Chapter 87
Chapter Eighty-Seven
Roderick
Rhodes is out on the terrace, cigarette lit, pacing like he’s trying to outrun a past he has already lived.
His shoulders tense every time he brings the cigarette to his mouth. The glow flares, disappears. Repeat. He’s unraveling in real time, and I hate how familiar it looks—how much of that unraveling used to be because of me.
I should turn around and pretend I don’t see him the same way he’s been pretending I don’t exist since we arrived.
But I don’t.
I step out into the night like an idiot who still thinks bridges can be rebuilt after they’ve been burned to ash.
“He’s probably fine,” I say, too casually, too fucking late.
Rhodes doesn’t look at me. Just keeps staring out like the skyline might give him better answers than I ever did.
“Define fine, asshole.” His voice is hoarse, jagged.
Like it’s been worn down from screaming into voids that never listened.
“Are we talking some chick is pumping drugs in his system while spending his money and trying to get the paparazzi to photograph them? Or buried in a ditch after she stole his Ferrari?”
I let the words hang. I deserve that. All of it.
I swallow, glancing down at my hands like they might have something better to say.
“First of all,” I mutter, “the chick didn’t pump drugs. I already had them. That was . . . me. I brought the party favors.”
His laugh is bitter and silent.
“Second of all . . . yeah. I handed her my credit card because she said she wanted a fucking soda. She promised to come back.”
I shake my head slowly, disgust curling low in my gut. “I watched her walk away believing she’d come back with the soda and fucking condoms.” I scoff. “That was stupid, I totally get it now.”
“And the chick who stole the Ferrari?”
“I thought she was the valet,” I whisper.
My mouth twists wryly.
The terrace wraps around the house like a smug, manicured stage—glass railings, potted plants that probably cost more than my first rehab stint, sleek furniture arranged like no one’s ever sat in it. Below, the glittering grid of San Francisco stretches wide, unapologetic.
Downtown’s high-rises glint beneath the moonlight, and the Bay Bridge hums in the distance. A cold breeze rolls up from the water, brushing against my arms like a scolding I can’t escape.
“In my defense, I thought she was the valet,” I say again, louder this time, because now I hear how far gone I was. How detached from reality, from dignity, and from myself.
Silence stretches between us. Rhodes smokes like it’s keeping him from screaming.
I force myself to meet his eyes.
“I’m sorry,” I say, and my voice cracks open.
He blinks but doesn’t speak.
“I’m fucking sorry, Rhodes. For every night you had to bail me out. For every time you came to find me in some shitty hotel, or some girl’s apartment, or a hospital bed with vomit down my shirt and a look in my eyes that said I didn’t care if I made it out.”
He exhales through his nose. Still silent.
“I’m sorry for bleeding you dry,” I keep going, even though it feels like my ribs are being split open. “For using you up. For needing you until you had nothing left. You showed up for me more times than I ever deserved. And all I ever did was spit in your face and tell you I didn’t need you.”
I pause, jaw clenched, breathing like I just ran a fucking marathon. But I haven’t even started.
“I don’t blame you for walking away. You should’ve walked away sooner. I would’ve. I did, from everyone else.”
I close my eyes for a beat.
“I didn’t want to be saved back then. I just wanted to drown quietly. And I dragged you under with me every time.”
He looks away.
My voice drops. “You didn’t leave because you didn’t love me. You left because I made it impossible to love me. And you were right.”
He finally turns toward me, eyes glassy with everything he’s too proud to let spill.
I swallow again.
“I needed to hit bottom. Not just stumble. I needed to crash so hard I felt it in my soul. I needed to wake up and realize no one was coming anymore. No one believed in me. Not even you.”
A beat passes, then two, and finally, “Believe it or not, that’s probably what saved me,” I whisper. “Your silence. The day you stopped answering. That’s when I realized I was completely alone—and maybe I deserved to be.”
Rhodes drags a hand down his face, like he’s been holding in too much for too long.
“You think that makes it better?” he mutters.
“No.” I shake my head. “It doesn’t make anything better.”
My voice cracks, low and raw.
“It just means I finally fucking see it. All of it . . . the wreckage I left behind.”
He watches me, and for the first time in forever, I don’t flinch under the stare. I let him see all of it—the guilt, the shame, the years I wasted letting everyone make excuses for my poor behavior because I couldn’t fight the need for the booze—the numbness.
“I hope you forgive me someday,” I say, and the words come out rough, the way truth always does. “But I get it if you don’t.”
I glance down, throat tightening, then meet his eyes again.
“Just know that I finally fucking get it,” I add softly. “What I put you through. What I became. What I lost.”
The wind moves through the terrace, dragging a chill across my skin. The city below keeps glowing like nothing’s changed, like it doesn’t care how broken I’ve been.
Rhodes doesn’t speak at first. He just stares at me—hard. His jaw clenches. He drags another breath into his lungs like it physically hurts.
Then, finally, his voice lands low and rough. “I forgive you.”
It knocks the air out of my chest.
He nods once, like it costs him something, but he means it.
“I fucking hated you,” he adds. “For a long time. Not because you were lost. But because I saw how much of you was still in there. And you kept burying it under liquor, drugs, and lies.”
I don’t speak. Can’t.
“I forgive you,” he repeats, one last time. “Because I want my brother back.”
I nod, jaw clenched, eyes stinging like hell. But this is it, right, another step forward.
Maybe this is what it looks like—building a new life, one conversation at a time. One apology. One more person willing to stay.
One day, I might even go to Kit and say, I’m sorry for hurting you, even if you’ll never love me again.