Page 71 of Pretty Lies & Ugly Truths

I’m not at all prepared, however, for what comes out of her mouth.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers, the words coming out so soft, I’m almost sure I imagined them. But then, she looks up at me with tear filled eyes. “I’m sorry—Oh God, Archer…I’m so, so sorry.”

Her body sags as she chokes on a sob, and it feels as if my heart has been ripped from my chest. Her legs buckle, and my arms reach out to catch her slight frame.

“Hey—mom. It’s ok. Shh… Really, it’s alright,” I say, smoothing small circles on her back. She clings to me, her face buried in my shirt as she weeps. We stay like that in the hall until her tears slow.

“No. It’s not. It’s not ok.” She lets go, wiping her eyes furiously with the back of her hands.

“Mom, I—” She holds up her hand, cutting me off.

“No. Please, let me get this out.” I nod. “What happened to your sister was not your fault. I never shouldhave blamed you for that. When I think about… Oh God, the awful things I said to you,” she says, her voice cracking. “What kind of mother says those things about their own child?”

“It’s fine. Really. You were hurting. We all were,” I tell her honestly.

I’ve tried not to hold what she said against her. I know she was grieving, but I won’t lie and say that those words haven’t torn me up inside, that they haven’t play a crucial role in how I’ve handled things since Cecelia’s passing.

“That’s no excuse. I was horrible to you. How could you ever forgive me?” she asks me.

As I gaze upon her tear-stained face, noticing a few more lines and wrinkles than the last time I saw her, I can’t help but think of all the wasted years, all the time we spent not speaking to one another. I know Cecelia would hate to see us this way.

Yes, what she said hurt me, but I can’t change the past. Maybe now, however, with her absolution, we can find a way to move forward.

“Mom…there’s nothing to forgive,” I say and mean it.

I look through the glass to see Maggie and Jane still deep in conversation, so I follow Mom down to the hospital cafeteria for coffee.

We take a seat at one of the round tables, using this opportunity to catch up on one another’s lives. It starts out a little choppy at first, but soon, we’re talking freely, and although it’s nice to be able to have this moment with her, there is this undercurrent of tension that wasn’t therebefore. I don’t know if our relationship will ever be the same as it once was, but I’m certainly willing to try, knowing it’s what Cecelia would want.

She walks me back up to the third floor where Maggie’s room is, and I ask her who she was there to see. As it turns out, she came here for me. Apparently, Jayce, the meddling bastard, told her I was here.

I offer to bring Maggie by the house once she is released, extending an olive branch of sorts.

“I would love that, Archer.” She beams, wrapping her arms around me briefly, engulfing me in her rosewater scent before she turns and leaves.

I watch as she gets on the elevator before turning to see Easton lurking just outside Maggie’s door.

“Hey,” I greet, and he looks up, hands stuffed in his pockets.

“I just wanted to stop by, see how you were doing. Jayce told me she was awake now.”

“Yeah. She is.”

“Good. That’s good. I'm glad it all worked out, that you were able to get her back,” he says, rocking back on his heels. “I guess I’ll…just be going now,” he says, before he turns to walk away.

“Hey Easton!” I call out before he gets too far. “Thank you. As much as it pains me to admit this, I’m not sure we could have done it without you. I owe you one.”

The corners of his lips twitch before his face takes on a serious expression I can’t quite read. “Consider us even.”

With that he turns and walks away.

I’m loathe to admit that Beckham was right to get him involved. As it turns out my half-brother isn’t as squeaky clean as he likes to pretend. He was able to put us in contact with a rival family who was more than happy to help us take down the McGregor empire.

They are probably just as corrupt. It's like replacing one evil with another, but they can tear themselves apart for all I care, just as long as I got my Little Rose back.

Opening the door, I notice Jane is now gone, and Maggie is asleep. Her scarlet hair is fanned out on the crisp white sheets, the smattering of freckles dancing across her nose and cheeks standing out in stark contrast to her porcelain skin. But even in a loose hospital gown, face clean of any make-up or adornments, she is still the most beautiful woman I have ever laid eyes on.

I take my place back in the chair that I have now deemed mine. It’s uncomfortable as fuck, but I would rather be here, perched on this hard plastic, than anywhere else in the world.

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