4. Gage
Gage
A week of following Billie's orders had taught me two things. First, that she'd been absolutely right about everything, and second, that I didn't recognize the woman she'd become at all.
I sat in Booker's living room, my casted leg propped up on the coffee table, actually feeling something close to human for the first time since the accident.
The pain had dulled to a manageable ache, my shoulder moved with less stiffness, and I could navigate the stairs with crutches without wanting to collapse halfway down.
All because I'd swallowed my pride and taken the damn medication like she'd told me to.
She'd been back twice more for therapy sessions, each one a masterclass in professional distance that left me more confused than the last. This wasn't the Billie I remembered.
The girl who used to laugh at my terrible jokes, who could read my mood from across a room, who'd worn her heart on her sleeve and loved with her whole being.
This woman was controlled, clinical, untouchable.
Which raised the question that had been eating at me for days. Was she hiding behind professionalism because I'd hurt her, or had I broken something fundamental in her that could never be repaired?
The thought made my chest tight with a guilt I wasn't sure I had the right to claim.
I'd told myself for eleven years that leaving had been the right thing to do, that she'd be better off without me.
But if I'd damaged her ability to trust, to love, to be vulnerable.
.. then maybe I'd been wrong about everything.
"You're brooding again," Xander said from the kitchen doorway, carrying a mug of coffee and wearing the expression of someone who'd been watching me think myself into circles for the past hour.
"I'm contemplating," I corrected, shifting to ease the pressure on my ribs.
"You're wondering about Billie."
It wasn't a question. I'd never been able to hide anything from Xander, even as kids.
"She's different," I said finally. "Not just older, not just more professional. She's... harder somehow. Closed off."
Xander settled into the chair across from me, considering his words carefully. "She's been through a lot, Gage. Losing her parents, rebuilding her life here, establishing her career. People change."
"Did I do that to her?" The question came out quieter than I intended. "Did I break something in her when I left?"
Before Xander could answer, the sound of a car pulling into the driveway cut through the afternoon quiet. I looked toward the window and felt my stomach drop to somewhere around my ankles.
Trace's truck.
"Shit," I breathed, suddenly feeling like I might throw up.
"They wanted to give you time to settle in," Xander said gently. "But you've been downstairs for three days now. They figured it was time."
Time. As if there would ever be enough time to prepare for this conversation. As if eleven years had been anywhere near long enough for me to figure out what to say to the brother whose life I'd helped destroy.
The truck doors slammed, and I could hear voices approaching the front door. Trace's familiar laugh, and then a woman's voice that had to be Delaney. She sounded happy, relaxed, nothing like the devastated teenager who'd left Willowbrook all those years ago.
"I can't do this," I said, reaching for my crutches. "I can't..."
"Yes, you can," Xander said firmly, standing to block my path. "You've been running from this for eleven years. It's time to stop."
The front door opened before I could argue, and suddenly they were there. Trace, looking older and more settled than I remembered, and beside him, Delaney. She was visibly pregnant, really pregnant, with the kind of glow that came from being genuinely happy.
They'd built a life together. Despite everything Regina had done, despite all the time they'd lost, they'd found their way back to each other and were expanding their family.
The family I'd helped tear apart in the first place.
Seeing Delaney hit me harder than I'd expected.
This was the girl I'd helped Regina destroy, the teenager whose life I'd helped tear apart.
I once would have called her a friend, but I'd definitely lost the right to that label.
Yet she looked nothing like that broken sixteen-year-old who'd left Willowbrook. She looked confident, radiant even.
"Gage," Trace said, and his voice was warm, genuinely glad to see me. "Look at you, mobile and everything. Xander said you were making good progress."
I stared at him, searching his face for any sign of resentment, but there was none. Just the easy affection of our youngest brother who was happy to have his sibling home.
It made everything worse.
"Trace," I managed, my voice rough with emotions I couldn't name. Then I looked at Delaney, and the guilt nearly choked me. "Delaney. You look... God, it's good to see you."
She stepped forward with a smile that didn't quite hide the careful assessment in her eyes. "It's good to see you too, Gage. We've been worried about you for so long."
The kindness in her voice, when she had every right to hate me, was almost unbearable.
Their cautious smiles somehow made this harder than if they'd both walked in ready to tear me apart.
"How are you feeling?" Trace asked, settling onto the couch across from me while Delaney chose the chair beside him, one hand resting unconsciously on her rounded belly. "You look pretty banged up."
"I'm... better," I said, still trying to process the surreal normalcy of this conversation. "Billie's been keeping me in line."
"She's good at that," Delaney said with a laugh. "She doesn't let anyone get away with being a difficult patient. Just ask Booker about his physical therapy after the stampede."
They were talking like this was normal. Like I was just another brother who'd been hurt and was recovering, not the person who'd helped orchestrate the worst thing that had ever happened to them.
I could feel my heart racing, the room was starting to close in. I couldn't do this. I couldn't pretend we were a normal family, that I hadn't...
"I need to say something," I said suddenly, the words forcing their way out of my chest. "I need to apologize for..."
"No," Trace interrupted, his voice firm but not unkind. "You don't."
"Yes, I do. What I did to you, to both of you, what I helped Regina..."
"What Regina manipulated you into doing," Delaney said quietly.
"Gage, we know the whole story now. We know what she threatened, and most of all we know exactly the person she is.
You were seventeen years old and terrified.
She was your mother, the one person in this world you should have been able to trust."
"That doesn't excuse..."
"You were a kid," Trace said, leaning forward in his chair. "A scared kid being manipulated by someone who'd had decades of practice destroying people. Do you think I blame you for that?"
"You should," I said desperately. "You should hate me. I cost you ten years with your son. Ten years of his childhood that you can never get back. Birthdays, Christmas mornings, first days of school..."
"Gage." Trace's voice cut through my spiral like a knife. "Look at me."
I forced myself to meet his eyes, expecting to see the anger and blame I knew I deserved. Instead, I saw something that looked almost like pity.
"The person responsible for those lost years is Regina," he said slowly.
"Not you. Regina, who threatened to destroy our family if you didn't help her.
Regina, who convinced a terrified teenager that the only way to protect the people he loved was to betray them.
Regina, who spent years perfecting the art of manipulation and psychological warfare. "
"But I still chose..."
"You chose to try to protect your family," Delaney said gently. "You chose to sacrifice your own happiness rather than let her destroy everyone you cared about. Yes, it was the wrong choice, but it was an understandable choice for someone your age in that situation."
I shook my head, unable to accept the forgiveness they were offering so freely. "You don't understand. I knew what I was doing would hurt you. I knew it was wrong, and I did it anyway because I was weak and desperate for Regina's approval."
"You were seventeen," Trace repeated. "Seventeen and trying to survive in a house where love was conditional on meeting impossible standards. Of course you were desperate for approval. Of course you made mistakes."
"This wasn't a mistake," I said, my voice breaking. "This was..."
"This was Regina winning," Trace said, his voice suddenly hard. "This was her getting exactly what she wanted. One of her sons destroying himself with guilt over something she orchestrated. Don't give her that satisfaction, Gage. Don't let her win again."
The room fell silent except for the soft sounds of the house around us. The distant hum of the refrigerator, the tick of the old clock on the mantel. I stared at my hands, trying to process what they were telling me, trying to reconcile their forgiveness with the guilt I'd carried for so long.
"We've been looking for you," Delaney said quietly. "Ever since we learned the truth about what really happened, we've been hoping you'd come home. Not so you could apologize or punish yourself, but so we could tell you we understand. So you could be part of our family again."
"Cade asks about you," Trace added. "He wants to know when he's going to meet his Uncle Gage. He's excited to have more family."
The mention of Cade hit me like a physical blow. This ten-year-old boy who should have grown up with his father, who should have had years of family birthday parties and bedtime stories and baseball games, backyard cookouts, summer days on the ranch. How could he be excited to meet me?
"How?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper. "How can you forgive me? How can he want to meet me when I'm the reason you weren't there for the first ten years of his life?"