Elle
I never should have uttered those words, ‘I forgive you.’
He heard them, then he opened the gates wide and crossed. Or he tried to.
And I tried everything in my power to retie our souls. The Naloxone shot I stabbed through his shoulder saved his life, but what if…
I can’t stop the intrusive thoughts that are carving through my brain like glass scraping against bone. My eyes, nose, and throat burn themselves raw all over again, and the thick residue of the hospital’s antibacterial solutions in the air only exacerbates it. The most fucked up part? I wish I had a sprinkling of the heroin Gant overdosed on so I could enter a different dimension. One where our soul ties haven’t tried to unravel themselves at my selfish instruction.
‘Your life. Get on your fucking deathbed, and maybe the cost will be paid.’
‘Done.’
He said he knew Bart. He said to let him handle it. I hadn’t trusted that he could, just like I hadn’t trusted his promise. ‘I will never leave you. I promise.’
He’d meant his words, with all his heart and soul, but I hadn’t meant mine.
I am a filthy liar, just like he always swore I was. I’m desperate to tell him how right he is, but I can’t. Not until he’s awake.
I watch his pale, peaceful face pressed against the pillows, with doll tucked at his side since I couldn’t climb into the bed with him with the nurses still around. But I immediately divert my eyes because his tranquil slumber resembles the sleep that almost stole him from me.
My bloodshot eyes scan the monitors surrounding him. Despite hearing the steady beeps, I watch the moving lines, the flashing lights, the little numbers that I don’t know what the fuck they mean. I just know they should be there.
Ragged breathing to my left draws me to the only other sign of life in the room. Hale.
He’s staring despondently at Gant. In his lap, the blue light from his phone casts him in haunting shadows. From the speaker, a woman talks in rushed, hushed Romani, but Hale isn’t listening as his mother, Rosella, explains his adoption. His adoption I’d been forced to tell him about an hour ago.
His mother should’ve been the one to do it.
Or Silas, his father, who’s two doors down tucked into a hospital bed, too.
Or his half-brother Gant.
But I’d been the closest to him physically, and he’d latched onto me, desperate for answers I couldn’t fully give him because my mind’s a tangle of half-truths and incomplete assumptions. That’s where his mother came in to complete the picture.
She wanted to talk to him in person, but Hale hadn’t wanted to see her. Not yet.
She confirmed after heavy hesitation that Marisol Pelletier was his biological mother and that they’d met at a five-day-long Roma festival. Twice. Once the year before, and again after Marisol had given birth.
Marisol was desperate, frantic, and she’d promised Rosella, the only person she trusted in Hungary, money and papers to immigrate if she secretly brought Hale back to her.
‘Mari and I snuck out to a gypsy festival where we danced barefoot for two days before returning home.’ Delphine’s earlier words swirl in my mind. If she hadn’t been so ignorant and used the correct term Roma or Romani , Gant would’ve drawn the conclusion a week earlier. But would the outcome have been any different?
He ends the call on her mid-sentence, and the room grows quiet again save for the comforting beep and hum of Gant’s machines. They give me permission to close my sleepless eyes for five minutes because I can hear that he’s safe, but I won’t. Despite the audible assurances, I’m terrified he’ll disappear and petrified that I’ll have to follow him.
“Gant’s my brother,” Hale’s thin voice cracks the silence and my dark thoughts. “And no one told me?”
“Everything happened in a rush. Gant found out two days ago when he saw your baby photo. The one of you and your mu—” I clear my throat. Rosella not birthing Hale doesn’t change the fact that she’s been his mother for nearly two decades. Still, the word seems too triggering for him now. “—Rosella at the beach. The date on the back was wrong.”
His baby blues slide from my face to the floor, but he doesn’t explain the discrepancy. He doesn’t have to. Rie Rie already did.
“I found out an hour before the party. Once I saw you’d replaced that old photo with a photo of you and Gant, I knew he’d seen it too. I knew he’d pieced it all together. Golden hair. Eyes like pools. A name like royalty. Hungary. Roma Festival…”
Hale runs a hand through his chestnut locks now. In the right lighting, like beneath Libellule’s chandeliers, the golden hues still shine through. “All this time… I’ve been Marisol’s? I’ve been a Pelletier or a Parish… No, both.”
I want to comfort him, but how can I when I’m so damn broken myself? I need to climb into Gant’s arms, but that’s not close, reassuring enough. I need to melt into his flesh, sink into his pores and wear him like a second skin. That’s how close I need us to be.
I can’t shake the macabre thoughts or the selfish ones.
Please wake up.
Please open those black pits and stare into my soul again.
I need you.
I slide my foot, still covered by black lacey stockings, across the linoleum and touch my toes to Hale’s boot like Rin had done to me that night my world ended. I’d ditched the ill-fitting stilettos hours ago, and it’s just hitting me now that I’m practically naked in the freezing room, save for a jacket draped over my shoulders. Hale’s? When had he put it there?
I squeeze doll Gant in my palms and watch his far apart black eyes bulge even farther apart.
He gazes down at the contact and presses his boot closer as silence swarms us once more. But then the door creaks open, interrupting the steady, rhythmic beeps.
“ What the fuck are you doing here? ” Hale hisses, his foot leaving mine as he scrapes his chair back.
But Zedd’s not looking at us. He’s focused on Gant. For a millisecond. When he tears his red-rimmed eyes away, it’s not in dismissal. It’s because looking at him is unbearable.
“For the same reasons as you.”
Hale shakes his head slowly. “You were in on it. I know you were.”
“What?” I mumble in confusion, but Zedd’s expression doesn’t waver from stoic solemnness. He knew the accusation was coming. I sit straighter in my chair, gripping the armrests with blanching knuckles.
“You were in the kitchen. You mixed those drinks that killed Bart and nearly killed Gant.”
My head sways, new revelations washing over me. In all the drama, I hadn’t thought of Zedd once.
“You told me not to touch the silver trays. You had one girl serve us the entire time with gold trays…the curly girl…the only girl who passed my auditions with some level of competence. You…you were in on it, weren’t you?”
“Yes,” Zedd says bluntly. “I was carrying out Bart’s orders at Gant’s request. Only one person was supposed to die last night, and Bart wanted it to be you.”
Hale takes a stumbling step back. “What? Why? ” But more revelations are pouring over him, just like they’re dripping down my spine. “That overdose was meant for me? Bart wanted to kill me because I’m Marisol’s son? Why does that matter to him?”
“You heard Bart last night. He’s ‘won’ back twelve percent of his company shares.”
“Is that supposed to mean something to me?” Hale snaps impatiently.
“ From you, ” I croak, and Hale’s wide, watery eyes fall on me. “Once he got rid of you, you’d lose Marisol’s inheritance, and he’d retain his Auclair shares he’d gifted her.”
Hale’s knees give out, and he collapses into his chair. “He wanted to get rid of me over money I didn’t even know I had?”
“You would’ve found out eventually,” Zedd says. “Like you are now.”
“How?” Hale’s brows knit with more than just confusion, pure hurt is wracking him.
“Your brother.” Zedd nods to the bed. “Gant was protecting you, looking out for you. Why do you think Bart’s in the morgue and Gant was just a hair away from joining him?”
“But that doesn’t make sense,” I say, my spine stiffening. “You mixed the drinks. Both Gant’s and Bart’s were laced, so how can you expect us to believe it was just Hale Bart was after?”
“I laced all the drinks.”
Hale pales. “Fucking hell. I know you suddenly hate me because of Stassi — ”
“I don’t hate you, Hale. Why do you think I accepted both Gant’s and Bart’s offers? If I made the food, I could control the precise dosage for all three of you. I needed you at least semi-high so Bart would know you were on your way out and Alistair could witness it.”
“Your father?” I gasp. “He was Bart’s alibi?”
“In exchange for the jewellery contracts over the Zaveris.”
Hale’s normally tanned skin turns sallow beneath the dimmed fluorescent lights. “Alistair despises me that much that he was willing to help Bart murder me just for a contract?”
“It’s not just about the contract. He wants you to stay away from Stassi, and I warned you, too.”
Hale’s eyes, suddenly haunted, flit up to Zedd. “The powdered doughnuts…that was your doing, wasn’t it? Not the ones at the party, the ones Gant bought to Libellule right before you and your fuckass father showed up?”
“Bart needed the evidence. Why do you think Gant encouraged you to make those social media posts, high or drunk off your ass, to promo Libellule? You didn’t seriously think it was because he cared about the proceeds?”
“Bart wanted to push a narrative that Hale was a wild partier,” I say, licking my dry lips and connecting the dots. “So that when he overdosed, it wouldn’t be suspicious.”
Zedd nods.
“But I haven’t touched that powder in months.”
“You were still ingesting it. I didn’t just lace those drinks. I laced most of the golden trays at Bart’s request and supervision. All those chocolate truffles and little white powdered doughnuts he knew your sweet tooth couldn’t resist.”
My lips part in horror, but Zedd’s speaking like he’s talking about the weather.
“Ingestion takes far longer to overdose on versus injection or inhalation. Plus, it’s cumulative. I had no choice but to let you get semi-high because Bart was watching you like a hawk. Still, I kept the dosages far lower than he demanded. The laced drink was supposed to be the big cherry on top. Everyone would’ve seen you acting an ass all night, and a few waitresses who willingly sniffed and nibbled would confirm that you’d knowingly joined them.”
“You recorded me for Stassi. You made me act an ass so you could—”
“I didn’t make you act any way. That was all you because you hadn’t even touched a truffle then.”
“Wait.” I shake my head. It’s heavy, filled with cottony thoughts. “Bart wanted Hale to progressively get high before the big finale. He asked you to lace the food because Hale wouldn’t ingest it willingly any more?”
“Right,” Zedd says matter-of-factly.
“But why did you lace all the drinks?”
“Bart told me to put the laced drink by the server’s left thumb when she was facing them with the tray. But Bart didn’t trust Gant or the girl despite the fuckton of blackmail he had on her.”
I think of the hyped up girlies from the night before. That whole time we partied, there was a traitor amongst us.
“Why doesn’t he trust Gant?” Hale asks. “He let him in on the plan, he must have trust him somewhat.”
“Bart doesn’t trust anyone fully. He thinks Gant’s emotional, weak, a pussy who can’t even get in a car. Just ask Silas.”
Hale’s eyes flick to the door. To the hallway beyond where his father is being treated, but he doesn’t interrupt.
“He knew Gant wouldn’t allow Hale, his brother and childhood friend, to just, poof , disappear for the sake of money. He knows Gant differs from him in that way. Gant didn’t trust Bart either, and he knew there was no way Bart and Hale could both leave that penthouse alive. Once Bart found out he’d tampered with the drink arrangement, it would be brutal for him and Hale.”
“I still don’t understand,” I say.
“Gant knew Bart trusted that his and Hale’s drinks would be clean. So, Gant was confident Bart would take either his, or the one meant for Hale instead for the toast.”
“So Gant told you to lace them all, so there was no Russian roulette,” I say, nausea overtaking me. “He willingly poisoned himself…”
“Then why didn’t I overdose?” Hale asks, brows knitted.
“You’ve been clean for a few months, not years. Your tolerance is triple that of Gant’s or even Bart’s, who uses socially. He knew he’d come close to overdosing, so he had a plan.”
“The Naloxone,” I whisper. “When he attacked Bart, it was the vial he was after.”
Zedd nods. “That wasn’t his plan, though. One vial? And on Bart, no less? Too risky.”
“Then?” Hale asks, and for the first time, Zedd shows true distress.
“Bart rarely visited the penthouse, but when he did, he had raging parties. Overdoses weren’t uncommon. Gant witnessed a few. Anyway, Bart kept vials in the medicine cabinet just in case.”
My throat grows dry as I remember the feel of the little, orange-topped vial beneath my fingertips.
“I was supposed to steal another vial as plan A and B because I couldn’t bring one to the penthouse. He’d check me but…” He chokes, his eyes flying to Gant before he squeezes them shut and breathes. “I couldn’t. Bart had counted them before I even arrived. That’s when he put one in his breast pocket. He kept the other in the drawer as a test to Gant and me both. Right before the toast, he slipped into the cabinet to check, and one was missing.”
“He thought Gant took it?” I whisper.
“That’s why he gave that Gant that hug during his speech. He was trying to feel it on him. He’d already pat me down, shoved my head into the stove, and threatened to burn my face if I didn’t tell him where it was.”
I eye a piece of Zedd’s dirty blonde hair near his temple. It’s singed.
“But I didn’t take it, and I didn’t think Gant did either. The plan was for me to take them mid-speech, but of course, Bart had planned to swoop in and snatch them just before.” His watery eyes fly to me, and his voice cracks as he asks. “Where did you get it? The last vial.”
“I…” My mind’s too blank and too full as I gaze from Gant’s peaceful face to Zedd again. “From the medicine cabinet… Right before Bart got to it.” My heart thuds to a stop at the revelation. “I was looking for the key cards to open the bedroom Silas was in. I grabbed a vial by mistake. I’d left it in the bedroom with my serving tray when I spoke to Silas, and once I understood what was happening, I ran for it.”
Zedd nods bitterly. “Gant thought I’d swoop in with the extra vial. I was supposed to save him, but I couldn’t.”
“ Fucking hell, ” Hale rasps, his chest rising and falling rapidly like he’d been holding his breath.
“That’s…” I can barely breathe. “So fucking stupid and dangerous! He should’ve known that Bart would’ve pulled a stunt like that!”
“He put too much of his faith in Bart’s vial. He knew he had it on him.”
“I don’t care if he had twenty on him! He could’ve — ” I hiccup. I can’t get the words out.
“And you say I’m the irresponsible one,” Hale hisses. “I would’ve never let him do something so idiotic.”
“He said he had no choice. He needed Bart gone, and he needed to kiss death for you to forgive him.” Zedd’s eyes land on me, and my heart shrinks, withers and dies because I had told him to get on his deathbed. I’d sworn that was the only way. But…but… I never thought he would’ve taken me seriously, but he did.
“But vials aside, he miscalculated his tolerance too. He didn’t shoot back his whole glass like Bart. He drank just enough for Bart to drink his a second later. Still, he hasn’t partied in a year. His tolerance is gone. I tried to be so meticulous…” Zedd sinks into a chair. “It wasn’t supposed to be such a close call.”
“But you said ingestion is slower. He reacted almost immediately and so did Bart,” I say.
“It’s cumulative, like I said. He snacked on a few sweets in front of Bart so that Hale wouldn’t be tipped off that they weren’t eating anything at all.”
Hale shakes his head. “No way you explain it, does it make sense! I could’ve acted high if that’s what he needed.”
“He couldn’t risk Bart finding out.”
“I can keep a secret! You know that better than anyone.”
“He wanted you safe. You’re his big little brother. He was scared for you, Hale. Petrified. If he told you, you’d make him even more nervous. He couldn’t handle your emotions plus his. Nor ’s. It’s why he called you to take care of her the second she left the safety of Bae’s flat.”
What? My eyes itch and burn all over again.
“He took on yours, though,” Hale says bitterly.
“Because I’m a cold son of a bitch, remember?”
Silence.
“There had to be another way,” Hale says, his eyes shining with unshed tears. “Gant… He was my brother before…before all of this. He could’ve told me.”
“No, I couldn’t,” Gant croaks, and we all freeze, besides our gazes that fly to the hospital bed where his tired black eyes stare back at us beneath hooded lids. “You and are terrible actors. Hale, you wouldn’t have fooled a toddler, much less Bart. , you can’t pretend to not love me, even when your lips swear that you hate me. It had to be real.”
I choke as he opens his arms limply toward me, his fingers tangled in doll ’s red yarn hair.
“What are you waiting for? Fly me to me, dove.”