Chapter thirty three
Nadia
The clocktower doors slammed behind me hard enough to rattle the fucking glass, but I kept walking anyway. Down the stairs, past the rusted iron railings, past the dusty pews. I was fast. Like I could outrun what just happened up there.
My chest burned. Not from the fight. Not from the screaming.
Not from the fucking. From him. The way he looked at me afterward, that was the part I couldn’t fucking stomach.
Because Riven used to look at me like I was inevitable.
Like I had hung the stars in the sky. Now he looked at me like I was temporary.
The realization hollowed something out inside me so violently I nearly missed a step.
My hand shot out, gripping the railing hard enough my knuckles cracked.
Breathe. I had to fucking breathe. I forced myself down the final staircase and shoved through the cathedral doors into the freezing night air.
Rain hit me instantly. Cold, sharp, and relentless. Great. Maybe it’d wash his scent off my skin. Maybe it’d stop me from thinking about the way his hands trembled when he touched me. Maybe it’d stop me from hearing the pain in his voice.
Now I touch you and wonder how long it’ll be before you disappear again.
I inhale jaggedly, as if the thought physically hurts. Because it does. For two years, I told myself. this would work. That once I came back and fixed things, once Olympus was handled, once the threat was gone, once I explained, Riven would still be there waiting for me.
He wasn’t. He was here, but he wasn’t the same anymore. He’s not my husband anymore. It’s terrifying. Not that he stopped loving me, but that he finally learned how to survive me. My car roars to life the second I slide behind the wheel.
Then I drive. Too fucking fast. Stonebridge blurs around me in streaks of neon and rainwater. Tires scream against pavement as I fly through the East Side without caring who saw. Storefront lights flash past in distorted smears while my hands grip the wheel hard enough to ache.
Eighty. Ninety. A hundred. The engine snarls beneath me like an animal fighting to stay alive. Fitting, because so was I. My throat tightens violently as flashes of him kept hitting me over and over again.
Vegas. The hospital. The pills beside the ashtray. The way his voice cracked when he said: You made it look real fucking easy.
“Fuck!” The word tears out of me, raw and anguished.
I slam my palm against the steering wheel hard enough for the horn to blare through the empty streets.
Then, a turn approaches too quickly. I don’t brake.
Don’t even fucking think about it. The guardrail comes dangerously close as the car fishtails hard across slick pavement before correcting violently at the last second.
My pulse should’ve spiked, but it doesn’t.
That scares me more than the near crash itself. Because for one miserable second, I understood him. I understood how somebody gets so consumed by grief they stop caring what happens to them. The realization makes nausea twist in my stomach. Instead of finding a way to cope, I hit the gas harder.
By the time I pull into Spencer’s Automotive, rain was pouring hard enough to blur the windshield completely.
I kill the engine, and silence crashed into me instantly.
The garage lights were off except for one bay in the back.
I stumble out of the car and shove the garage door open hard enough for it to slam upward violently.
The smell hits me first. Oil, metal, and gasoline. To me, it was home. Usually, this place calmed me down. Tonight it just made me feel worse. I grab the nearest wrench and hurl it across the garage. The sound echoes violently. Another tool follows. Then another.
My breathing becomes uneven as rage and panic twist together inside my chest so tightly it hI yank open a toolbox drawer hard enough that it nearly comes off the rails.ils.. Tools crash onto the floor.
“Fuck!” I slam both palms onto the hood of the nearest car.
Metal dents beneath the force, but still my chest feels too tight.
I can’t breathe correctly. Can’t think correctly.
Because all I can see is Riven sitting on that couch afterward, looking at me like he didn’t know whether he wanted to kiss me again or hate me forever.
And the worst part? I fucking deserve it.
I squeeze my eyes shut, like I could escape this shit by blocking my vision.
But no matter what I do or where I go, I can’t escape him.
“You okay there, trouble?” Pop’s voice shatters the silence behind me. I freeze. Shit.
I hadn’t even heard him come in. Slowly, I turn around. Pop stands near the entrance holding two beers and wearing that same distressed leather jacket he’d owned since I was fifteen. Probably even longer. His gaze sweeps over the destroyed garage floor before landing back on me.
He doesn’t react, nor does he yell. That somehow makes it worse.
“I’m fine,” I say automatically.
“Of course you are.” His expression is disapproving. I look away. Rain hammers against the garage roof overhead. Pop sets the beers down quietly before approaching me slowly, like I was some feral animal liable to bolt.
“You punched the damn car.” He glances at the dented hood.
“Either the engine insulted you, or somethin’ happened.”
“I said I’m fine.” I grit out.
“And I’m callin’ bullshit.”
The sharpness in his voice fractures something in me instantly. Not visibly. Not outwardly. But internally? Something split wide fucking open. Because I was so goddamn tired. Pop leans against the workbench beside me, arms crossing over his chest. For a while, neither of us spoke. Then quietly,
“He still loves you.” My jaw tightens immediately.
“That’s not the problem.”
“No.” Pop sighs heavily.
“The problem is you finally realized love ain’t always enough to undo damage.” The words hit too hard. Too accurately. I stare down at my oil-stained hands.
“I thought I was protecting him.”
“I know.”
“I left because I thought if I stayed, they’d kill him.” My voice sounds strange now. Smaller and more vulnerable.
“And now-”
“Now you’re scared it killed him anyway.” Silence. Thick and suffocating. Because, yes. That’s exactly what I was scared of. Pop scrubs a hand over his beard tiredly before speaking again.
“You know what the difference between you and me is?” I frown slightly.
“What?”
“I thought love was enough to keep somebody from becoming dangerous.” My eyes lift to him slowly as the rain raged on.
“I loved somebody once,” He says quietly.
“Trusted her more than anybody. Thought if we loved each other hard enough, we could survive the rest.” His jaw tenses.
“Turns out love don’t mean shit if somebody keeps choosing war over people.
” Cordelia. He was reminding me of the first time he told me about her.
Even now, years later, the bitterness in his voice was unmistakable.
“She kept secrets,” He continues.
“Made choices she thought were necessary. Thought she was protecting everybody.” He laughs once, humorless.
“And maybe she believed that. Maybe you do too.” My chest tightens painfully.
I recall the first conversation I had with Cordelia Barrett.
The parallels between the two of us were undeniable.
She gave me a choice: choose Riven or the only family I ever knew.
She herself once made the same choice. She chose her family, her gang, and I chose Riven.
I thought I was doing the right thing, leaving the way I did.
But now, I’m seeing that by choosing to leave, I was going back on my previous choice. I was no longer choosing him.
“But eventually those choices got my son killed.” Pop stares down at the beer in his hands, peeling the label, before continuing quieter this time.
“You know what the worst part is?” I don’t answer.
“I still understood why she did it.” His expression hardens.
“And I hated myself for that almost as much as I hated her.”
The words lodge themselves somewhere deep beneath my ribs. Because that was the scary part, wasn’t it? Riven understanding me. Riven loving me enough to forgive things he shouldn’t have to. Pop finally looks at me then.
“That boy worships the ground you walk on, Nadia.” I swallow hard.
“But people can only survive heartbreak for so long before they become somebody else.”
There it was again. That horrible feeling clawing through my chest since the clocktower.
Riven changed. And maybe I did that to him.
Maybe I turned him into somebody harder.
Meaner. More hollow. Maybe loving me cost him pieces of himself he’ll never get back.
Pop slides one of the beers toward me across the workbench.
“You got two choices now, kid.” Another choice. A shot at redemption for my failure to defend my last one. I stare at him silently.
“You can keep deciding for him.” His voice takes on a hardened edge.
“Keep choosing what he can handle. Keep pushing him away because you think you know what’s best.” A heartbeat passes.
“Or you can finally trust him enough to stand beside you when things get ugly.”
The garage falls eerily quiet except for the rain.
And for the first time since returning to Stonebridge, I realize that maybe leaving had never actually been about protecting Riven.
Maybe part of me just couldn’t stomach the idea of somebody actually staying for once when things got hard. Of somebody finally choosing me.
“I need to fix this,” I said, determination outweighing the fear.
“Damn straight.” He takes a pull of his beer. “
“Can I fix this?” He freezes.
“Stop askin’ stupid questions and go get your husband.” He shoves me, eliciting a grin.
“You got it, Pop.” Pushing off the workbench, I head for the side door.
“Hey, trouble?” He stops me.
“Yeah, Pop?” I look over my shoulder.
“It may not seem like it right now, but you can fix this. Both of you can fix this.”