Final Debt (Indebted #6)(111)

THERE WAS A saying that humans were capable of knowing only one thing.

One thing of ultimate, undeniable conviction where everything else—our thoughts, opinions, careers, likes, dislikes—even our entire lifespan of choices, were open to interpretation and amendments.

Only one thing was irrefutable. That one thing was: we exist.

We knew as a species—as an intelligent race of culture and history—that we lived and breathed and existed.

Nothing else outside of that was fundamental, only the knowledge we were alive. It evolved us from animals because with our existence came awareness for what a gift life was.

Some of us squandered it.

Others muddied it to the point of no redemption, but most of us appreciated the small present we’d been given and were grateful for it—no matter how lowly or high, rich or poor, easy or hard.

We existed, and that was a wondrous thing.

I’d never truly understood just how grateful I was.

But I did now.

As I lay in an in-between world where pain, death, or even time couldn’t reach me, I had endless space to evaluate and understand. I’d existed as more than just a man, more than a brother, or friend, or son.

I’d existed because I made a difference to those I loved.

I cherished my sister.

I helped my brother.

And I did my best to remain true to the soul inside me rather than outside influences trying to change me.

I existed truthfully and that was all that mattered.

I wouldn’t lie and say I didn’t miss him. I missed the relationships with those I cared about. I missed my home, my possessions, my future. I missed worldly items because I knew I’d never see them again.

Jethro hadn’t been easy to love. He’d been the cause of my sister’s pain, my hard childhood. He’d been…difficult. But he’d also been the most loyal, loving, coolest brother I could’ve ever asked for.

He’d earned forgiveness for his issues. And I liked to think I’d played my part in helping him become a better person—a person who could live an easier life with his condition.

My time was over; my existence almost done.

And although I was sad to go, I wasn’t afraid.

Because I existed.

And because I existed, I could never un-exist.

I would move on. I would transcend. I would grow and change and magnify to the point of whatever new experience awaited me. I would see those I loved again but not for a while.

And that was okay, too.

So I waited in my in-between world, listening to silence, hovering in nothingness, just waiting for the right time. I didn’t know how I would know. I didn’t know why I waited. But something kept me tethered to a world I no longer belonged to.

Until one day, I felt it.

The snip.

The silence turned to sublime music, the nothingness turned to warmth, and contentment blanketed with permission to leave. I knew he would be okay. I knew she would be okay. The family who persevered would be okay.

My father was dead.

Bonnie was dead.

Daniel was dead.

Evil had finally perished in my house.

And Jethro no longer needed me.

It took no effort, not even a sigh or conscious thought.

I just…let…go.

He had her.

He had her.

He had his very existence.

Nila would be there for him now.

He no longer needed my help.

I smiled, sending love to both of them, goodbye to everyone, and so long to a world that’d been briefly mine.

Jethro has found his reason for breathing.

It was time for me to find mine.

Goodbye…





JETHRO CAME FOR me at daybreak.

His icy touch woke me, trailing over my cheek to my lips.

I’d waited for as long as I could. I’d remained vigil by the window, imploring him to return. I’d paced thick grooves into the carpet, forcing myself to stay awake.

But I’d failed.

Jasmine left around midnight, and my body shut down soon after. Even opening the window and enduring the chilly gale couldn’t fight sleep from claiming me.

After the fourth stumble and micro nap almost plummeting me to the floor, I reluctantly climbed into bed and slipped instantly into dreams. Good dreams. Bad dreams. Dreams of death and destruction then love and liveliness.

“Nila…”

His voice slinked around my soul, yanking me from slumber and delivering me directly into his control. My eyes shot wide, drinking him in. The dawn light barely illuminated my room, shyly warming the carpet and windowsill with promise of a new day.

I sat up on my elbows, cursing the sudden swirl and lack of sleep fogging my reflexes. For a moment, I couldn’t see him, then his form solidified beside me.

Physically, he was in one piece. Tall and strong. Vibrant and majestic.

He stood silently, gazing intently. His eyes became fireworks in the gloom, sparking over my skin.

My gaze fell from his strained face over his chiselled chest to his half-hard cock. He stood naked. Not in a sexual manner but stripped back, bared? undressed and nude. Laying his horror, harrowing evening, and every haggard emotion at my feet.

His skin gleamed a white alabaster—looking as if he’d become a nocturnal being, an immortal monster.

Tears leapt to my eyes, understanding the brink of where he stood. He’d done things he wasn’t proud of. He’d done things he was proud of. And ultimately, he’d come to me with nothing, leaving the past behind, asking me to forgive, forget, and help grant absolution he so desperately needed.