THIRTY-FIVE #3
Maine rests his hand on the hat that sits against his chest now. My hat. His hat. The only thing in the room that has belonged to us both for long enough to know better than to pick sides.
“I should have come back sooner,” he eventually says after the silence stretches too long.
“Yeah.”
“I should have found another way.”
“Yeah.”
“I thought saving you meant staying away.”
I swallow hard before telling him, “You don’t get to decide what saves me without me.”
His eyes close.
“No,” he agrees. “I don’t.”
There.
Something inside my chest loosens slightly. It’s not forgiveness. It’s not even close to that particular notion. It’s just one knot finally realizing it can stop trying to strangle the entire rope for a second.
Ellis knocks on the door once and opens the door before anyone can answer. “Sentimental devastation over? Beautiful. I need to check whether or not my stitches survived your little family reunion.”
Maine wipes his face with the back of one hand and he does it badly.
I pretend not to notice, because I’m actually a pretty merciful person.
And because if I look too hard, I’ll actually start crying again.
And frankly? My tear ducts have had enough time under the spotlight.
It’s time to give them a well-needed rest for another six years or something.
Ellis checks his side and mutters insults at both of us under her breath. Maine apologizes to her, and she tells him to apologize to his blood pressure because she’s not interested in hearing it.
Mercer appears in the doorway behind her the next second, but he stays out of the room. Hale isn’t visible, which is good. His face would fully ruin my mood, and my mood is already a condemned building with a hefty amount of interesting mold.
When Ellis finishes, Maine looks exhausted enough that I’m surprised he hasn’t passed out already.
“You need rest,” Ellis tells him.
“I need to talk to my sister,” he counters, and the word hits the room with the force of a battering ram.
Sister.
Not file.
Not marker.
Not Omega.
Me.
Ellis’s expression softens for only half a second before she brutally murders it. “Your sister needs you alive and not dead from preventable stupidity. Ten minutes of quiet. Minimum.”
I almost tell her I don’t take orders, but then I take a look at Maine. His skin is far too pale and his eyes keep trying to stay open by force and sheer willpower.
I hate him.
I love him.
And both are completely true at the same time.
“Go to sleep,” I demand quietly, crouching next to him despite my sobbing knee that screeches in pain at the movement. Maine’s gaze darts to me as if he's afraid I’ll disappear again if he does as he’s told. It’s the only reason I mutter, “I’ll still be here.”
The words scrape at wounds that haven’t even begun to heal. They’re not a promise, and they’re certainly not forgiveness, but they are something.
His fingers curl around the hat, and mine rest over them for one second.
Only one.
Then I pull away before either of us can turn it into some meaning too big for either of us to carry.
Maine eventually nods once and his eyes close.
I stand there for a long moment, right up until his breathing evens out.
I stand there until Ellis dims the nearest light.
Until Mercer whispers something to Valeria outside and the compound continues to exist as if the world hasn’t just split wide open and rearranged itself around one single impossible fact.
Maine is alive.
Getting him back should have fixed the hole his disappearance made. It doesn’t. It only turns that hole into a room that I’m forced to live in now.
I step into the hall and every head turns toward me. I hate that immediately, so I choose the one face least likely to ask me what the fuck I’m feeling.
Kaito sits on the floor across from the door, one knee bent and one arm braced loosely over it. His side must be killing him, and he looks tired enough to be honest, which is perfect.
I walk over to him and sit next to him without asking.
Not close, but close enough. His scent reaches me, burning wood and worn flannel, steady and reliable under the medical stench I can’t escape.
He doesn’t say anything, and I consider him a very great man in that moment.
A truly awful time for such beautiful competence, honestly.
For a long while, we sit with our backs leaning against the wall and listen to the compound around us. Then Kaito shifts his hand, palm up on the floor between us. An offer, not a demand, and I stare at it for a long, hard second.
Stupid hand.
Offensive, ridiculous hand.
Emotionally manipulative with its patience.
Eventually, I place two fingers against his palm. Only the two. Barely anything at all, but his hand closes around them with careful warmth. Not trapping, just holding.
Inside the room, Maine breathes evenly.
Outside it, the world waits with chainsaws and axes.
I lean my head back against the wall and close my eyes.
My brother is alive.
My brother left.
My brother came back.
None of those truths scrub away the others.
They just sit inside my chest together, all crowded and uncomfortable, now having to learn how to hurt in a whole new way.