Chapter 40
DO YOUR WORST
AURORA
I'm going to tell them in the morning.
No interruptions. No chickening out. They deserve to know.
I've worked it all out. I know what to say. How I plan to say it.
Because Atticus isn't the only one who needs to apologize. I've kept this secret since Sunday afternoon, and about two hours ago, it became Wednesday.
If I'm honest with myself, it's a secret I've kept for much longer. Ever since the moment Ambrose recognized my necklace. He didn't say as much, but I saw it in how his entire bearing shifted when it fell out of my blouse. And I said nothing.
I convinced myself I imagined it. It was weak of me. Cowardly.
All things I promised myself I would never be again.
So, tomorrow.
Even though the house has been sleeping for hours, I'm still as quiet as I can be when I sneak out my bedroom door. I half expected Elijah and Seven to be waiting out in the hall, but they both respected me enough to listen when I told them through the door that I needed the night alone.
Ellie slept in Seven's room, which means I don't need to worry about waking her as I pad down the stairs.
I need to clear my head. I need air.
And something tells me maybe he'll be there, too.
Like he was that night before everything went wrong. The night we shared a cigarette, and he told me it was my choice.
If he's not, then there's the crisp autumn air and the pool, which I am praying he's still heating even though I'm not really here anymore.
Pulling my sweater tighter around myself, I slip through the dark halls of the house and look out the glass pane in the back door. But I don't see him. The pool glows with soft blue light far down the flagstone pathway, little wisps of steam rising from the surface of the clear water.
At least it looks like it's still heated.
Small mercies.
Realizing I forgot a towel, I tiptoe the rest of the way down the hall to steal one from their home gym. The strong scents of heady musk and lemon-scented cleaner hit me in the face as I snatch a couple of white towels from the shelf and head outside.
"Fuck," I hiss when the cold air hits my bare legs, and I almost turn back, but…to what?
Another five or six hours staring at the ceiling?
I don't think so.
My toes are icy cold by the time I reach the edge of the pool and toss the towels and my sweater onto one of the loungers.
I move to dive in, but catch the soft gold glow from the little structure off to the left of the pool deck, past the outdoor kitchen. I've never seen the steam room turned on, but as I squint, I'm sure that there's the smallest glow coming from the steamed-up pane of glass on its wooden door.
If it's dark but still steamed up, it means I probably just missed him.
Probably for the best, since I don't even know why I was hoping he'd be here.
Except…that's a lie.
I do know. I don't want to admit it, because that would mean admitting that I'm starting to understand him. Why he did what he did. How out of all three of them, he's somehow the one I want to talk to.
Fuck, am I that much of a masochist?
But I know he would be honest with me.
He wouldn't try to make me feel better about the truth. He wouldn't lie to me and tell me it doesn't matter. Atticus would ask the hard questions. The right questions. And then he'd have run the odds and decide what to do, so I don't have to.
Deciding hot steam is preferable to a lukewarm swim, I hustle to the steam room and search the outer wall for some kind of dial to turn it back on, but there doesn't seem to be any controls.
They must be on the inside.
I wrench the door open and rush in, sighing as the warm steam kisses my skin. I yank the door shut to stop any more from escaping before I can figure out how to get it turned back on.
But that might not matter. The steam is actually still thick and hot, and the small, dimly glowing gold light coming from a spot near the floor only makes it harder to see through. There's no hope I'll find the controls until it dissipates some more.
Feeling along the slippery tiled bench, I push toward the back of the small room, where the steam is warmer and denser, sighing as I fold myself onto the seat in the dark.
I lean into the wall and tip my head back, letting the steam unwind some of the tension in my body.
"Don't freak out."
"Fuck, Atticus!"
"Sorry." His voice comes from the steam somewhere to my right. "Should've said something when you first came in. I was about to leave anyway."
"What are you even doing out here in the dark? Does this thing not have a light?"
"It does. I prefer it dark."
The steam shifts as he stands.
"Wait," I snap, seeing my shot and grabbing it before I change my mind. "Can you stay?"
The steam swirls, and I can see the shadow of him through it as he stands still at its center. "You want me to stay?"
It's hard to swallow. "Yes. I need to…" My stomach churns. "I need to talk to you."
A wave of heat rushes over me as he sits back down, and a hissing sound fills the room as more steam is pumped in from a vent somewhere above us.
Does it make me more of a coward that I'm glad he can't see my face?
"If this is about dinner the other night, I should've dropped it when you asked me t—"
"It's not."
An ache forms in my chest, and I need to get this out before I explode from holding it in. Before he can say anything else that might make it harder to tell him.
"Ambrose is my father."
The words linger in the air between us like poison, and I grip the edge of the tile seat until my fingers hurt, waiting for him to say something. I can sense that his mind is already running new calculations, adjusting variables and recalibrating every risk assessment he’s made.
"Do you mean…"
The dead monotone he speaks in makes my skin prick despite the heat.
"I mean, he's really my father."
My eyes burn, and I bite down hard on my cheek to quell the emotion. "He told me at lunch."
"Aurora, I'm not following. We forged the test. Whatever he told you—"
"Tests," I correct, trying to quiet my voice and erase the wobble in it. "He didn't just do the one you knew about. He did two. One at the regular facility and another one…at a different place. I thought he was lying, but I made him show me the results he got by email."
His silence is deafening.
"Atticus?"
"I'm thinking."
"Well, think faster."
My knee begins to bounce, and how could I possibly be this cold in a room filled with this much steam?
"This could have so many different implications, Aurora." His tone is cautious, and I hate it. And now I know what I really wanted when I decided to try to tell him first.
I didn't only want objective honesty. I wanted brutality. I wanted him to yell and scream and threaten.
Why isn't he yelling?
"It could be a setup, somehow. I can think of several reasons he might have constructed a false positive test and none of them are good for us, and then there's the possibility that—"
"No, you aren't listening." I'm shouting now, but I can't help it. My next swallow is like razor blades in my throat. "He is my father. It wasn't just the fucking lunch a few days ago. I've known—well, not known, but I've suspected since the first time I met him."
"Aurora, slow down, it's all—"
"No," I snap, and then manage to take a breath to calm myself down enough to get out the rest of the truth. "He recognized my necklace, Atticus. It slipped out of my shirt, and I saw it in his eyes right away."
My voice cracks and I pinch the charm on the white gold necklace between my fingers.
"He knew this necklace. He'd seen it before.
That sort of thing can't be faked. What I saw on his face—it was real.
And this was my mom's. This and that note were the only things she left with me at that fire station, and he knew this necklace. "
When he's quiet for too long again, I want to scream, but I force myself to wait while he thinks.
"Céline knows, doesn't she?"
"Does that matter?"
"No, I—I noticed something was off when we were doing the debrief, and then there's been some tension between you and Céline since she got here earlier today. It all makes sense now. What I don't get is how you felt like you could tell her, but not us."
"Doesn't it change things?"
"Does it?" His question is an accusation, and now we're getting somewhere.
Yes, I think. Get angry. A lump forms in my throat, and I can't speak.
"Aurora, I need you to tell me right now if this changes anything for you."
"I…I…"
When his hand comes down on my bare thigh, I flinch, readying for the worst, but his touch is only firm and gentle. "I'm sorry, that's not what I should be focusing on. Fuck, I'm so shit at this. Let me…let me go get Sev and Eli. They'll—"
I grab his arm before his hand can slide from my leg. "No."
The steam shimmers and shifts as he crouches in front of me, close enough that I can make out the rough shape of him in the dark. The mess of his hair, undone and damp around his face.
"They don't know…" He trails off, like he's realized something. "Aurora, why did you tell me this?"
I hear what he doesn't say.
Why me, and not them?
He won't like the answer. I don't even like it and I'm beyond explaining it.
Atticus lets out a long, shuddering sigh when I can't find the words.
"Let me try this again. I understand if this changes things for you. If you can't help us—"
"It's not that." I shake my head, and breathe in more steam. "Being related to him doesn't change what he did to the Ashfords. To you and Seven and Elijah. He's a monster, and he deserves what's coming."
I can almost picture Atticus's face looking up at me. The knot between his brows. The tension in his jaw. I can sense his confusion without needing to see him at all.
"If not that, then…oh. Aurora, you're nothing like him. Is that what you're worried about?"
Well, I did keep this secret all this time. A lie of omission is still a lie.
I wrap my arms around myself.
"My father was a deadbeat drug addict who couldn't be counted on for anything. I am no more my father than you are yours," he says, and his fingertips find the outside of my knees, sliding up to rest reassuringly on my thighs. "And the others will feel the same way."
"You don't want to use me, then?"
In the darkest parts of my imagination, it was something I'd wondered. If Ambrose cares for me like he claims to, it might be the simplest route to getting what they want.
"Use you?"
"You could threaten to hurt me, and he might give you whatever you want. He might give you the collection back…"
For a long moment, there's silence in the steam, then his hands slip from my thighs. "Is that why you're here? To test me?"
I squint, trying to see him as he leans back, and his face is lost again in the steam.
"It's a fair question, Atticus."
"Do you think so little of me?"
Now, it's my turn to be silent.
"You might not believe me, but I meant it when I said I would never hurt you again.
I will never threaten you. And I will never break your trust. I told you I would do anything I needed to do to protect you, and I meant it.
" His words scrape raw. "So, no, Aurora.
I will not ever use you in any way you do not want to be used. "
His words land heavy in my stomach, and my fingernails bite into my arms.
Atticus takes a shaky breath. "I'm sorry this is how you found out about your birth parents. There's nothing I can do or say to fix that, but…Sev and Eli are here for you."
I flinch.
"Fuck, I am, too," he says on an exhale that pushes hot steam against my belly.
"You weren't." The words come out before I can stop them.
I clench my teeth, mentally berating myself for still trying to start this fight even though he's not taking the fucking bait. Doesn't he get that I need him to be angry at me?
I don't know how to handle it if he's not.
"I thought I was protecting them, Aurora, I—"
"That wasn't protection, that was control. That was you playing god."
He recoils, but he doesn't disagree with me, and I wait for him to snap back at me how I can tell that he wants to, but he doesn't.
"No," he says quietly. "That was me losing control. I was fucking terrified, Aurora."
My breath catches at the quiet admission.
"The night before…I didn't think I was capable of feeling things like that. Of trusting someone else besides Sev and Eli ever again. And then you…you walked in and shattered my walls, and I fucking let you."
The tremble in his voice is enough to pierce right through my armor.
"And then when I saw that message, I…"
My throat tightens.
"You have no idea how much I regret it. If I thought it would help, I'd beg. I'm not above it. Hell, I'm already on my knees here. I'm not above anything if it means you'll consider it. Consider me."
"I thought you'd given up," I hiccup, trying to hide the sound.
He sucks in a breath like it hurts. "I was trying to give you space.
I thought that's what you wanted. I was trying to do better.
After I thought we lost you on that bypass, I realized I didn't need you to feel the same way I do in order to want to protect you.
I've always operated better from the shadows, anyway. "
He lets out a gruff sound that's almost a laugh but not quite and it makes my eyes sting.
I've been so cruel. So unrelenting in my rage. But I have noticed his effort. From the start, I've noticed it, but I was so hell-bent on ignoring it.
"From the very start I've underestimated you…and I was wrong to. You're so strong. So much more capable than I ever gave you enough credit for. I don't expect your forgiveness, Aurora. And to be honest, I'd rather have your hate than lose you completely."
He sighs.
"There is one thing I can offer you, though. Control."
He leans forward enough for me to make out the curve of his jaw as he speaks. "I’ve spent my entire life trying to control everything around me because I was terrified of what would happen if I didn’t. And then you came along and—”
He exhales shakily.
“And you made me realize that the tighter I grip, the more I destroy.
So, from now on, we do this how you want.
It's your call. All of it. You want to call it off—then we call it off.
You don't like my plans—I'll make new ones.
No questions asked. And then when this is over, if you want me gone, I'll go.
I won't ruin this for you. What you found here—with Eli and Sev—I want you to have it, whether or not I can be a part of it. "
The last sparks of my masochistic rage burn out, and yet, here I am, still clinging to the desire for him to punish me. For who I am. For what I am. For lying to them.
"It won't undo anything." My voice breaks on the last word.
"Then give it back to me, Trouble. Hit me. Scream at me. Make me hurt how I hurt you. Take what you want. Do your worst."
A sob grows in my chest.
"Go ahead," Atticus whispers. "I can take it."