Chapter Fifty
Maron
Dawn creeps through the curtains, pulling me from sleep.
My body aches in all the right places from a night of claiming my woman. Mindy. She lies naked beside me, her face peaceful in sleep, golden hair spilling across my pillow like ink. My eyes trace every curve of her body, drinking in the sight of her - those perfect breasts, the smooth plane of her stomach, the intimate territory I spent hours exploring.
Blyad , she’s beautiful. I could watch her breathe until the world ends.
But there’s someone else I need to check on.
I ease out of bed with stealth, careful not to wake her. The hardwood floor bites cold against my feet as I move to the next room. The door opens on silent hinges.
There she is.
Sharon. My daughter. Curled up like a little wolf cub, her chest rising and falling in the quiet rhythm of deep sleep. The sight punches me in the gut - how fucking close we came to losing her. How close I came to never knowing this piece of my soul existed.
I ghost to her bedside, fingers barely touching her hair. She stirs and I freeze. "Everything’s ok," I whisper. "You’re safe here."
I'll die before I let anyone hurt you again.
Not wanting to wake her up, I slip out like a shadow, easing the door shut. The mansion holds its breath in the early morning silence as I make my way to the kitchen. The coffee maker’s quiet hum is the only sound in this suspended moment between night and day.
Coffee in hand, I head for the garden. The morning chill attacks my bare skin, but I drop into a chair anyway, letting the steam from my cup thaw my frozen face. I close my eyes, the first hit of caffeine lighting up my veins.
When I open them, a ghost materializes from the mist.
Maurice.
My half-brother, back from the fucking dead, walking toward me like some risen phantom. My muscles coil on instinct. He looks... different. Clean. Sharp. Not the strung-out mess I remember. But then again, it wouldn’t be the first time his appearance deceived me.
I shut my eyes, half-hoping he’ll vanish. When I look again, he’s there, solid as a bullet. Seems I don’t get a vote in this reunion. He drags over a lounge chair, settling in with his own cup like we’re about to have a fucking tea party.
"Maron." His voice carries seven years of weight.
"Maurice."
Silence stretches between us like a tripwire, both of us staring at the garden.
"Something you want to say?" I give him a sideways look, sharp as a blade.
Maurice clears his throat. "What do you want to hear?"
Rage coils in my gut like a serpent. The fucking audacity - to walk back in here after all this time like he just stepped out for cigarettes, not vanished for seven years leaving nothing but questions and grief.
"You could start by explaining how the fuck you’re here, and where you’ve been for the past seven years." The words come out like bullets.
He exhales, long and heavy. "Look, I’ll tell you." His eyes meet mine, steady. "But only if you’re willing to listen without ripping my throat out."
I study him, really look at him. Seven years have carved new lines in his face, threaded silver through his hair and beard. He might be looking well-groomed and composed, might have cleaned up his act, but I can see the toll of those lost years etched into him like scars.
I give him a sharp nod. Words would taste like ash right now.
"I’ll start with the Tramoxine launch," he says, eyes fixed on the sky like he’s reading his confession in the clouds. "One of the worst days of my life. In a sense, I did die that day."
My jaw locks so tight I can hear my teeth grinding. That night still bleeds when touched, a wound that won’t scab over no matter how many years pass.
"But I’m glad to see you and Mindy found your way back," Maurice’s voice softens, and something in me bristles. "She’s a good woman, Maron. She deserves happiness. And so do you."
My body turns to steel at his words. Him speaking Mindy’s name feels like a violation, like he’s reaching across sacred lines he has no right to cross.
"After the Tramoxine launch, I blacked out," he continues. "Next thing I knew, I was waking up in some hospital bed, doctors telling me I’d been dead for two minutes before they dragged me back. They told me it was a miracle."
I stare at him, letting silence do the cutting.
"First thing I did when I could think straight was pay off those doctors to declare me dead. Cost me all the money I had, but it was the only way."
"The only way?" I snap. My fists clench and unclench, rage burning through my veins like gasoline. "You didn’t think your family deserved to know you were breathing?"
He meets my gaze, unflinching. "Maron, we both know I couldn’t come back after what happened. After the shitstorm I brought down on all of us. I was a walking disaster, destroying everything I touched." He looks away, his voice dropping. "I needed a clean slate. So, when I could finally drag myself out of that hospital bed, I ran. And I never looked back."
I give him a sideways look, sharp as a knife. "And where did you run?"
"Thailand." His eyes meet mine, steady.
"What the fuck?" The words explode from me. "Thailand? Of all the fucking places?"
"I was beyond fucked up, Maron. Rational thought wasn’t exactly my strong suit. All I knew was I had to disappear."
When I say nothing, he fills the silence.
"I was a mess," he continues. "Landed in Bangkok, the first thing I did was pissed away most of the money you paid me on booze and powder. Until the authorities caught up with me. Threw my ass in rehab."
"Shocking." The word drips with sarcasm.
"That rehab saved my life, Maron." He doesn’t flinch at my tone. "Took more than six months to get my head straight." He draws a deep breath. "But coming back wasn’t an option. So, I stayed. Once I was out of rehab, I moved up to Chiang Mai, even took a job at a hotel. I thought I was building myself a life until..." His voice shifts, takes on a quality I’ve never heard from him before. "I met a local girl. Linny. We fell hard for each other. And we started piecing together something real."
I study his face, looking for the lies I’ve learned to expect from him. But his eyes are clear, haunted by something that looks genuine for once.
"And?" The word comes out softer than I intended.
His throat works. "Linny got pregnant. We were… we were happy." His voice cracks. "But the universe wasn’t done fucking with me yet."
I lean forward, furrowing my brow. There’s something in his voice that hooks into me.
"Almost eight months into her pregnancy, she woke up to excruciating pain. I rushed her to hospital, but..." He stops, struggling. "Turns out it was an infection. Took them both. Linny and our baby, gone in a heartbeat."
"Blyad." The word escapes before I can stop it. I stare at him. For the first time since he came back from the dead, I feel empathy for him.
"After that, I spiraled back into the abyss," his voice splinters on the words.
Silence stretches between us. I watch his eyes glisten, years of pain threatening to spill over. For once in my life, I let him take his time.
Finally, he drags in a ragged breath. "Started drinking again. It was the only way to drown out their ghosts. The only way I knew. Then, everything went to shit - back to booze, powders and pills, gambling away whatever was left. Until the authorities scraped me off the streets again. This time, no rehab. Just threw my worthless ass on a plane back to the States with a lifetime ban stamped on my passport."
"Fuck, Maurice." The words come out caught between sympathy and disgust. Classic Maurice - leaving devastation in his wake wherever he lands.
He nods, shoulders heavy. "Touched down in New York to a welcoming committee in uniforms. Straight to another rehab facility, starting the whole damn cycle over. That was over a year ago. But this time..." His voice steadies. "This time it stuck."
Something in me shifts, and I squeeze his shoulder. "You did it, bratok ."
His eyes lock onto mine. "Thank you, Maron."
My hand stays on his shoulder, the contact bridging years of distance. For the first time since we were teenagers, I feel like I’m looking at my brother instead of my burden.
"You know," he continues, "if it wasn’t for this woman in rehab, I’d probably be face-down in some gutter. She changed everything."
"Therapist?" My eyebrow arches.
Maurice shakes his head. "Another addict. Funnily enough, we knew each other from before." He smirks, giving me a suggestive side glance. "And just like the first time... we clicked. It was like looking in a mirror. She was the only one who really understood what it means to fight addiction every fucking day. And her strength, her determination to stay clean... it became mine too." He draws a steady breath, meeting my gaze with something I haven’t seen in him before: certainty. "We started dating. Been together nine months now. She gave me the balls to come back here, to face you and all the shit I left behind."
"Still breaking hearts wherever you land, Maurice." The sarcasm slips out like muscle memory.
"Not this time." A smile touches his lips, genuine. "This woman… she’s special to me, Maron."
"So, what now?" My voice carries an edge. "You waltz back from the dead and expect everything to be forgiven? You left scorched earth behind you, Maurice. Trust is not something I give away anymore."
He nods, eyes steady. "I know, Maron. Not asking for forgiveness. Just... grateful my brother’s willing to hear me out after all the shit I pulled."
Something thick and unwanted forms in my throat.
"Listen," he wets his lips, voice dropping. "I want to apologize. For all the fucked-up shit I’ve done. As for the Tramoxine launch... it wasn’t what you thought. Mindy found me drunk off my ass, ready to swallow enough Tramoxine to end it all. She was just trying to save my life."
My jaw clenches as the memory crashes back - the rage, the assumptions, the years wasted because I was too proud to see the truth. Or even look into it. Seven years of believing Mindy betrayed me with my own brother, when she was just being... Mindy. Trying to help someone in need.
I take a deep breath and push myself up from the chair. The morning sun climbs higher, slightly warming the air. Somewhere upstairs, Mindy and my daughter – Maurice’s niece - are probably stirring awake. It’s time for breakfast.
"Let’s go inside, brother," I suggest. The word ‘brother’ feels strange but right on my tongue. "It’s time for you to meet your niece."