Chapter 6 #2
"I don't know who I am." My voice cracks on the admission.
"I thought I did. I thought I knew what I wanted and who I was and what kind of life I was building.
But Craig hollowed all of that out, and now I'm just this empty shell trying to figure out which parts of me were real and which parts were just things he made me believe. "
Still he doesn't move. Doesn't try to close the distance between us, doesn't offer platitudes or solutions or any of the things people usually say when someone falls apart in front of them.
He just stays. Lets me break without trying to fix it.
"The parts that survived are real," he says finally. "The rest of it, the stuff he built, that'll fall away eventually. But the core of you, the part that got in a car and drove hundreds of miles to start over, that's not hollow. That's steel."
Tears spill down my cheeks, and I don't bother wiping them away. There's no point in pretending I have control over anything right now.
"How do you know?" The question comes out small, desperate. "How do you know which parts are real?"
"You don't. Not at first." He shifts his weight against the door, and his expression softens.
"You just keep going. Keep making choices.
Eventually you look back and realize you've been building something new the whole time, something that's yours.
Not his. Not the person he tried to turn you into. Just you."
His words don't fix anything. They don't make the shame disappear or the memories hurt less. But they give me something to grip while the ground shifts.
"Will." My voice is barely above a whisper. "What is The Forge?"
He's quiet for a long moment, and I can see him weighing how to answer. How much to reveal. How much I'm ready to hear.
"It's a private club," he says slowly. "For people who want to explore certain kinds of relationships and experiences. Power exchange. Dominance and submission. Other things that require trust and communication and very clear boundaries."
My heart pounds against my ribs. "And you...?"
"I'm one of the founders. I've been part of that world for a long time.
" His eyes hold mine, steady and unflinching.
"The kind of place Craig made you believe didn't exist?
It exists. It exists right here, in this building, and it operates on principles he would have told you were impossible.
Consent. Negotiation. Respect. The understanding that what happens between people is a gift, not a right. "
The words land somewhere I didn't know was still raw.
"I'm not telling you this because I think you should join," he continues. "I'm telling you because you deserve to know that what you want isn't wrong. It isn't shameful. And there are people in this world who would never dream of using it against you."
I want to believe him. I want it so badly that my chest aches with it.
"And you?" The question escapes before I can think better of it. "Are you one of those people?"
The silence stretches tight between us. Will's jaw tightens, and for the first time since he walked into this room, I see his careful control slip for just a moment.
"Yes," he says quietly. "I am."
We stand there in the flickering light of the stockroom, surrounded by boxes of napkins and cases of beer, and something passes between us that wasn't there before.
Not a resolution, not even a beginning, just an acknowledgment that we're both standing at the edge of something neither of us expected.
"I should get back to work," I say finally, and my voice sounds strange in my own ears.
"Yeah." He moves away from the door, giving me room to pass. "Take your time. I'll tell Nash you needed a minute."
I reach for the handle, then stop. Turn back to look at him.
"Thank you," I say. "For not making me feel like I'm broken."
"You're not broken, Gemma. You never were."
I slip out of the stockroom, leaving him standing alone in the dim light.
The bar is filling up with the early evening crowd, and Nash gives me a questioning look when I emerge from the hallway. I wave him off with what I hope is a convincing smile and retreat to the office, closing the door behind me.
My laptop sits open on the desk, the spreadsheet I was working on still pulled up even though the screen has gone dark. I stare at it without seeing, my mind somewhere else entirely.
The Forge. Right here in this building. A place where the things I want aren't weapons to be used against me. A place Will helped build.
The thought surfaces that Cole is Brotherhood too—has been for years. I shove it aside. That's a question for another day, and one I'm not sure I want answered.
The numbers on the screen blur and refocus, and I realize my hands are shaking again. Not from fear this time. From something I'm afraid to call hope.
I still don't know who I am. I still don't trust my own judgment. But for the first time since I left Seattle, I'm starting to believe those things might not be permanent.
The Forge holds answers to questions I'm only beginning to ask.
So does Will. And that's a different kind of terrifying.