Page 128 of Fool Me Twice

Cane braved the entrance first, walking them inside. Everyone was there, and all eyes fell on them immediately, the chatter dying down into a squeak and then a whisper.

Hart dared to look at Fix first, who was sitting in his wide armchair. Hart felt like he’d hurt him the least, maybe. Or that Fix was the most forgiving. He wasn’t sure, but he knew he’d find something encouraging there.

And he wasn’t wrong at all. Fix was watching him intently, but his posture was completely relaxed, his lips curled into a small smile. He only looked happy to see him. Hart tried to return the smile, but he wasn’t sure it was working. He felt like he might throw up, so that wasn’t helping anything.

He risked a glance around the rest of the room. Black was dressed in cheery yellow, sitting on the floor, bare feet wiggling in their fluffy carpet. Midas was reclined in the ornate rocking chair that he insisted was the best chair to ever chair. Ash was on the couch with Morgan tucked under his arm and his legs folded up.

Hart suppressed a flinch at the sight of him in particular, and finally looked at the last two people in the room.

Wren was in one corner with Blu perched on his bent knee and the hood of his frayed, oversized hoodie pulled up, and Damir, the Arcstead cursebreaker was in the other corner. He was the only one not looking at Hart, his eyes firmly glued to Wren.

The room itself seemed to be holding its breath, as if waiting for the fallout. A repeat of the scene from before. Hart felt Cane’s fingers squeeze his fingers, tugging a little and walking them toward the only vacant seat—an armchair that had suspiciously been positioned in the center of the room.

Cane perched on the arm of it while he made Hart sit down fully, laying his hand on his shoulder in silent support. Tension was sticking to his skin like a light sweat, and he felt lightheaded with anxiety, but he pushed past it. For himself. For them.

“Never believe you’re so great or important, so right or proud, that you cannot kneel at the feet of someone you hurt and offer a sincere, humble apology,” he said softly, signing as he spoke.

They all stared at him silently, eyes blinking at him from every direction, before they all burst into action all at once.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake!” Ash threw his hands up in the air.

“Melodramatic AF.” Black sagged onto the floor, the back of his hand on his forehead.

Midas rolled his eyes at him so hard Hart was pretty sure he sprained something.

Wren sent Blu to peck his shoulder before flying back.

“Hart, you have nothing to apologize for,” Fix said, reaching out and patting him on the knee.

“While I appreciate the sentiment, I—”

“It’s the rules, so you can’t argue.” Ash cut him off this time, gesturing toward something behind his back.

Hart followed his gesture to the wall Hart had pinned one of the family rule lists to. Usually the others paid zero attention to anything that was on there, but there at the bottom of the list, written in bold black letters was a line that looked out of place. For starters, it was handwritten instead of printed. It was different in size and loopy instead of perfectly lined up with the others. And it was written in sparkly pink pen, the glitter catching the early morning light.

If you get cursed, shit you say cannot and will not be held against you in the court of this house :)

Hart didn’t know why that made him feel so emotional, but his eyes grew a little misty. They’d made him into a rule. And not just any rule, but the one on the most important list they had. The one placed at the heart of their living space. Their home.

“Hm. Definitely the rules,” Cane said. “I don’t know how you’ll get out of this one, sweetheart. We all know how you feel about those.”

Hart cleared his throat, the guilt not completely gone, but subdued slightly. “Well…if it’s in the rules…”

“I told you he couldn’t argue,” Black whispered out of the corner of his mouth to Fix, who was smiling while signing for Midas.

“So how about we skip the sappy stuff and just say that we all forgive you and you shouldn’t beat yourself up,” Ash suggested. “And that maybe some of us owe you an apology too. Maybe. Theoretically. And that we should all move on!”

He oofed when Morgan elbowed him in the side and said, “You were being a grade A asshole. And you didn’t have the excuse of a curse.”

Hart realized Morgan was sticking up for him against his boyfriend. As if he hadn’t been made to feel like he didn’t belong by Hart. As if he already knew how their world worked and had accepted everything that came with it.

Ash hung his head, looking like a scolded puppy. “I know.”

Hart shook his head at him indulgently, but there was regret punching him in the gut about something else. “If we were issuing apologies, theoretically, so as not to break the rules…then I would owe you one, Morgan. I’m sorry for making you feel like you don’t belong. For everything I said.”

“It’s okay.” Morgan waved him off, big brown eyes unbothered. “You were cursed.”

“I was. But I regret the words anyway. I have never seen Ash happier than he’s been these last few months. And it’s thanks to you. So I hope you’ll believe me when I tell you I appreciate you.”

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