CHAPTER 168: REEK OF GUILT

The microwave beeped, he jumped slightly. He exhaled.

Get it together, Kingsley.

He placed the food slowly on the plate, then grabbed a spoon and chopsticks... she preferred those. He always remembered.

Just as he turned, he saw her.

Jean.

Leaning against the doorframe, arms folded, still in the same clothes, her hair tied back lazily. Her eyes were puffy, but dry now. Her expression was unreadable. But her presence alone felt like a small surrender.

"You’re still down here?" she asked quietly, voice hoarse.

He nodded, holding the plate out to her. "Yeah. Figured you might be hungry."

She didn’t take it right away. Her eyes lingered on his face. Searching.

Not for food.

For something else.

Maybe for proof that he still cared after everything.

Maybe to see if the Logan she married was still standing after the thousand fractures in their trust.

When she reached out and took the plate, their fingers brushed. Her skin was cold.

Logan wanted to say something. Anything.

That he was sorry.

That he was proud of her for holding it together.

That he hated himself for not being able to do more, not sooner.

But the words stayed stuck in his throat.

Instead, he stepped back, gave her space, and asked, softly, "Do you want me to sit with you?"

She hesitated, then gave the smallest nod.

So he followed her to the living room.

And there they sat... side by side on the couch. No dramatic speeches. No heavy conversation.

Just quiet.

The silence in the living room felt too loud.

Jean pushed her food with her fork, barely tasting anything.

"You’re not eating," Logan finally spoke, his voice low, breaking the fragile silence.

"I can’t," she replied, eyes fixed on the plate. "I visited her this morning, Logan. She looked fine just few hours ago. She was breathing... and now she’s in a coma."

Logan swallowed hard. He reached out, resting his hand over hers. "She’s strong, Jean. She’ll pull through."

Jean’s throat tightened. Her hand trembled under his. "You don’t know that."

"I need to believe it. For your sake. For hers."

Jean looked up, her eyes glassy but unreadable. "I’m tired of people getting hurt around me."

"You’re not the one hurting them."

"Aren’t I?" she asked, her voice cracking.

"Stop," Logan said, his tone gentle but firm. "This isn’t your fault. There are other people behind this... there’ve always been monsters. You were just too alone to fight them off before. But not anymore."

Jean stared at him. "And what if you get hurt too? What if trying to protect me costs you everything?"

He paused, watching her for a moment before standing. He walked towards her and crouched before her. "I’ve already made peace with that. I told you before... if I lose everything protecting you, it will still be the best decision I ever made."

Jean’s eyes shimmered. She leaned her forehead against his, closing her eyes as he gently held her hands.

"You keep saying you want to be my pillar," she whispered. "But I don’t know if I’m strong enough to lean on anyone."

"You don’t have to be," he replied. "Just don’t push me away."

She let out a trembling breath. "Okay."

The word was so small, so quiet... but to Logan, it was everything.

He stood and pressed a kiss to her forehead. "We’ll get through tomorrow together. No more secrets, no more fear. Just you and me."

Jean nodded softly, her fingers still clinging to his sleeve.

And for that one fragile moment, the storm outside was quieter than the storm within.

____________________________

Darla sat with a book she wasn’t reading, legs crossed tightly, her wine untouched. Across the room, Alex leaned against the window, scrolling his phone with feigned boredom, pretending the last twenty-four hours didn’t matter.

They all froze when Derek’s phone rang.

He picked it up, eyes narrowing at the caller ID.

"Morris," he muttered, answering.

"What now?" Alex scoffed.

But the scoff died in the room as Derek stood up halfway into the call. "What do you mean, everyone’s being asked to the police station?"

Darla’s spine straightened.

Alex’s gaze snapped up.

"There was an attack on Emma?!" Derek’s voice boomed suddenly, rattling the nerves of both Darla and Alex.

Alex’s phone slipped from his fingers and landed on the floor.

Derek was pale when he finally ended the call. His hands trembled with rage as he turned toward Alex.

"You stupid, arrogant bastard!" he roared.

"What the hell are you talking about?" Alex said too fast. "I didn’t do anything!"

"Oh, spare me your lies!" Derek stalked closer. "You vanished that night. You lied about the car. You reek of guilt. Do you really think I don’t know what you’re capable of?!"

Alex’s face turned red, then pale. "You have no proof..."

"I don’t need proof to know you!" Derek shouted. "Morris is already on edge. If Emma dies, you’ll have painted a target on all our backs."

"Stop yelling!" Darla finally said, rushing in between them. "This is not the time to fight amongst ourselves..."

"No, this is exactly the time!" Derek hissed. "You keep shielding him like he’s a child. But he’s a man. And if he did this... if he touched Morris’s daughter... I swear to God, I’ll disown him myself before the world comes knocking at our door."

Alex was breathing hard now, cornered. "You always take their side. Jean this, Morris that. What about me?! What about your son?"

"I would rather have no son than one who drags this family into hell," Derek growled.

Darla held back tears. "Enough, both of you..."

But Derek wasn’t done. He pointed a shaking finger at Alex.

"Tomorrow, you are coming with us to the station. And if I even smell a lie on your tongue, I will burn every bridge I’ve built for you. This time, you clean your own mess... if Emma doesn’t wake up, pray the cops get to you before Morris does."

Alex’s jaw clenched. But for the first time, his eyes showed something else.

Fear.