Chapter 10
TEN
A wave of dizziness washes over me as I slowly wake up from a dreamless nap, and my stomach growls, a low rumble in the silence of my room.
The curtains are drawn, the room steeped in a darkness that mirrors the state of my soul.
The faint smell of stale cigarettes lingers in the air, mixing with the heavy weight of isolation.
I shift, and that’s when I feel it—a weight on my chest, the gentle rise and fall of a small body.
I crack an eye open and find two glowing eyes staring back at me, unblinking.
Of course.
The damn cat.
“Really, Jinx?” I mutter, trying to roll over, but she only settles deeper into my chest, her tail flicking lazily.
Her green gaze is piercing, relentless. I blink, trying to figure out how she even got in here, and when I glance at the door, I notice it’s ajar.
Did someone let her in? Or did she push it open herself?
It wouldn’t surprise me if she had. The cat can do magic.
She’s the only one who cares enough to check if I’m still alive, still breathing. The others have given me space, but Jinx? She never lets me hide for too long.
She’s been here so many times to wake me up, pulling me out of the pit I’ve dug for myself. And every time, without fail, it works because she won’t stop staring, won’t stop pressing her little paws into me until I stand and do what she wants.
Jinx is relentless, a constant, and part of me hates that I need it, need her, to keep moving.
Her eyes bore into me now, and it’s like she knows, knows I can’t stand being looked at anymore.
Not after everything. Not after the way they stared at me in prison, sizing me up, waiting for me to break, or worse.
Not after the way those guards used to watch me, like I was less than human, like I was a thing to be controlled, handled, punished.
I hate it. The weight of someone’s gaze, the way it makes my skin crawl. Even now, three years out, I can still feel their eyes on me, waiting for me to mess up. It’s like they’re burned into my memory, ghosts I can’t shake.
Oscar knew that. He saw it from the moment he walked into my cell. I didn’t have to tell him what prison had done to me. He just knew. He saw me, and for some reason, he decided I was worth saving.
When I got out, it wasn’t like flipping a switch.
I was still a mess, a fucking shell of a person.
I’d barely survived prison, and I wasn’t sure I wanted to survive the outside world.
But Oscar? He didn’t give up. Not once. He stuck by me like it was his personal mission to pull me out of the hole I’d dug for myself.
He didn’t push too hard or expect me to magically heal overnight.
He was just there. Patient. Steady. Always knowing when to talk and when to simply sit in silence.
He acted like my damn therapist without even trying.
There were days when I couldn’t even leave the couch, and he’d sit next to me, flipping through some random magic book, casually asking if I wanted to learn a new trick.
Other times, he’d take me on long drives in that ridiculous red Mustang of his, blasting music and pretending like we were just two guys killing time.
But every mile we drove, every stupid joke he made, chipped away at the weight pressing down on me.
It wasn’t just the big moments, like the first time I went out in public or the first time I laughed without feeling like a fraud.
It was the small ones, too, the way he’d hand me a cup of coffee in the morning without a word or he’d sit with me during the nights I couldn’t sleep. He made me feel human again.
And somehow, without even noticing, I started wanting to live again. I wanted to show up for him the way he showed up for me. I started working with the twins, helping with their schemes, and, for the first time in years, I felt like I had a purpose.
Oscar didn’t just save my life. He gave me a reason to want it back.
By the time he died, I’d gotten to a point where I could go out and enjoy the world again, at least a little.
As long as the guys were with me, I could step outside without the walls closing in.
We’d go to bars or magic shows, even just wander around the Strip for hours.
It wasn’t perfect. I still couldn’t stand being alone in a crowd and still caught myself checking every shadow for danger.
But with them by my side, I could almost forget the fear. I could almost pretend I was normal.
Almost.
And then he was gone.
Now, I’m right back where I started, locked inside my head. Only this time, there’s no Oscar to drag me out of it.
It’s been months since I’ve left the house.
Hell, I’m barely able to leave this room most days.
The thought of stepping outside is enough to send my heart racing, my chest caving as if there’s a weight on it.
This house has become a different kind of jail—a place I’ve built around myself, with walls just as high and unbreakable.
I don’t belong out there anymore.
Enjoying things. Living.
Not after all the ways I’ve failed.
Jinx doesn’t care. She’s not waiting for me to explain or justify why I can’t leave. She doesn’t care about my guilt, my fear, or how broken I feel. She’s hungry, and in her world, that’s reason enough to drag me out of my misery.
Her purring rumbles against my palm, and I chuckle despite everything. She’s fucking persistent. And right now, that’s the only thing keeping me from completely sinking.
“Fine.” I let out a long sigh, running a hand over her back. “You want your breakfast?”
Jinx slowly blinks, which I swear is her version of a yes.
I push myself up slowly, gritting my teeth as the dizziness washes over me again. Jinx hops off me to stretch lazily on the floor before padding to the door, looking back at me as if to say, Are you coming or what?
For a brief moment, the dread of going downstairs, leaving my room’s safety, stalls me. My heart pounds in my chest, and I feel the edges of panic creeping in.
It’s just downstairs.
Just a few steps, nothing more.
It might as well be a thousand miles.
Still, she waits for me, her green eyes steady.
Can’t let her down.
I turn and catch my reflection from the darkened screen of my laptop, a ghost of who I used to be. The man looking back at me is a stranger, haunted by shadows and regrets I can’t outrun.
I pull on a black T-shirt that barely skims my skin, hanging a little loosely on me now.
I know I have to get back to a routine, a schedule—work out, eat, and help Koen and Levi with whatever schemes they have going on.
Oscar didn’t pull me out of prison and give me a purpose, only for me to fall back into my hole three years later.
He saw something in me and believed in me when no one else did.
Except he’s gone now.
Because of the plan I’d made.
And I’m left adrift, wondering if I still belong in this fucking house as part of the chaotic family Oscar built.
My gaze returns to Jinx still sitting patiently next to the door.
“Fine, I’m coming,” I grumble, my head spinning even worse as I stand and wince. I’m starving. I haven’t eaten in two days, and it shows.
My body aches with a hunger that’s more than physical. Still, eating is too much effort, like I don’t deserve even that small comfort.
Dragging a hand through my messy hair, which I’ve neglected so badly that it barely looks blond anymore, I shuffle after Jinx.
I guess if anyone’s going to get me out of bed, it’s going to be this damn cat.
Following her down the stairs, I pause halfway down as the warm, comforting smells of coffee and bacon hit me from the kitchen.
Jinx meows, reminding me of the priority—her food.
“I got it, I got it,” I mumble, heading toward the enormous kitchen. “You know, you could have asked the one that’s already up and let me sleep.”
She just gives me another look.
All right.
Of course, Koen is there, singing softly as he moves around with little effort. I hesitate in the doorway, unsure if I should say something.
“Morning, Ric,” Koen greets, not turning around, as if he’s sensed me standing here. “Coffee’s almost ready.”
It’s a simple statement, but it feels loaded. An invitation.
Acknowledgment.
“Thanks,” I mumble as I walk over to the pantry.
I grab Jinx’s food from the cupboard and pour it into her bowl. She’s at it immediately, purring as she eats. As I lean against the counter and watch her, the world feels… manageable.
For a moment.
The smell of bacon wafts over, hitting me harder than before, and my stomach growls again, louder this time.
Koen glances over his shoulder, catching the sound. “You staying for breakfast? I’m making enough for everyone, and Levi and I want to talk to you about something.”
“Sure.”
They probably want to talk about when I’m leaving. Figuring out when I’ll stop being a burden. I’m not paying rent or chipping in for food. Hell, I’m not doing anything.
Not that the Lane brothers need money. But charity isn’t their style, not the way it was Oscar’s. He was the one who saw our broken pieces and decided they were worth saving.
At least Sylus and Ezra do their part.
I’m an anxious, traumatized mess, unable to do anything but survive.
“You all right?” he asks quietly but direct as he finally turns to fully face me. His brown eyes are full of a concern I don’t want to acknowledge.
“Yeah,” I lie and look away, pushing a hand through my hair and feeling its weight settle between us.
I deliberately focus on the swirling patterns on the granite countertop. I don’t need to look at him to know he sees through me. He always does. Koen has that way about him—this quiet perceptiveness that’s as comforting as it is unsettling.
He would be a shitty mentalist if he couldn’t do that.
“He wouldn’t want us to fall apart,” Koen whispers. It’s the first time either of us has mentioned Oscar out loud in weeks. “We’re his family.”
“Levi and you are his family. He was your uncle. I was just—”