Chapter 25 Dorian
twenty-five
Dorian
Vespera is pressed against my side, her breathing deep and even. Corvus has one arm draped over her waist from behind. Oakley is on her other side, far enough away that I can barely see him in the darkness.
"Call him tonight," Vespera had said by the pool. "Make amends with the people you hurt, starting with your brother."
I've been thinking about it all evening. Through dinner. Through the quiet hour we spent on the couch, Vespera reading while Corvus worked on his laptop. Through the shower. Through climbing into bed.
And now I can't sleep.
I slip out carefully, not wanting to wake any of them. The house is dark and silent as I make my way down the hall. Not to my old room—that feels too heavy, too full of ghosts. Instead, I find myself in one of the spare bedrooms, the one with the window that overlooks the lake.
I sit on the edge of the bed and pull out my phone.
Julian's contact is still there. I never deleted it, even after my parents made it clear that communication with him was forbidden. I just... stopped calling. Stopped texting. Let him think I'd chosen their side.
Maybe I had.
My thumb hovers over his name for a full minute before I force myself to tap it.
It rings. Once. Twice. Three times.
He's not going to answer. It's 4 AM and he doesn't recognize the number anymore and—
"Hello?"
The voice is Julian's, but older. Rougher. Cautious in a way my brother never used to be.
"Julian." My throat closes around his name. "It's Dorian."
Silence. Long enough that I wonder if he's hung up.
"Dorian." He says it flat. No emotion. Like he's testing how the name feels after years of not saying it. "It's four in the morning."
"I know. I'm sorry. I just—" I run my hand through my hair. "I needed to call. Before I lost my nerve."
"After six years of radio silence, you suddenly need to call at 4 AM?" There's an edge to his voice now. Hurt buried under anger. "What do you want? Is someone dead?"
"No. Everyone's fine. Physically." I take a breath. "I wanted to apologize."
Another silence. I hear rustling, like he's sitting up in bed.
"Apologize," he repeats. "For what specifically? Abandoning me when our parents disowned me? Never returning my calls? Letting them erase me from the family like I never existed? You're going to need to be more specific, Dorian."
Each word is a knife, precise and deserved.
"All of it." My voice cracks. "I'm sorry for all of it. You needed me and I wasn't there. I was too afraid of ending up like you to—"
"To what? Be a decent brother? Be a decent person?"
"Yes." The admission burns. "I was seventeen and terrified and I chose wrong. I chose their approval over you. And then I spent the next six years convincing myself it was the right choice. That you were weak for choosing Marcus over the family. That what you did was selfish."
"It was selfish," Julian says quietly. "And it was also the best decision I ever made."
"I know that now." I press my palm against my eyes. "Vespera told me—"
"Who's Vespera?"
"The Omega I claimed." Even saying it out loud makes my chest tight. "The one our parents are going to disown me for."
Julian's sharp intake of breath is audible even through the phone. "You claimed an Omega they didn't approve."
"I claimed the scholarship Omega I spent months bullying.
The one I was supposed to drive out of school.
" The words taste like ash. "And now I'm in love with her and I'm going to lose everything, just like you did.
And I realized I never apologized. For not being there.
For abandoning you when you needed family most."
"Dorian—"
"No, let me finish. Please." I stand, pacing to the window.
The lake is barely visible in the pre-dawn darkness.
"I became everything you weren't. The perfect son.
The heir they wanted. I enforced their rules, their prejudices, their cruelty.
I hurt people to prove I wasn't like you.
To prove I'd never be weak enough to choose love over duty. "
"And now?"
"Now I understand why you did it." My reflection in the window is barely visible, but I can see the tears on my face.
"I understand what it feels like to love someone so much that losing everything else seems like a fair trade.
And I'm terrified, Julian. I'm so fucking terrified because I watched what it did to you. How hard it was."
"Is." His voice is rough. "It *is* hard. We're still struggling. I work two jobs. Marcus does freelance design work between classes. We have a one-bedroom apartment in a shitty part of the city and sometimes we have to choose between groceries and medication."
The words hit like a physical blow. "I'm sorry."
"Don't be. We're happy." There's something fierce in his voice now. "We're poor and tired and sometimes I miss the life I used to have. But then I wake up next to Marcus and I remember why I chose this. Why I'd choose it again."
"Mom and Dad—"
"Are the same as they've always been. Rigid. Controlling. More concerned with appearances than people." He sighs. "I don't miss them, Dorian. I miss you. I missed my baby brother."
The tears are falling freely now. "I'm sorry I wasn't there."
"Why now?" Julian asks. "After six years, why are you calling now?"
"Because Vespera pushed me to. She told me I needed to make amends before we go back to school.
Before I face our parents. Before I repeat your mistakes.
" I wipe my face with my palm. "And because I should have called years ago.
I should have been there for you and Marcus.
Should have chosen you over their approval. "
"You were seventeen—"
"Old enough to know right from wrong." I cut him off. "Old enough to not be a coward."
Julian is quiet for a long moment. I can hear someone murmuring in the background—Marcus, probably, woken by the conversation.
"I forgive you," he says finally.
"Just like that?"
"Just like that." His voice is softer now. "You're my brother. I've been waiting six years for you to call. So yeah, I forgive you. But Dorian?"
"Yeah?"
"Don't waste this chance." The words echo what Vespera said by the pool. "Don't do what I did and wait until you have no choice. Choose her now. Choose love now. Before it's too late."
"What if I can't provide for her? What if losing everything means I can't—"
"You're not seventeen anymore. You're not me." Julian's tone is firm. "You have a degree. Skills. And from what you've said, you have a pack. I was alone except for Marcus. You're not alone, Dorian. Use that. Build something different than what our parents built."
"I don't know how."
"Neither did I. You figure it out." He pauses. "When are you back in the city? You should meet Marcus properly. Maybe we can have dinner or something."
The offer is so unexpected I nearly drop the phone. "You want to see me?"
"You're my brother. And you called. You apologized. Yeah, I want to see you." His voice cracks slightly. "I've wanted to see you for six years."
"I'd like that." My own voice is unsteady. "I'd really like that."
"Give me your number. Your real number, not whatever burner you're calling from."
"It's my real number. I never deleted your contact. I just... never called."
"Jesus, Dorian." He sounds like he's crying now too. "You kept my number for six years?"
"I couldn't delete it. It felt too final. Like erasing you completely."
"Okay." He takes a shaky breath. "Okay. Text me when you're back in the city. We'll set something up. And Dorian?"
"Yeah?"
"Tell Vespera thank you. For pushing you to call. For being the person who made you brave enough to choose differently."
"I will."
"And Dorian? One more thing."
"What?"
"Tell the people you love that you love them. Before it's too late. Before circumstances force your hand." His voice is steady now, almost fierce. "Don't waste time hiding what matters. I learned that the hard way. Don't make the same mistake."
"I won't," I promise.
"Good. Now go back to bed. It's too early for emotional breakdowns."
Despite everything, I laugh. It comes out wet and broken, but it's genuine. "Yeah. Yeah, okay."
"Love you, little brother."
The words hit me square in the chest. How long has it been since I heard them? Since I let myself hear them?
"Love you too, Julian."
I hang up and sit there in the darkness, phone clutched in my hand, and let myself cry. Really cry. For the years I lost with my brother. For the person I became in his absence. For the fear that still lives in my chest about what I'm about to lose.
But also for hope. For forgiveness. For the chance to be better.
The door creaks open behind me.
"Dorian?"
Oakley's voice is rough with sleep, confused. I turn to look at him standing in the doorway, silhouetted by the hall light, and I can't hide the tears on my face.
He's wearing only sleep pants—loose gray cotton that hangs low on his hips, revealing the sharp cut of muscle that disappears beneath the waistband.
His chest is bare, showing the lean definition of someone who runs every morning, all smooth skin over compact strength.
His hair is mussed from the pillow, sticking up in ways that make him look younger, softer than he usually allows himself to be.
And there's the unmistakable outline of morning wood tenting the front of his pants.
Even through my tears, even in the middle of falling apart, I want him. I've always wanted him. That's never been the problem.
He hasn't seemed to notice his state of arousal, too focused on my face with those concerned brown eyes. Still half-asleep but fully alert to my distress.
God, he's beautiful. How did I spend years pretending this didn't matter?
"What's wrong?" He's across the room in seconds, seemingly unconscious of how his body moves—that athletic grace, the flex of his abs as he bends toward me. His hands land on my shoulders, warm and solid, searching my face with growing concern. "What happened?"