Chapter 10 #2
That smirk of his grows like he’s enjoying the attitude, which is a relief because these days, my sarcasm usually earns me a fist to the face instead of a chuckle.
“I was framed,” he states like he’s talking about a bad poker hand. “And don’t bother asking if I did it. I didn’t. But I know who did, and now I’ve got some time to figure out how to repay them for the favor.”
The conviction in his voice is unsettling. I’ve heard plenty of tough talk since I got here, but this is different. He sounds… deliberate.
“Revenge, huh?” I cross my arms. “Good luck with that. Doesn’t usually go the way people think it will.”
I’ve seen enough idiots in here, stewing in their anger, plotting their big comeback, only to land right back in these cells when they screw it up.
“You sound like someone who’s had a few plans blow up in their face.”
I huff a laugh. “Nope, not talking about me. I’m pretty good at making them.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“Guess that makes two of us.” He leans back, stretching out his legs. “We’ll get along just fine.”
“Sure.” I snort, shaking my head. “Best friends already.”
The sound of heavy boots outside the cell makes me tense. Holloway is there, leaning against the bars, smirking in that way that makes my skin crawl.
Oscar doesn’t even turn his head before speaking. “You looking for trouble?” I flinch involuntarily. “Or do you need a lesson in minding your own damn business?”
The larger man stiffens, his smirk faltering. He sizes Oscar up, calculating, before spitting on the floor and stalking off.
I exhale, the knot in my stomach loosening a fraction. “Why’d you do that?”
“Didn’t like the look of him.” Oscar shrugs. “And I don’t like bullies. Simple as that.”
“Right.” I scoff, pulling my knees to my chest. “What, you expect me to thank you now? Or owe you a favor?”
“Nah.” His expression softens, not pity, exactly, but close. “You don’t owe me shit.”
That throws me off. Everyone in here wants something.
Favors, protection, power.
Not that I could give him any of those things.
“What’s your angle?”
“No angle. Just figured you could use a break. You look like you’re one bad day away from checking out for good.”
I flinch. He’s not wrong, but hearing it out loud is a slap.
“So, what’s your story?” he asks, seizing me up more. “You don’t look like the type to end up in a place like this.”
“Yeah? Well, looks can be deceiving.”
He waits, patient, as if he’s got all the time in the world.
Fuck, we probably have.
I don’t know why I tell him, maybe because I think he’ll judge me, call me a murderer the same as everyone else, and I won’t have to deal with this fake kindness anymore.
“I killed someone.” The words taste like ash. “My girlfriend. In a car crash.”
Oscar doesn’t recoil or call me a monster.
“Drunk driving?” he asks, his tone surprisingly even.
“No. Just... careless. Stupid. I was going too fast, and now she’s dead. It was an accident.” I force the rest out in a rush. “But I might as well have killed her. I failed her.”
The silence stretches. I expect him to tell me I deserve to rot here and agree with the voice in my head that says the same thing every time I close my eyes.
But instead, Oscar nods like he understands. “You ever think maybe you didn’t deserve to be here?”
The question hits me with the force of a punch to the gut. “What the hell do you know about it?”
“I know guilt,” he says simply. “And I know that carrying it around like a badge of honor doesn’t bring anyone back. It eats you alive.”
I don’t know what to say to that, so I don’t say anything.
Oscar doesn’t push. He stretches out on the cot opposite mine, folding his arms behind his head like this is just another night in a cheap motel.
“Get some sleep. I’ll look out for assholes tonight.”
I stare at him, the words settling over me like a blanket I didn’t know I needed.
I’m safe.
The concept feels foreign, laughable even. He can’t guarantee that, and I don’t know him. He could be worse than all of them. But something tells me he’s not. And I’m so damn exhausted from years of keeping one eye open that I let myself believe it.
At least enough not to fight sleep when it comes, dragging me under.
The memory feels too real as if he’s sitting right in front of me, and for a moment, I swear I can hear his voice. But it’s gone, slipping away into the past where he belongs.
Oscar.
I blink, shaking off the lingering weight of the memory. Fuck, what I’d give to have him here right now.
“Ace? What happened?”
Her voice pulls me fully back to the present, grounding me in the here and now. I want to deflect, shove it all down where it can’t hurt me, but she deserves more than that.
“You happened,” I start, the words barely making it past the lump in my throat.
“But also… jail.” She shifts on the other side of the door, and my hands clench into fists against my thighs as I try to find the strength to go on.
“They shipped me off to juvie first. It was hell, but I managed. I had to. Then, when I turned eighteen, they sent me to adult prison. And that… that was a different kind of hell.”
“What happened there?” Her voice is soft, hesitant, like she’s afraid of the answer but still needs to know.
“They knew why I was there. Word got around fast. They called me a girlfriend killer. No one cared that it was an accident. No one cared about my side of the story.” My throat burns as the words scrape out.
“At first, it was the occasional beating. The fists, the boots, the laughter when I couldn’t stand up afterward.
But then it got worse. They made me afraid to leave my cell.
To sleep. To breathe.” I press the heels of my hands to my eyes, trying to hold back the tears.
“By the end, I was afraid of shadows. Of footsteps in the hallway. Of eyes on me. I couldn’t stand to be looked at, to be touched. ”
A sob shudders through me, and I let it out, hating how broken I sound. But it’s good that she hears how pathetic I’ve become.
So she can change her mind and leave.
“I still can’t stand it. The idea of someone touching me makes me want to crawl out of my own fucking skin.”
“I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have hugged you. I didn’t even think—”
“No,” I cut in. “Don’t apologize. I’m sorry, Nova. I’m sorry I’m so broken. That I can’t be what you need right now.”
I expect silence, maybe another apology. But instead, she almost chides me. “You’re not broken. You’re a survivor. That doesn’t make you broken. It makes you strong. You’re here, talking to me, even if it hurts. You’re still you, my brave Ace, no matter what they did to you.”
A tear slips down my cheek. Fuck. “I don’t feel strong.”
“I know,” she whispers. “But I see it. I see you. And I’m so sorry I wasn’t there for you.
All this time, lies kept us apart. Lies from people who thought they were protecting us.
I won’t let you keep me apart from you because you think you’re protecting me with it, because you think you’re not what I need. You’ll always be what I need.”
Her words hang in the air, and I realize she’s right. It’s not lies or circumstances this time—it’s fear. My fear.
It’s like I’m back standing in front of that car, teetering on the edge of a decision that could change everything. The night that shaped both our lives forever. The night I lost her. But now, there’s a second chance right in front of me, a chance I never thought I’d have.
I push myself to my feet, and slowly, as if I were walking through water, I unlock the door and open it.
She almost falls backward, her wide eyes snapping up to mine in surprise before she pushes to the side, sliding against the wall to give me room to open the door fully, and then she settles back against it, her legs pulled close to her chest.
She’s wearing Sylus’s sweatpants—the fabric pools around her ankles, and his hoodie almost swallows her. The sleeves are too long, and somehow, she looks so damn small in it, fragile in a way that guts me. Her hair is tucked into a loose braid, her cheeks wet with tears, her eyes red.
She’s a mess.
And still, she’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.
I think she’s stopped breathing. And I think I have too.
We just stare at each other for a moment, and then, before I can overthink it, I sink down on the opposite wall, facing her.
“Ace…” she whispers, her voice cracking on the nickname I hadn’t heard for eight years before today, having thought I had left it behind with her, that Ace died the day she did.
I let myself look at her, really look at her.
My gaze traces that small mark on her chin, a scar I never knew, a mark from a life I didn’t get to witness.
A reminder of the years that kept ticking forward without me.
Years that carved new stories into her skin while I was locked away, frozen in my own hell.
And then there’s the hoodie that doesn’t belong to me. The one that belongs to him.
Sylus.
A sharp, bitter pain shoots through my chest, burning a hole through the hollow ache already there. They’re together.
But even as it hurts, a whisper of another feeling creeps in. Relief. Because it’s Sylus. If anyone has her, if anyone’s been there for her when I couldn’t be, I’m glad it’s him. Sylus will be good to her. He’ll be good for her. He can give her things I couldn’t. Things I can’t.
Just because I was too broken to move on from her doesn’t mean she should’ve been trapped too. I can’t expect her to have stayed frozen in that same grief, in the same guilt.
She deserves someone whole. Someone who can actually offer her something.
Because what do I have to give her now? A handful of shattered pieces?
I’ve got nothing. And yet, here she is, her eyes still searching mine as if she sees something worth holding onto.
Her tears shimmer like broken glass. And as I look at her, at this girl who’s lived a life without me, who’s somehow still here, I realize one thing.
Even if I have nothing to offer, I still want her.
I still need her.
And God help me, I think I always will.
I let my foot slide forward until our toes meet with a small, hesitant touch—a sliver of a connection.
It’s ridiculous how much it takes to make this move, to reach for her in this way.
But when I do, when I brush my toe against hers, it grounds me and tells me this is real, that I’m not trapped in some cruel dream, still lying alone in the dark.
Her chest shudders, and she presses a trembling hand over her mouth.
I move my toe slightly against hers. It feels meaningless in the face of everything she’s feeling, everything we are.
But it’s all I can give right now. The only movement I’m capable of, even if I want to pull her into my arms, hold her, and promise that I’ll never let go again.
But somehow, it’s enough. I can see it in her eyes, the way they soften, the way hope flickers to life. Me trying… it’s enough.
“I want to be what you need. I’ll try to be what you need. But I don’t know how, and I can’t guarantee—”
“I don’t need answers,” she interrupts me with a sad smile. “I don’t have them either. I only need you. Whoever that is today.”
Her words seep into me, and something in my chest loosens. I feel like I can breathe again for the first time in eight years. My vision blurs, but I don’t fight it. I let it come while air rushes into my lungs.
I still don’t know if I can be everything she deserves. But right now, I can be this. A man trying to mend what’s broken, one breath, one step, one small gesture at a time.
Because I have her back.
I have what I wished for for years.
And I won’t fuck this up again.