Lucas: 4:00 PM. Our hideout. I have something important to say.

Blake clenched his jaw, his teeth grinding. Important to say? He didn’t need to be a genius to figure out what that meant. Lucas wasn’t the type to waste words, and Blake could see the writing on the wall.

Tomorrow, Lucas was going to quit. Walk away. Leave them hanging. Leave him hanging.

He shoved the phone back into his pocket with more force than necessary, his hand brushing against something else.

“Yo, Blake?” Carter’s voice broke. “Is something wrong?”

Blake didn’t even look at him. “None of your damn business,” he snapped.

Carter exchanged a confused glance with Liam, but neither pressed further.

Blake’s mind was a chaos. Lucas was supposed to have his back. He was supposed to help Blake deal with people like Ash, supposed to stand by him. And now, Lucas was about to bail, just like everyone else always did.

The punches, the shoves, those moments when Lucas had put him in his place. Blake thought they were lessons, ways to keep him in check, sure, but now, after everything that Blake saw, they felt like something else entirely.

Mockery.

Lucas had been mocking him, beating him down just for the fun of it, because he could.

“Dammit,” Blake muttered under his breath

Control. That’s what it always came down to, didn’t it? Lucas had it. Blake didn’t.

He let out a bitter laugh, the sound cold and sharp. “Of course he’s quitting,” he muttered to himself. “Why wouldn’t he? He’s had his fun, pushed me around, and now he’s bored.”

Blake’s hand brushed against that weight in his pocket again, and this time, he pulled it out. The dim light caught the edge of the blade, making it glint in the dark.

A dagger.

He turned it over slowly, the blade reflecting his furious expression.

“If he thinks he can just walk away…” Blake’s voice was low, almost a growl. He tightened his grip on the handle. “I’ll make sure he remembers who’s in charge.”

For a moment, the image of Lucas filled his mind. Lucas smirking, Lucas shoving him back, Lucas throwing that last punch just to prove he could.

But then, something else flickered in his thoughts.

Ash.

Blake’s fingers twitched around the dagger as the memory of Ash’s face flashed in his mind. Bloodied, bruised, pathetic. The way he’d staggered, the way he’d tried to hold himself up even when it was obvious he was barely standing.

Ash had started all of this. If it weren’t for him, Lucas wouldn’t be smiling like that, wouldn’t be walking with him like they were some kind of team.

That little freak had started all this.

If not, then Lucas wouldn’t be laughing with Ash. He’d be laughing at him.

Blake’s lips curled into a cruel smirk. “No,” he muttered to himself. “It’s not Lucas. It’s Ash. He’s the one who needs to pay for this.”

He stared at the blade in his hand, his grip tightening as his thoughts spiraled. Killing Ash wouldn’t be hard. Hell, it wasn’t like Blake hadn’t done it before.

His mind wandered back to Xavier, to the way he’d looked up at Blake with those pleading eyes, gasping for breath.

.

.

I hope someone helps you.

.

.

Xavier had said.

Blake shook his head sharply, banishing the thought. That didn’t matter anymore. Xavier was long gone, buried along with the weak part of Blake that might’ve cared.

He looked back down at the dagger, his smirk widening. Killing Ash wouldn’t be any different.

Just one stab.

Maybe two.

Maybe three.

Enough to make sure the job was done.

“Let’s see you talk big now, Ash,” Blake muttered, his voice dripping. He slid the dagger back into his pocket.

This was going to end on his terms. Lucas could play all the games he wanted, but Blake would make sure he was the one who had the final word.

Tomorrow, everything was going to change. Ash had messed everything up, but Blake was going to fix it. On his terms.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The moment Ash turned the doorknob, his mind countered something. The door wasn’t locked.

Now, it may have been because Ash left before in such a hurry that he forgot to lock the door, or it might be because someone left after him.

Ash wasn’t very sure, that’s why he braced himself for what might be happening inside, although he wasn’t hearing any voices from inside; screams or shouting included.

He turned the doorknob, and stepped inside.

He was expecting a crumpled mess of her mother and Noah, shaking and sobbing together on the doorstep, and shouting Lily, hissing curses, and dad…trying to fix it all by saying nothing, but observing and taking in every venom-filled word spitted from Lily’s mouth.

But instead, what he looked at was; nothing.

No one was in sight. The house was quiet; eerily quiet, it felt relieving and unnerving at the same time.

‘Where…is everyone?’

And then, he heard something, or rather someone; sobbing.

‘Huh?’

He walked into the lounge, guessing the source of the sound.

Then he saw her.

His mom was sitting on the couch, her back hunched, her hands clutching something that looked like a crumpled tissue. Her shoulders shook with every quiet sob, her head bowed.

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Ash’s breath caught in his throat. His first thought wasn’t of her pain; it was of everyone else.

‘Where’s Lily? Where’s Noah? Where’s Dad?’

The worst-case scenarios slammed into him.

‘What if Lily has taken Noah with her? What if-’ His stomach churned. ‘What if-’

“Mom?” he called out softly, his voice barely above a whisper. He wasn’t even sure if she heard him until her head jerked up slightly, her tear-streaked face turning toward him.

The moment her eyes landed on him, they widened. He didn’t need a mirror to understand why.

His temple was still caked with dried blood, his clothes were filthy, his shirt torn, his jeans smudged with dirt- and something darker that he didn’t want to think about right now.

His face was pale, bruised a bit, and his eyes told what he had been hiding- exhaustion and pain.

“Where did you go?” she asked softly, her voice shaking as much as her hands.

Ash ignored the question. “Mom,” he said, his voice steady. “What happened? Where’s Lily? Noah? Dad?”

His mother flinched, her fingers tightening around the tissue. She didn’t answer.

“Mom,” he said again, this time a little louder, stepping closer to the couch. He crouched down in front of her, searching her face for something, anything, that would make sense. “Please, just tell me. Where are they?”

Her lips trembled, her breath shaky as she looked away, unable to meet his eyes. “I…” she started, but her voice cracked. She took a shaky breath, pressing the tissue to her lips as though it could stop the sobs that escaped.

“Mom,” Ash pushed, his voice softer now, almost pleading. “Please.”

“She’s gone, Ash,” she finally whispered.

“Lily?”

She nodded, her eyes red and puffy as she looked at him again. “She left.”

Ash’s chest tightened, his thoughts spiraling out of control. He clenched his jaw, fighting to keep his breathing steady.

“And Noah?”

“He’s here,” she said quickly. “He’s upstairs.”

‘God, Am I glad or what…?’

“What about Dad?” Ash asked, his voice low.

“He went after her,” she said, her voice trembling. “He said he’d bring her back.”

‘What’s with dad all of a sudden?’

Ash sat there, his hand still resting on her knee, his gaze steady but distant. That figured. His dad had always been quick to act when it came to Lily. No, when it came to any of them.

A sob brought him back to the present.

“Why are you crying?” he asked after a beat, his tone soft, almost hesitant.

His mother stiffened, and the tissue she’d been clutching crumpled further in her trembling hands. For a moment, she didn’t answer. Ash looked up then, just slightly, catching the way her shoulders shook.

“Mom?” he prompted again, quieter this time.

“What else can I do, Ash?” she finally said, her voice cracking. “What else am I supposed to do?”

Ash stiffened, but replied nonetheless, “You’ve to bear, mom. I know things are not going how we wanted them to, but…they can be much worse than they already are. Just…please, mom…stop crying.”

“You don’t understand the heart of a mother,” she said softly, her voice trembling.

Ash looked up at her then, his brows furrowing slightly, but he didn’t say anything.

Before he could react, her hand reached out, brushing against his hair with a gentleness that caught him off guard. He flinched, just barely, his shoulders stiffening, but her touch didn’t falter. Her fingers combed through the messy strands, slow and deliberate, as if trying to soothe him.

“I always think…” she started, her voice barely above a whisper, “maybe if I had been a good mother, none of this would’ve happened.”

Ash didn’t move. He just stayed there, listening.

“I look at you,” she continued, her voice gaining a little strength, though it wavered with emotion, “I look at Lily. And I wonder… What if I could’ve- What if I had been better?”

‘Mom…she’s…’

“Mom, you did what you could.”

Her hand kept moving, her fingers ruffling his hair in that familiar way she used to when he was a kid, back when life was simpler. Back when things made sense.

“I thought I was doing the right thing,” she whispered, her gaze distant now, as if she were talking more to herself than to him. “Raising you and Noah, raising Lily, trying to keep everything together. But… I wasn’t enough.”

“Children are everything to a mother, Ash,” she said, her voice breaking on his name. “Everything. You love them so much, it hurts. And when you see them suffer, you wonder if it’s because of something you did. Or didn’t do.”

Ash stayed silent, and at this moment, he felt something.

He wasn’t sure why, but his mind wandered, pulling him to a memory. Jamie’s voice echoed faintly in his head.

.

.

You don’t have to be perfect for them to love you, and they don’t have to be perfect for you to love them.

.

.

Ash hadn’t understood it then, or maybe he had, but he’d been too stubborn to admit it. He always thought love came with conditions, with expectations.

But as his mother’s fingers combed through his hair with an aching tenderness, he thought Jamie might’ve been right all along.

He didn’t have to have it all together. She didn’t have to, either. None of them did.

“I’m sorry,” his mother whispered.

“For what?” Ash asked, his voice quiet but steady.

“For not being enough,” she said, her hand pausing mid-motion. “For failing you. For failing all of you.”

Ash shook his head slightly, surprising even himself. “You didn’t fail us, Mom.”

She let out a small laugh, but her fingers resumed their soothing motion. “It doesn’t feel that way.”

Ash leaned into her touch, his eyes closing for just a moment. “I don’t think any of us are perfect,” he said, almost to himself. “And maybe that’s okay. Because we’re a family. We gotta stick together.”

His mother stiffened, and then chuckled, “You’ve grown up, haven’t you?”

Ash chuckled, despite himself.

“Noah was asking for you, but he figured you weren’t home. He ran to his room, I doubt that he’s asleep. Wanna talk to him?”

Ash shaked his head, and then rested his hand on top of hers, “I will go see him, okay? You can rest if you want to.”

His mother nodded, “Okay. But I’m not sleeping. I’ll wait for your dad to come back.”

‘Of course, she won’t admit she’s tired.’

Ash tilted his head slightly, peering up at her. His mother’s hand had gone still against his hair, her breathing slow and steady now. Her head rested lightly against the back of the couch, lips parted just enough to let out soft, rhythmic breaths. She’d fallen asleep.

For a moment, Ash just sat there, staring at her, not moving. He could still feel the faint warmth of her fingers where they had been combing through his hair, and the thought struck him harder than he wanted to admit:

When was the last time this had happened?

When had he last let himself just sit and be comforted by her like this?

She looked...small. Smaller than he’d ever noticed before. Maybe it was the way her shoulders curled inward slightly, as if she were folding into herself.

Ash swallowed, his throat tight. He wasn’t used to seeing her like this, wasn’t used to thinking about her as someone who could break too.

The thought came unbidden: Mother’s never truly get to rest, do they?

Slowly, carefully, Ash pushed himself up from the floor, his legs stiff from staying still so long. He looked down at her again

Spotting the blanket draped over the armchair, he moved toward it, unfolding it. The fabric felt warm and comforting in his hands.

Ash draped it over her gently, his hands lingering for just a moment as he tucked it around her shoulders. Her fingers twitched slightly, but she didn’t wake, only sighed softly, her expression relaxing just a little more.

“Sleep,” he murmured, his voice low. “You need it.”

He stood there for another long moment before stepping away, heading toward the stairs. His movements were slow, deliberate.

When he reached Noah’s door, he hesitated. His hand hovered just above the slightly opened door.

Finally, he pushed the door open a little more, just enough to step inside. Moonlight streamed casting shadows across the bed where Noah lay curled up under the blankets.

Ash’s breath hitched as his eyes caught the faint glimmer on Noah’s cheeks.

Tear streaks.

His face was blotchy and red, his small hands clutching the blanket tightly even in sleep.

And for a cruel second, Ash remembered himself, seven years old, crying himself to sleep, when Lily left the house.

He almost scoffed, ‘History always repeats itself, huh?’

Kneeling beside the bed, Ash leaned forward, brushing a stray curl from Noah’s forehead. His hand stilled as he took in the tear-streaked face, the faint trembling in his brother’s breath.

“Hey, Noah,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “I’m sorry for not being here earlier.”

His fingers hovered over Noah’s cheek for a moment before pulling back, resting instead on the edge of the bed.

‘He’s too young for this. He shouldn’t have to cry himself to sleep, not like this.’

Ash’s thoughts spiraled.

‘I am a terrible brother. Noah deserves someone better than me, someone who knows how to protect him, how to make him smile instead of cry.’

Ash adjusted the blanket around Noah, tucking it carefully under his chin. For a moment, he just stayed there, watching his brother’s chest rise and fall, the faint trembling in his breaths.

Standing slowly, Ash lingered at the door, his hand gripping the edge of the frame. He glanced back at Noah, his throat tightening all over again at the sight of his tear-streaked face.

“I’m going to fix this,” he murmured under his breath. “Don’t you worry, Noah. Don’t you worry a bit.”

He closed the door softly behind him, making his way to his own room.