He's quiet for a moment, processing. Then: "Look, Asher and Zay love you enough to ignore it. To give you space and time and keep you in their lives even when you're pushing them away, even when you're clearly lying to their faces. But I can't afford to have someone I don't trust around me. Not right now. Not when I'm this vulnerable and can't even walk away if I need to."
The words hit like a physical blow. I curl into myself instinctively, hugging my knees to my chest, making myself smaller. "I know."
"So tell me," he presses, not unkindly. "Whatever it is, whatever you're carrying—tell me. Let me help. Let me understand."
"I want to," I whisper, and it's the truest thing I've said in days. "I just—I have to find the right way to say it. The right time. I can't just blurt it out. It's too?—"
Too terrible. Too unforgivable. Too much.
"When?" he interrupts. "When is the right time? Because every day you wait, it gets harder. Every day you keep secrets, the distance between us grows. I can feel you pulling away and I don't know how to stop it."
He's right. I know he's right. But the thought of telling him—of watching his face change when he realizes what I might have done, who I might have killed—makes me want to throw up.
Another flash. Stronger this time. Marcus's body crumpling. Blood pooling dark and thick on rain-slicked concrete. My hands shaking as I drop the pipe, the clang of metal on pavement echoing.
Did I do that? Did that really happen?
I don't know. I can't know. The memory feels real but also wrong, like something I watched happen to someone else.
"Soon," I manage, forcing the words out. "I'll tell you soon. I promise. I just need a little more time to figure out how."
"Tell me before someone else does," he says, and there's steel underneath the gentleness now. "Because if I find out from someone else—if I have to hear it secondhand from the Vipers or anyone else—I won't forgive that. I can forgive a lot of things, Val, but not being blindsided. Not secrets that put all of us at risk."
"It's not—" I stop. Because it is. It absolutely is a secret that puts everyone at risk. If I killed Marcus—if that's real—then the Vipers have leverage. Talia has leverage. "Okay. I'll tell you. All of you. Soon."
"Good." He shifts, winces sharply at the movement. "Now help me back to the chair before these muscles cramp and I really am stuck down here."
I move to help him, grateful for something to do with my hands, some way to avoid his penetrating gaze. It takes careful maneuvering—getting his arm around my shoulders, lifting him enough to pivot without jarring his injuries, lowering him into the wheelchair without dropping him.
He's breathing hard by the time we're done, face gray again, lips almost white.
"Pain meds?" I ask.
"Yeah," he admits, no longer fighting it. "The white bottle. Two pills."
I fetch them from the nightstand, along with a glass of water. Watch him dry-swallow both pills, then chase them with water. His hand shakes slightly holding the glass.
"You should rest," I tell him, taking the glass back. "Sleep off the worst of it. The meds will kick in soon."
"Will you stay?" he asks, voice already getting a bit fuzzy at the edges. "Just until I fall asleep? I don't want to be alone right now."
"Of course."
I help him transfer from the wheelchair to the bed—another painful, awkward process that leaves us both breathing hard. Get him situated with pillows supporting his legs at the right angle, blankets tucked around him. By the time he's settled, his eyes are already heavy—combination of exhaustion and medication starting to work.
"Val?" he murmurs as I turn to leave.
"Yeah?"
"Whatever it is—whatever you did or didn't do—we'll figure it out. Together. You believe that?"
I want to. God, I want to believe that. But I know better. I've seen what happens when secrets come out, when the truth destroys everything.
I might have killed your brother with a pipe in an alley. I don't remember doing it but I see it in flashes. Blood on my hands. His body. The sound.
"Get some sleep," I say instead of answering, instead of lying again.
His eyes close, and within minutes his breathing evens out into the deep, regular rhythm of medication-induced sleep.
