Page 101 of Unlocking Ruin

“That’s exactly what I thought you were. Fine,” he mocks. “You’re lying on the floor in the dark, with music playing so loudly I could hear its pulse from down the hall.” He sits, then he reclines beside me.

My stomach knots. “I need some space,” I murmur, holding my headphones close.

“That’s when people need a companion the most,” he replies as his eyes roam the ceiling, giving me a false sense of privacy. “What’s going on?”

I tell him everything Alister told me. Each sentence makes my body stiffen and ache.

Henderson lies beside me in silence, like we’re two siblings stargazing. Yet the somber fact remains: we’re both trapped; our stars are just patterns on the ceiling.

He sighs, resting his arm under his head as he swings it back. “When I found out Steffen betrayed me, I was… it’s not safe to say what I thought. You see, Steffen is an anchor for all of us heirs. He’s steady. He was…” Henderson’s voice trails off. “After his dad died, he changed. But when he stalked you, he glowed again. I was torn between beating the shit out of him or letting him keep checking on you. So I let it happen. I knew he was watching you. I’m sorry.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I watch him turn to face me. I keep looking at the ceiling. “Why?”

“Steffen only does things when he cares; if he doesn’t, he has someone else do it. After his dad died, I knew life wasn’t stable. If our dad died, and I went to… who would look after you? Steffen had survived once. I figured he’d claw his way out of hell to survive again. I wanted you to be safe.”

Henderson drags a leg up, needing a firm footing to anchor him. “But then he took you and used you to blackmail our dad. I just couldn’t understand why. Now I do.” He sits up and looks down at me. “It was a trick. He was never going to discard you. I think he planned on keeping you all along.”

I copy his movement and sit up, meeting his gaze. “But he handed me over.”

“Willingly?”

I see flashes of the gun and the sniper aiming at Steffen in my mind. My gaze darts away suddenly.

“I know this might make you hate me, Rylan, but the reality is, I’d do it all again,” Henderson confesses. “Because Steffen gave you the one thing none of us have. Freedom to pick who we love, and what is life without love?” He stands looking lighter, as if he got some deep weed out of him and he can grow again.

“So I’m supposed just to run back to him,” I snap, as I twist back to see him fully. “Forgive him?”

“Is there something to forgive? Steffen shared more truths with you than we ever have.”

Alister stands in the aisle, a silent barrier. The gray of his suit matches the dreariness of our moods. Navy tie, silver cufflinks—he is polished armor.

“Are you sure?” he asks, tugging at his jacket sleeves.

My legs tremble as I rise. “I just fought one fear,” I say, swallowing hard and scanning the private jet.

After a month of therapy, I’ve arrived at exposure therapy. I thought I was scared of flying, but the planes themselves aren’t the issue. It’s a complete relinquishing of control, the therapist said. I viewed the pilot as someone who was behind a door, not observing, nor caring how I was being treated, not caring as long as we got to the final destination, which Frank usually picked.

“It’s time to face another.” I nod as I walk down the aisle.

The drive to my mom’s house is wrapped in silence. I am really doing this—seeing her, facing her at last.

Alister keeps her in a house in upstate New York. The drive from the airfield takes forty minutes, with forests stretching out as far as we can see. Finally, we arrive at a secured driveway leading to a rather grand house. She does not deserve this comfort, but knowing she is safe, alive, and not behind bars soothes me, even if it shouldn’t.

The car stops. I open the door and quickly slip out. Alister looks puzzled, but I am not eager—I fill my lungs with fresh air, bracing myself. I know that once I face my mom, I will probably hold my breath the whole time.

Alister remains in the car, just as I asked. I walk toward the house, taking in every detail—the red brick path, the black lacquered door, the perfect flowers framing the entrance. I lift my hand and knock, slow and deliberate.

My mom knew I was coming. I doubt Alister gave her any choice, and he likely told her to behave. She takes so long to answer that I almost turn back to the car. At last, the door opens. She stands there, looking both annoyed and strangely refreshed.

I am not sure what I expected—maybe dark circles, swollen eyes from mourning Frank, the man she lost.

She does not look at me. Her gaze slides past my shoulder to the car. She rolls her eyes, steps aside, and says, “Come on, let’s get this over with.”

She strides down the hall, expecting me to trail after her. I stay rooted in the entryway.

Let’s get this over with.

What am I even doing here? I am slipping back into that frightened little girl, still desperate for her mother’s approval, acceptance, and love.