions as she gasps my name. It’s the first time I’ve ever wanted to rip my condom off and fuck a woman bare. Even though I keep it on, I know I’m as close as I’m ever going to get.

I know I’m in love with him. I just don’t know how much of him I know.

—Cecelia, Flock