Page 167 of Unhinged
“I don’t need an explanation. I need the truth.”
“That is the truth,” he says. “I didn’t know how to tell you. I didn’t want to just drop it on you and mess up what we had. You trusted me.”
“And then you didn’t give me a choice,” I snap. “You let me walk around thinking you were just some guy living in the alley. I fed you. I gave you my fucking apartment. Not family. Not blood.”
“I know,” he says. “That’s on me.”
Acid finally speaks up. “You know what else is on you? Playing homeless instead of just saying something.”
“I didn’t know if she’d want me in her life,” Marcus says. “Not with everything she’s been through. I figured staying close was better than losing her completely.”
My hands tighten in my lap.
“And what if I’d died before you said anything?” I ask, voice quieter now. “You would’ve just carried that around? Never said a damn word?”
His face twists. “I don’t know.”
“Look,” I sigh. “You saved me. You helped keep Judge safe. You were there when you didn’t have to be.”
“I always had to be,” he says, voice thick. “You’re my sister.”
There’s a beat of silence. Acid shifts just enough that I feel his presence beside me, calm but ready.
“Like I said on the phone, I’m not forgiving you…yet.”
Marcus nods. “I don’t expect you to.”
“I meant what I said about not cutting you out, either.”
His breath catches. “Okay.”
“But if you ever lie to me again…” I look him dead in the eye. “Iwillstab you.”
Acid raises a hand. “I can confirm. She will.”
Marcus gives this crooked, pained smile. “That’s fair.”
“Good,” I say, leaning back finally. “We’re making progress.”
I let the silence hang for a few more seconds before I push off the armrest.
“You hungry?” I ask.
Marcus blinks. “What?”
“Dinner. You staying for it?”
He sits a little straighter. “Uh…if that’s okay?”
I glance at Acid. He shrugs like it doesn’t matter to him, but I can tell he’s paying close attention. Always is. Watching everything, reading the room even when he pretends he’s not.
“It’s fine,” I say, heading toward the kitchen. “Judge will want to see you, anyway.”
The second I say his name, Marcus shifts again. Softer this time. His whole damn expression changes, and it hits me that maybe it was never just about me. Maybe he’s been watching over Judge this whole time, too. Another layer of guilt or duty—whatever it is, it’s there.
Bettie’s at the stove, some kind of stew simmering in the pot. She gives me a once-over and then notices Marcus behind me. Her brow lifts, but she doesn’t say anything right away.
“He’s staying for dinner,” I say simply.
