Chapter 29 - Jackson
It’s been a week since Richard Grant disappeared beneath the ice of Viridian River.
It’s been a week, and somehow my life feels both brand new and stitched together.
Richard’s body washed up on the bank two days later, and I didn’t realize how much dread I was still carrying around with me until it was replaced by relief.
He’s really gone.
There’s no chance of him coming back.
The day after that, Isaac asked me to officially move in. Of course I said yes. How could I possibly say no when he tried so hard to be his usual confident and assured self but let a bit of that vulnerability of his slip through too?
Everything feels so new even though not much has changed from this past month.
I wake up in Isaac’s bed every morning.
I have drawers in his dresser filled with my clothes.
My toothbrush sits beside his.
Last night, he cleared half of his closet for me, already knowing exactly how he wanted everything organized like he had been planning to do it for months.
He’s been…perfect.
Patient.
I haven’t been quite ready to jump right back into sex. As far as trauma goes, I definitely have some. It could’ve been so much worse, and I’ll always be grateful for Isaac that it wasn’t. But I didn’t want to rush into anything and risk doing more damage.
He’s been understanding and gentle. If I didn’t already know how much of a sadistic Dom he can be, I wouldn’t believe that side of him exists with how sweet and caring he’s been.
Things with my dad are getting better too.
We’ve talked more in the last week than we have in the past year.
He swears there’s not much else he can tell me about Dylan than he already has, but he’s been more open about it.
He’s been trying, and I’m meeting him halfway.
I think we both deserve a chance to fix what got broken long before either of us knew how to talk through our shit.
As I cross campus, snow still clings to the edges of sidewalks, stubborn and gray, but it’s shrinking by the day.
The air has that strange in-between quality—cold but softer, like winter is finally losing its grip and spring is breathing its first sigh somewhere just out of reach.
A few brave blades of grass poke through the thawing patches near the benches, and the sunlight lasts a little longer each afternoon.
I pass by other students as we all head to morning classes. They talk and laugh and complain about homework or tests or whatever it is this week, living their normal lives.
For the first time in a while, I almost feel like one of them.
I’m rounding the corner of the library when the crowd splits, and I nearly collide with someone coming from the opposite direction.
Pierce Grant.
My heart stutters, then freefalls right into my stomach.
Physically, he looks the same. Broad shoulders, expensive coat, brown hair purposefully mussed. But today, there’s something different beneath it all. Darker and heavier. It’s not surprising considering it’s only been a week since his father died.
Since I killed his father.
My body reacts on instinct. My muscles tense, and I hold my breath as the memory of his fists and insults flash like a warning, like that was only the preview for what I can expect now that he has even more reason to hate me.
He takes a step closer, and my pulse spikes.
But instead of attacking…
He holds his hands up in front of him and says, “I don’t want to fight.”
Well, that derails every defensive thought in my head.
I blink. “What?”
“Could we talk?”
He starts moving before I have the chance to answer, heading away from the trail and into the shadows between the library and the science building.
He could probably stab me and run off before any witnesses could see, but whatever it is exactly that’s different about him has me following him anyway.
When he turns back to face me and I find myself standing closer to him, I see it more clearly.
There are dark circles beneath his eyes, his head bowed in resignation. There’s no trace of his usual arrogance, more like a hopeless indifference. It’s almost scary to see coming from Pierce.
“I wanted to say I’m sorry.”
That’s even scarier.
I stare at him, waiting for the twist, the punchline, the smugness or the anger.
It doesn’t come.
“For the way I treated you.” He shifts on his feet, his jaw ticking like the words taste strange coming out of his mouth. “I was an asshole. I know that. I’m not…proud of it.”
This isn’t the same Pierce who shoved me in the study hall, who sneered at me for liking guys, who laughed with his friends while I wiped blood from my lip.
I don’t know who this is, but it’s not that Pierce.
He glances around like he’s making sure no one’s listening, then meets my gaze again.
“I’m sorry about my dad too.” He swallows hard, his voice cracking. “The cops told us what happened. My mom’s in denial, but…”
But the whole town knows the truth now.
“But I believe it. I believe you. I know what you did was self-defense, and I’m not going to blame you for something he caused. I know he…” He shakes his head and takes a deep, shuddering breath. “I know he wasn’t a good man.”
I think I’ve figured it out.
This is the Pierce who’s had to take a good long look in the mirror after coming to terms with the kind of man his father was.
He seems tired. Older. Like the past week aged him.
He looks…breakable.
He won’t quite meet my eyes now. His hands keep flexing at his sides like he’s fighting the urge to run or hit something or hold onto something. I can’t tell which.
Maybe this is where I’m supposed to apologize. But I can’t. I meant what I told Isaac right after it happened.
I’m not sorry.
After over twenty years of preying on young men, abusing them…
He deserved what he got.
Again, Pierce swallows, and his gaze flicks up to mine. In that split second, I see everything he’s trying to hide. Fear. Shame. Desperation.
And then he finally says what it all boils down to.
“I don’t want to be like him.”
His words tremble like they cost him more than anything ever has. Maybe pride or denial. Or maybe the last scraps of the version of his father he grew up believing in.
“I don’t want to be someone who hurts people just because he can. And I know that’s exactly who I’ve been, but I just…” His voice is low and frayed around the edges, and now he’s looking at me like he expects me to give him whatever it is he wants. “I don’t want that.”
I don’t know what this past week has been like for him, but if this is the Pierce that exists now, I’m not sure I want to know.
Letting out a slow breath, I decide to give him something. I can’t give him what he’s asking for—forgiveness or absolution or whatever the fuck it is. Not yet. I don’t trust him to go back to who he’s always been after the grief of losing his father fades. But I’ll cave this one time.
“You know how you do that?” I ask.
He arches a brow, eyes searching mine like he’s prepared to beg me for the answer.
“Don’t be,” I say simply.
Pierce lets out a breath that fogs in the cold air, almost a laugh but not quite. “Yeah. I’m trying.”
Neither of us says anything else for a few seconds as we both glance back at the trail where students are still walking by, unaware of the small truce happening between the bully and the one who killed his father.
Eventually, Pierce clears his throat. “Anyway, that was all. I just needed to say it.”
He steps back, gives me a final nod, and turns away.
No threats.
No hatred.
No fight.
Just a boy trying not to inherit the worst parts of the man who raised him.
As he slips back into the flow of students, I stand there longer than I mean to, letting the noise of campus swell around me.
I may not be fully okay yet, but I think I’m getting there.
Surprisingly, I hope this helped Pierce get there a little bit too.
Maybe this is what healing actually looks like. Not a clean break or some dramatic rebirth. Just small shifts. Small words with profound meanings. Small moments that make breathing a little easier.
And I think I can live with that.