If I took someone’s life …
Nausea rolled through my stomach like a tidal wave threatening to pull me under.
“Blake, I can’t be that person. I won’t survive being that person.”
“We can’t talk about it,” Blake reminded me gently, though his eyes said he wanted to know everything.
“I’m not talking about details of the crime or whatever. I’m talking to you as my brother.” I stared at the ceiling tiles. “And I’m telling you I need this guy to be okay, mostly because—hello—he needs to be alive.” Bile rose up in my throat, bitter and burning. “But far less important—and this makes me a terrible person for even thinking about this right now—he has to be alive because …” I blew out a deep breath. “This is beyond selfish to think about, but I finally, finally got my shit together.”
The memories felt fragile now, like butterfly wings that might crumble if I held them too tightly.
“I was just getting my life back on track, Blake. I got my own place—this cute little bungalow in a suburb outside the city. I started hanging out with you and your friends, and I actually started to enjoy it. Like, genuinely looked forward to all of it.”
Blake settled on the edge of my bed, the mattress dipping under his weight, bringing him closer.
“It was like I’d been swimming in a river of pain for most of my life, refusing to let it drag me downstream into something even darker. I fought against that current with everything I had. Bloody fingernails clawing at the banks, lungs burning, muscles screaming. And finally, I crawled my way onto the shore and out of that river.”
Not that I ever told you how deep that river really was. How many times I almost went under. The things I had to do just to keep my head above water.
“I dried myself off and felt sunlight on my face for the first time in I don’t know how long.” I looked at him. “I worked my ass off to put my past behind me.”
And now? Now everything I’ve worked for could be gone. One night, one moment I can’t even remember, and—poof—future deleted.
“I need that guy to be okay because if he’s not …” I brought my hand up to my temple, fighting against the pounding headache and the antiseptic smell that wasn’t helping at all. “If he’s not, then I’m not the person I thought I was becoming.”
“Listen to me carefully,” Blake said, his voice taking on that gentle but firm tone he used with his most frightened patients. “Whatever happened tonight doesn’t define who you are.”
“Easy for you to say. You’re not the one who might have?—”
“I killed someone too,” Blake interrupted.
The words hung in the air between us like smoke from a gun.
“That was different, and you know it.”
“Was it? I took a life, Faith. With a baseball bat. In front of my little sister.” His jaw clenched, muscles working. “And you know what? I’d do it again in a heartbeat because he was going to kill you.”
“You were protecting me. This … whatever this was … I don’t even remember what happened.”
“Look,” Blake said suddenly, studying me with those doctor eyes that missed nothing. “You’ve been really guarded since we reconnected. And I get it. You’ve been through a lot, and it’s none of my business to push you into telling me stuff you’re not ready to share. I prefer to know, but I haven’t pressed you for a reason. Because I sensed you weren’t ready to talk about it all. Maybe never would be.”
My cheeks inflamed. He was right, of course. There was so much he didn’t know about me. So much I’d carefully hidden.
“But, Faith,” he continued, “you have to tell Ryker everything. If he has any shot at defending you, he cannot be surprised by anything on the witness stand.”
Tell Ryker everything? Sure. Let me just explain how I shoplifted food when I aged out because eighteen meantyou’re on your own, good luck, don’t let the door hit you. How I got into fights, defending the little I had. How I’ve done things that would make him look at me differently. Things that would make all of them realize I’m not the person they think I am.
Blake had no idea that I’d actively tried to stay away from him for years. When I finally looked him up online, I saw that he’d become a successful doctor, and I wanted—no,needed—to get my life together before I stormed back into his world and risked ruining it. I finally thought I was doing that. Starting fresh, moving in a positive direction, building a life that I could be proud of. Becoming the person he could be proud of.
Old Faith—I’d tried to leave her behind. Bury her under accomplishments and normal-person milestones. He had no idea about some of the things I’d been through and some of the things I’d done to survive them.
“Faith, are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” I said, the lie rolling off my tongue as smooth as water.
Not a lie. Not the whole truth either. Never the whole truth. Did that make me a liar? Maybe. But I’d learned early on that telling the whole truth never saved me. It only got me rejected, shuffled to the next foster home, the next pair of eyes that decided I wasn’t worth keeping.
So, I became what they wanted. Quiet. Sweet. Invisible when I had to be. A chameleon who could read a room in seconds and adjust accordingly. It wasn’t about tricking anyone. It was about surviving them.
