Page 150 of Deacon

“Solitary confinement. That’s torture for a reason,” Bittern says slowly. “I tried killing myself, but I couldn't do it. My ribs were fucked up, but it wasn’t what hurt the most. It was sitting in the dark, listening to Wayland die. It was knowing I was dying, that it wouldn’t be quick. I was gonna have to live every second of my death.”

Tears slip out, hot trails down my neck.

“Bittern, I’m so sorry.”

He shakes his head once. “I close my eyes, and I’m still down there. I can’t get out. I’m still down there in the dark. The pills they gave me for my ribs…they help. They turn my brain off. Make it shut up.”

Something clicks into place. The deadness in Bittern’s eyes didn’t come from the memory of being underground. It came from the monster that always lurks in the shadows of desperation. Offering hope where there is none.

“Oh no,” I whisper.

He drags his tortured gaze up. “Aiden gets me the pills. I can sleep at night. I don’t have to replay my own death in my head every second.”

I crush the handkerchief in my hand.

I’m so tired. Maybe my mother and grandmother were tired of carrying all the darkness and despair too. It’s not Aiden’s fault he had a father with an iron fist and a penchant for violence. It’s not his fault there was nowhere for men to work but the factory and the mines.

But it’s his fault he dragged all that pain in like the cold and let it infect us all.

And now, sweet Bittern can’t sleep because Aiden’s a copy of a copy of a copy of the men who came before him.

I squeeze my eyes shut, but a tear slips out. Bittern takes the handkerchief and uses it to clumsily wipe my face.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper.

“Aw, Frey, it’s not your fault,” he says.

I shake my head, opening my eyes. “I’m sorry Aiden was your father. I’m sorry the factory closed, sorry you went to the mines. I’m so sorry all he’s done is give you pills. You deserve to get better.”

His face goes still. “It’s okay,” he says.

I shake my head hard. “No, it’s not okay. It’s awful, and it shouldn’t be this way.”

His gaze flicks up and fixes to mine. There’s a spark of life in it.

“But it is,” he says. “Fair or not, it just is.”

My throat catches. I reach out and take his hand.

“I want more, Bittern, and I’m getting it,” I whisper. “Aiden won’t change. Neither will Ryland. But you deserve to get better, and I’m in love with Deacon Ryder. I want to be his wife.”

He’s so sad, eyes soft.

“You want to get married?” he asks.

My eyes are streaming. My throat is so tight. “He showed me it’s possible to get out.”

He smiles, and that light flickers, a hint of gold through the woods.

“I like that,” he says, voice like gravel. “I always wanted something like that for you.”

“You come with me,” I whisper. “Deacon can help me help you.”

He laughs, but there’s no humor in it.

“I helped kidnap you,” he says. “I’ve been surveying the land for the easement. Deacon won’t forgive me for that. I’m a fucking coward, Frey.”

My stomach goes cold. I pull my hands free, covering my mouth.

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