Kas was right.
They did need him.
The survivors needed him, their families needed him, I need him.
“Goodnight.” Tony gave me one last wave, climbed into his SUV, and drove away.
Leaving me alone in the dark.
Barefoot on the curb.
Worry all around me, despair deep within me, but absolute patience in my heart.
The fear that Kas would run and never stop running faded.
I knew him.
He was stronger than that.
Braver than that.
He would return.
He would find me.
Because that was who he was.
A hero to us all, even at the cost of himself.
I sat back down on the curb and waited.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
I’D STOPPED RUNNING HOURS ago.
I’d kicked off my shoes and socks, torn off my blazer and waistcoat, and let my mind go. I couldn’t fully remember what’d happened or how I’d ended up this far in the forest. I didn’t want to relive how I’d bolted from the gala and now walked barefoot, with pants torn from thorns, and a shirt that was stained and sweaty.
I’d reverted from a man in a tux into a feral creature once again.
But I felt saner in this attire than I had all evening.
Twigs cracked quietly beneath my bare feet as I strolled deeper into the woods. When I’d left the gala, I’d ended up on the road before spying the heavy curtain of trunks and foliage. Their autumn colors had whispered to me, their crinkly, shivery leaves welcoming me as they swallowed me whole. I’d leaped from civilization and back into the wild because I needed some time.
I needed to run.
To find space to breathe.
I hadn’t understood just how cooped up I’d felt at Gemma’s house. It wasn’t that I wasn’t grateful to her for sheltering me, feeding me, and paying for every goddamn thing I needed, but I missed this. I missed the open sky, the towering trees, and the absolute acceptance of bark-hushed solitude.
She’ll be worried about you.
I cringed.
I knew that.
Gemma had been nothing but good to me. Too good. And once again, I was hurting her. But... I couldn’t go back to her until my head was on straight. I didn’t want to worry her anymore. When I returned, I wanted to have reached that level of surrender again—knowing that I could cope with whatever came my way.
If I went back too soon, I might have a nightmare.
I might end up killing her.
I shuddered.
I kept walking.
And I would keep walking until I was better.
Because in reality, the only person who could fix me was...me.
I’d made the choice countless times to be better. But I hadn’t accepted that I would continue to slip and fumble. I’d thought it would be like a switch where I choose to be better, and that was it.
Done.
Cured.
But it didn’t work like that.
It would take time.
But it would happen.
I could feel it within me.
If I’d gone to the gala a few months ago, I would probably still be running. I would probably have killed someone—if not the entire crowd.
So...this is progress.
I was human enough to analyze what I’d done wrong.
One step closer to being healthy, happy...and that was the scariest thing of all. The thing that layered me in guilt because how could I enjoy all the blessings I’d been given when my family was still out there, alone and hurting?
They’re not alone.
They have Jareth.
My hands balled.
They should have me too.
If I hadn’t made such a fucking idiot of myself tonight—if I’d hidden my issues and smiled like a puppet—I could’ve started something that would’ve been a safe space for survivors. I could’ve taught them through my own experiences of what it was like to step back into the light and still carry around the darkness inside you. To sometimes retreat into that darkness because you weren’t ready to be seen. Because you didn’t know how to be seen. Because every fucking thing made you doubt, crave, and question.
I sighed and raked both hands through my short hair, once again jolting at the lack of length.
The run had done me good.
I was calmer now.
I could think now.
And the sensations of Tony’s unwanted arms around me, his leg between mine, and the dampness of his tears on my shirt faded. He’d come at me too fast, too emotionally. If I’d only had some warning, some time to prepare, I would gladly have hugged him back.
He was Quell’s father, for fuck’s sake.
He was the one who’d lost his little girl, all while I did my best to keep his daughter with as few scars as possible.
Fuck.
I pinched the bridge of my nose as I kept walking.
Poor Quell...Isabella.
I’d been rather successful in protecting her at Fables. Sure, there were times I couldn’t prevent Storymaker from taking her, and some guests overlooked my offer to do whatever the hell they wanted to me if they stopped picking on her, but overall, I’d done what I could.