29. Creed

CHAPTER 29

CREED

My hands shook as I shoved my clothes into my duffel bag, my breath coming too fast, too ragged. Avery's face flashed through my mind—pale, stunned, fear etched in those soft lines around his mouth. My chest twisted like a knife turning slowly. I forced myself to take a breath, squeezing the handle of my duffel until my knuckles went white. This wasn't the place for breaking down. Not now. I flipped the switch—just like I had in combat—and let the numbness seep in, hardening every corner of me. I could hear nothing, feel nothing, except the hum of survival that thrummed through my veins.

I hauled the duffel over my shoulder and rushed down the stairs, keeping my eyes forward, feet moving. Avoiding the hateful stares I could still feel burning into my back. The den was empty now, but the air still held the tension like a bad aftertaste. My boots echoed against the hardwood, each step driving me further from Avery. Outside, the cold bit into my skin, sharp and unforgiving, but I welcomed it. Better than the heat burning beneath my eyes, threatening to spill over.

The driver of the car waiting for me looked bored. He glanced up as I approached, and I nodded stiffly, throwing my bag into the trunk. I gripped the door handle, metal cold and unyielding in my palm. Just get in, get the hell out of here. But then I heard footsteps—running, stumbling—and turned in time to see Avery skid to a stop, breath misting in the winter air.

He looked wrecked. Hair tousled like he'd been tearing at it, cheeks flushed from the cold, and tears streaking down his face. He looked smaller than I'd ever seen him, crumbling beneath the weight of whatever this was between us. My chest tightened, a dull, desperate ache. He shouldn't have come out here. I didn't want him to see me like this.

"Avery—" My voice was hoarse, my own breath coming out in clouds.

"Creed, please—" He gulped air like he could barely get the words out. His voice cracked, raw, desperate. "Don't go. Just... talk to me. Tell me it's not true. Tell me what really happened. I know there's more to it—there has to be."

I flinched, his words digging into me like shards of glass. Anger flared, hot and wild, tearing through the numbness. It clawed at the edges of my restraint, something ugly and sharp. How could he still be this naive, thinking I could explain away everything like it was a misunderstanding? My hands balled into fists at my sides.

"Why? So I can what—convince you I'm not the monster they think I am?" My voice came out rougher than I meant it to, like gravel scraping against metal. I hated the bitterness that colored my words, but I couldn't stop it. "Maybe they're right. Maybe I am just... exactly what they say. You ever think of that?"

He shook his head, wiping at his cheeks like he hadn't realized he was crying. "I don't believe that. I don't believe it, Creed. You're not like that?—"

"Then come with me," I snapped, stepping closer, my shadow mingling with his in the falling dusk. "If you really believe that, then come back to the city. Leave them behind—all of them. The ones who'll never accept you for who you are. We don't belong here, Avery."

His breath hitched, eyes wide and glassy, and for a moment I thought—maybe. Maybe he would come. The thought of it twisted through me like a rope, pulling me in two. But then he blinked, and I saw the shift, the resolve that settled over him. He took a step back, away from me.

"I can't." His voice cracked again, but this time it was steadier, like he was bracing himself. "They're my family, Creed. Even if they don't get it, even if they're—God, even if they're everything that's wrong with me, they're still my family. I can't just walk away. Not like this. Not when you won't even tell me the truth."

The words hit like a punch to the gut, knocking the air from my lungs. My mouth worked, but nothing came out. He didn't get it. He couldn't. He didn't know what it was like to carry secrets like mine, to live with that weight every single day. And maybe... maybe he didn't want to.

I let out a bitter laugh, the sound tearing from my throat like a growl. "Then what does any of this matter, huh? If you can't take that step, then there's no point. You'll never trust me, and I'll never fit in your world." The words tasted like ash, and I hated every one of them, but I couldn't stop myself. "So go back to them, Avery. I'll make it easy for you."

He flinched like I'd slapped him, his eyes going wide with hurt, and for a second, I almost reached for him. Almost begged him to change his mind. But instead, I forced myself to turn, yanking open the car door and climbing in. The engine rumbled to life, vibrations thrumming through my bones. I stared straight ahead, refusing to look back as the car pulled away, leaving Avery standing in the falling snow.

The pain of leaving him behind was a bullet to the chest, tearing through me, but I forced it down, biting hard on the inside of my cheek until I tasted copper. I kept telling myself it was for the best—that leaving him behind was the only way to shield him from the mess I'd become. But no matter how hard I tried to convince myself, the ache lingered, a raw wound that wouldn't close.

As the lights of the Branson house faded behind me, swallowed up by the night, I couldn't shake the feeling that I'd just lost the only thing that had ever made me feel real.