Beauty and the Devil

chapter 29

Samantha’s POV

Michael lay in the guest room. His breath came shallow but steady, chest rising and falling beneath a borrowed t-shirt. The gauze on his cheek had started to yellow at the edges. One of his hands twitched against the blanket, fingers curling in and out like he was still trying to hold something.

I stepped back into the hallway, my shoulder brushing the doorframe. I didn’t close the door all the way. I just needed distance. The hallway was dark, but the light from outside the glass door at the far end cast a long silver path across the tile.

Clyde was outside.

He sat shirtless on the back steps, rain soaking through the gauze wrapped around his ribs, hair flattened against his forehead. The man who stitched him up had left a while ago, reeking of vodka and disinfectant, hands shaking so badly Clyde had to steady the needle himself halfway through.

Now he just sat there. His elbows rested on his knees, his head slightly bowed. His breath looked steady from where I stood, but I could see the tension in his shoulders. The porch light flickered above him, buzzing every few seconds like it couldn’t quite hold.

I stood behind the glass, one hand on the cold frame, watching him. I hadn’t said anything since we got back. I wanted to. I hadn’t figured out what wouldn’t sound wrong. Nothing felt like enough — not thank you, not I’m sorry, not I’m here. So I stayed where I was, watching him breathe, thinking about all the things I couldn’t say.

Headlights swung through the trees.

Bright. Too fast. Too clean to be a coincidence.

The beam snapped across the glass, washed over my skin, and disappeared again as the car pulled up close. Tires gripped the wet pavement with a little too much force, and the car came to a sharp stop.

I stepped back.

The door opened hard.

Aaron.

He climbed out into the rain, his coat open, shirt already dark with water. His hair stuck to his forehead in strands. He didn’t shut the door behind him. He didn’t hesitate. His eyes locked onto mine through the glass.

“Samantha,” he said as he reached the porch. Rain slid down his neck. His shoes squelched on the concrete. “Come with me.”

I didn’t move.

His eyes kept shifting between me, the glass, and the shape of Clyde behind it. He looked thinner than I remembered. Or maybe smaller. His hand lifted slightly, not quite reaching.

“We can leave. Now. I’ve got the car, cash, everything ready. You don’t even have to pack.” He stopped a few feet away, voice soft. “You can still choose a different ending.”

I opened the door.

Rain swept in around my legs, cool and sharp. The sound of it blurred everything.

Aaron stepped closer.

“We’ll go somewhere quiet,” he said. “We’ll make something clean. I’ll protect you.”

I kept one hand on the doorframe. The other hung loose by my side. Water soaked through my sleeves.

Aaron’s voice cracked, just a little.

“Without him.”

He glanced toward Clyde, who hadn’t moved.

“I know what you had to give,” Aaron said.

I blinked once. My chest felt tight.

“I know what kind of deal that was. I know what kind of man he is.” His voice edged toward anger. “You think I don’t understand what he took from you?”

Clyde didn’t shift.

Aaron kept going. “You think this is strength? You think being broken beside someone makes it love?”

I looked at him.

“You were always the right choice,” I said.

His shoulders dropped. His mouth opened.

“But you never made me feel real.”

He stared.

“I tried. I tried to want peace. I tried to want soft. I let you into a place that wasn’t built for you, and I told myself it was recovery. But every time I stood next to you, I felt like I wasn’t finished.”

I turned toward the steps. The rain kept falling.

“He hurts me,” I said. “And I still want him.”

My voice shook. I didn’t stop.

“I hate him sometimes. I wish I didn’t feel this way. But I can’t sleep unless I know he’s still breathing.”

Aaron took a step back.

“You’re choosing him?”

I nodded.

Not a flinch. Not an apology.

“I didn’t choose him,” I said. “I just stopped fighting.”

I stepped past him barefoot. My toes hit the stone, cold and slick, each step carrying the weight I’d been dragging for too long.

Clyde didn’t turn when I sat down beside him. His eyes stayed forward. His hands stayed still. I sat down next to him.

My shoulder touched his. We both looked at the trees, the dark sky, the lights that didn’t matter anymore.