33. Im not letting go again.
Chapter thirty-three
I'm not letting go again...
Nick
T he knock on the door came at exactly three o’clock in the morning , and Nick’s stomach knotted with anxiety. He’d been expecting this visit since Luka mentioned it yesterday, but knowing Vincent Bellenger was coming and being ready for it were two very different things.
“Vincent,”Nick said, proud that his voice came out steady.
“Nick.” Vincent’s response was equally measured. “You look better.”
Better than what? Nick thought but didn’t ask. Better than catatonic, probably.
Adam, meanwhile, made himself comfortable at the kitchen table andwasunpacking what looked like enough Chinese takeout to feed a small army.“Figured you might be tired of whatever you’ve been living on. You picked the wrong twin for culinary skills.”
Nick watched Luka clutch his chest in mock wounded drama, whichwasridiculous enough to make him smile despite his nerves.“He makes decent eggs,”Nick offered, somewhat surprisedby how normal the words sounded coming out of his mouth.
The next hour felt like a carefully choreographed dance.
Adam drew him into conversation about safe topics—the apartment’s ancient air conditioning, the questionable takeout options in the neighborhood, how Illinois summers made everything sticky and miserable.
Nick found himself relaxing despite Vincent’s presence, Adam’s easy chatter filling the spaces where awkward silence might otherwise settle.
Itwasn’tuntil Adam mentioned his physical therapy routine that the mood shifted.
“Lost mine in a car accident,”Adam said matter-of-factly, lifting his pant leg to reveal the metal joint where an ankle should have been.“Physical therapywashell, but the phantom pain was worse.”
“How long did that last?”Nick asked.
“Phantom pain? Still happens sometimes. Stress makes it worse.”Adam’s expression grew thoughtful.“The pills helped at first, but...”
“But then you need more of them,”Nick finished quietly, recognizing the path Adamwasdescribing.“And more after that.”
“Yeah.”Adam’s voice carried the weight of shared understanding.
Nick felt the knot in his stomach loosen—the relief of being understood without having to explain.“Minewasafter a car accident too. Shattered femur, multiple surgeries. Started with Percocet, graduated to buying pills from dealers, ended up shooting heroin in Chicago alleyways.”
The words came out clinical, detached, but Adam didn’t flinch or offer empty platitudes. He just nodded with the kind of recognition that came from walking the same dark road.
“Chicago’s where you met...”Adam’s voice trailed off, but the questionwasclear.
“The vampire in Chicago. Yeah.”Nick’s jaw tightened slightly.“Rock bottom had a basement level I didn’t know existed.”
Don’t think about the name. Don’t let the name surface.
Adam nodded with grim understanding.“For me itwasgetting arrested trying to buy from an undercover cop. Spent three days in withdrawal in county, lots of court hearings, and then the whole kidnapping thing.”
Nick glanced toward the living room where Vincent was examining his organizational charts with Luka. The idea of Vincent as a savior rather than a predator still felt foreign, but Adam was sitting in front of him, healthy and whole and clearly devoted to the vampirewho’dtakenhim.
“How do you...”Nick paused, searching for words that wouldn’t make him sound pathetic.“How do you trust someone after they’ve done that? Even if theyweretrying to help?”
“I don’t know if trust is the right word,”Adam said.“At least not at first. But Vincent proved hewaswilling to change, to do better. And I figured out that Ihadto choose between staying angry forever or building something new.”
“That simple?”
“Hell no.”Adam’s laughwasrueful.“Took months of therapy, a lot of fighting, and probably more patience than Vincent should havehadto give me. But the alternativewasspending the rest of my life hating someone who gives a damn about me, and that seemed like a waste.”
A soft sound from the living room drew his attention, and Nick realized with amusement that both Luka and Vincent migrated closer to the kitchen table, clearly eavesdropping on their conversation.
“Are you two actually listening, or just pretending to have your own conversation?”Nick asked.
Luka’s face flushed red while Vincenthadthe grace to look sheepish.
“Listening,”Vincent admitted, a flush of color spreading across his cheeks.“My boyfriend is one-on-one with a hunter, there is no world where I don’t eavesdrop.”
Adamgrinned, enjoying their embarrassment.“They’ve been doing fake sign language for the last ten minutes. Luka keeps spelling ‘banana’ and Vincent responded with what I’m pretty surewasa recipe for soup.”
The absurdity of it struck Nick and he laughed—a real one, not the careful chuckleshe’dbeen rationing. When he caught Luka’s eye across the room, the smile he offeredwasgenuine, unguarded.
“Well,”Vincent said, settling into the chair next to Adam.“Now that we’ve established our complete lack of subtlety, maybe we can have an actual conversation.”
And somehow, they did.
***
Caleb arrived three days later carrying a cardboard box that looked like itsurvived several moves and at least one flood. He set it on the coffee table, displacing Nick’s notebooks.
“I grabbed some things from Mom’s room before Marcus and I cleaned out the house,”Caleb explained, settling cross-legged on the floor beside the box.“Thought you might want them.”
Nick stared at the box like it might contain explosives. The last five years of his lifehadbeen about forgetting, about becoming someone else and cutting ties with the person he used to be. The idea of reaching back into that past felt dangerous.
“What kind of things?”he asked.
“Pictures, mostly. Some of Mom’s sheet music. Your old report cards.”Caleb’s voice carried a mix of nostalgia and uncertainty. “Iwasn’tsure whatyou’dwant to keep, so I just... kept everything.”
Everything. The word hung between them, loaded with implications. Caleb held onto pieces of Nick’s life even when Nickhadbeen trying to destroy them.
“Can I...”Nick’s hand hovered over the box’s worn edges.“Can I look?”
“It’s yours,”Caleb said simply.“All of it. I just kept it safe until you came back.”
Until you came back. Not if. Until. Like Calebnever doubted that Nick would find his way home.
The first thing Nick pulled outwasa photo—faded and creased from handling, showing two boys on a tire swing in what looked like their old backyard.
The younger onewasgrinning at the camera with gap-toothed joy while the older one looked more serious, protective arms wrapped around his brother’s shoulders.
The memory hit him like a physical blow. Not the fractured, painful flashbackshe’dbeen experiencing, but something warm and golden and entirely his own.
“You remember this?”Caleb asked.
Nick’s throat worked silently for a moment.“The summer before I started eighth grade. Youwereseven, maybe eight? You kept asking me to push you higher on the swing.”
“You were always worried I’d fall.”
“You did fall. You scraped your knee and cried for an hour.” Nick’s voicewasrough with memory.“I carried you inside and put Batman band-aids on it.”
“You said the band-aidshadspecial healing powers.”
“They did.”Nick’s mouth quirked in something approaching a smile.“You stopped crying, didn’t you?”
Caleb laughed, and the sound seemed to unlock something in Nick. The careful tension he carried everywhere finally eased as he reached for the next item in the box.
Sheet music, yellowed with age and covered in pencil markings. Nick spread it across the coffee table with the careful attention of someone handling archaeological artifacts. His mother’s handwriting in the margins, notes about tempo and phrasing that hespent hours studying as a kid.
“Mom’s arrangements,”he murmured, fingers tracing the familiar notation.“Shewasworking on this before...”
The sentence hung unfinished. Before the accident. Before shewasbrain-damaged and bedridden. Before everything fell apart and Nick learned that pain medication could make the world soft around the edges.
“She never got to finish it,”Caleb said.“I kept hoping maybe you would try... when you came back...”
Nick’s throat tightened. Hehadn’ttoucheda piano in years,and he wasn’teven sure his remaining hand could manage what used to come so naturally.“I don’t know if I can...”
“That’s okay. It’ll be there when you’re ready.”
They sat in silence for a while, Nick sifting through the contents of the box with increasing confidence.
Report cards with straight A’s and teacher’s comments about his kindness to other students, a program from a middle school piano recital with Nick’s name listed under“Bach Invention in C Major”, a photo of them with their mom at Field Museum.
Each itemwasa piece of the person he used to be, preserved by a brotherwho’dnever stopped believing that person still existed somewhere underneath all the damage.
“You kept all this,”Nick said, wonder creeping into his voice.
“Of course I did.” Caleb’s expression was fierce. “You’re my brother. Just because you were gone didn’t mean you stopped existing.”
Tears spilled over before he could stop them, and he pressed his hand to his mouth as if he could hold back the sound of his own breaking.
Caleb moved without hesitation, wrapping his arms around Nick’s shoulders and pulling him into a embrace.“I’ve got you,”he whispered.“I’ve got you, and I’m not letting go again.”
Nick went slack in Caleb’s arms, twenty-six years old and crying like the scared kidhe’dnever allowed himself to be. All the painhe’dbeen carrying—for the person he used to be before the world broke him—poured out in ragged sobs that seemed to come from the marrow of his bones.