He finally turns toward me, eyes glassy with everything he’s too proud to let spill.
I swallow again.
“I needed to hit bottom.Not just stumble.I needed to crash so hard I felt it in my soul.I needed to wake up and realize no one was coming anymore.No one believed in me.Not even you.”
A beat passes, then two, and finally, “Believe it or not, that’s probably what saved me,” I whisper.“Your silence.The day you stopped answering.That’s when I realized I was completely alone—and maybe I deserved to be.”
Rhodes drags a hand down his face, like he’s been holding in too much for too long.
“You think that makes it better?”he mutters.
“No.”I shake my head.“It doesn’t make anything better.”
My voice cracks, low and raw.
“It just means I finally fucking see it.All of it ...the wreckage I left behind.”
He watches me, and for the first time in forever, I don’t flinch under the stare.I let him see all of it—the guilt, the shame, the years I wasted letting everyone make excuses for my poor behavior because I couldn’t fight the need for the booze—the numbness.
“I hope you forgive me someday,” I say, and the words come out rough, the way truth always does.“But I get it if you don’t.”
I glance down, throat tightening, then meet his eyes again.
“Just know that I finally fucking get it,” I add softly.“What I put you through.What I became.What I lost.”
The wind moves through the terrace, dragging a chill across my skin.The city below keeps glowing like nothing’s changed, like it doesn’t care how broken I’ve been.
Rhodes doesn’t speak at first.He just stares at me—hard.His jaw clenches.He drags another breath into his lungs like it physically hurts.
Then, finally, his voice lands low and rough.“I forgive you.”
It knocks the air out of my chest.
He nods once, like it costs him something, but he means it.
“I fucking hated you,” he adds.“For a long time.Not because you were lost.But because I saw how much of you was still in there.And you kept burying it under liquor, drugs, and lies.”
I don’t speak.Can’t.
“I forgive you,” he repeats, one last time.“Because I want my brother back.”
I nod, jaw clenched, eyes stinging like hell.But this is it, right, another step forward.
Maybe this is what it looks like—building a new life, one conversation at a time.One apology.One more person willing to stay.
One day, I might even go to Kit and say,I’m sorry for hurting you, even if you’ll never love me again.
ChapterEighty-Eight
Kit
August 12th, 1997
The bell above the shop door rattles as Barret shoulders his way inside for the fifth or sixth time, arms cradling another box of vinyl like it might explode if jostled too hard.His SUV idles outside, trunk yawning open, two more boxes already stacked just inside the threshold.
The boxes are scuffed, tape barely hanging on, some marked with smudged Sharpie scribbles.He sets the sixth one down with a low grunt and exhales like he’s been holding his breath since he left wherever the hell he came from.
“That’s ...a lot,” I murmur, staring at the tower of cardboard like it might tilt and collapse.My arms fold instinctively, defense or disbelief, I’m not sure which.“You’re selling them?”
