Chapter 295

Chapter 295
Calloway

"You're right," I said quietly.

Bradley blinked, clearly not expecting that response. "What?"

"You're right about all of it," I continued, my voice steady. "My father is a criminal. I was complicit in terrible things. I did fall, and I fell hard."

The three exchanged glances, their cruel grins faltering slightly. This wasn't the reaction they'd come for.

"So what, you're just going to admit it?" Todd sneered, stepping closer. "Where's that Montgomery pride now?"

"Gone," I said simply. "And good riddance."

James laughed harshly. "Listen to this guy. Playing the humble card now. You think we're idiots, Calloway? You think this is some kind of strategy?"

"It's not a strategy. It's the truth."

Bradley's face darkened. He'd come here for a fight, for the satisfaction of watching me crumble, and I wasn't giving him what he wanted. "You know what I think? I think you're still the same arrogant piece of shit you always were. Just playing dress-up in work clothes."

I could feel the eyes of the townspeople on us. Mrs. Patterson had moved closer, her face etched with concern. Old Pete from the grain store stood in his doorway, hands clenched at his sides.

"Maybe you're right," I said.

"Damn right I'm right," Bradley spat. "You want to know what I really think? I think you're a coward hiding in this nowhere town, pretending to be something you're not."

"Could be."

The agreement seemed to inflame him further. He stepped forward until he was inches from my face. "You know what? We're going to give you one last chance to show us who you really are."

"Bradley," James warned, glancing around at the growing crowd of onlookers.

"Shut up," Bradley snapped. "This piece of shit needs to learn his place." He turned back to me, his eyes gleaming with malice. "Here's the deal, Montgomery. You want us to believe you're really changed? You want us to believe you're not the same entitled asshole who used to laugh while we tormented scholarship kids?"

I said nothing.

"Then prove it," he continued. "Get down on your hands and knees and crawl between our legs. Show this whole town what you really are."

The crowd gasped. Mrs. Patterson stepped forward. "Now see here, young man—"

"Stay out of this, lady," Todd barked.

I looked at Bradley, then at James and Todd, who were now grinning with anticipation. I thought about the old me—the me who would have thrown the first punch, who would have called my lawyers, who would have made these three regret the day they were born.

Then I thought about Hannah, waiting at home. About the garden we'd planted together. About the simple peace I'd found in this small town.

I dropped to my knees.

The silence was deafening.

"Holy shit," James whispered. "He's actually going to do it."

I crawled forward, my jeans scraping against the gravel. The three young men spread their legs, creating a tunnel of humiliation. I could hear Mrs. Patterson crying softly behind me.

I crawled through Bradley's legs first, then James's, then Todd's. When I stood up and brushed the dirt from my knees, their faces had changed completely. The cruel satisfaction was gone, replaced by something like disgust—not at me, but at themselves.

"Jesus Christ," Bradley muttered, turning away. "What the fuck is wrong with you?"

"You're pathetic," Todd spat, but there was no heat in it anymore. "Absolutely pathetic."

James was already walking back to his car. "Come on, let's get out of here. This is sick."

They climbed into their vehicles without another word, engines roaring to life with unnecessary aggression. Bradley rolled down his window as they prepared to leave.

"You're dead to us, Montgomery," he called out. "Dead to everyone who matters."

"I know," I replied.

They drove away in a cloud of dust and expensive exhaust.

Mrs. Patterson rushed over, her eyes wet with tears. "Oh, Calloway, honey, you didn't have to—"

"Yes, I did," I said gently. "I did."

---

The cottage smelled like rosemary and garlic when I walked through the door. Hannah looked up from the stove, her face lighting up in that way that still caught me off guard after all these months.

"You're home early," she said, wiping her hands on a dish towel. Then she saw my face. "What happened?"

I told her everything while she served dinner—simple chicken and vegetables from our garden, bread she'd baked herself. She listened without interrupting, her hand finding mine across the small wooden table.

"I'm proud of you," she said when I finished.

"For letting them humiliate me?"

"For choosing love over pride." She squeezed my fingers.

I looked around our tiny kitchen—the mismatched chairs, the herbs drying on the windowsill, Redemption curled up in a patch of evening sunlight. It was perfect in its imperfection.

Hannah was quiet for a moment, pushing food around on her plate. Then she looked up, her expression serious.

"Calloway, I need to tell you something," she said suddenly. "About what I told you before. About Rosalind and my kidney."

I paused mid-chew, sensing the weight in her voice.

"It wasn't true," she said simply. "I lied to you."

The piece of chicken lodged in my throat. I coughed hard, reaching for my water glass, eyes watering. Hannah jumped up to pat my back, but I waved her away, finally managing to swallow.

"You... what?" I gasped.

"I made it up. The whole story about her taking my kidney. None of it happened."

I stared at her, my mind reeling. All those months of carrying that guilt, of believing Rosalind had done something so horrific, of using it to justify my hatred...

"Why are you telling me this now?" I asked quietly.

"Because you deserved the truth. Because I was angry and wanted to hurt her, and I used you to do it. And because..." She looked down at her hands. "Because living here with you, seeing how you've changed, it made me realize I didn't want to carry that lie anymore."

I reached across the table and took her hand.

"Thank you for telling me."

Her eyes widened with surprise. "You're not angry?"

"No," I said, and meant it. "I'm grateful. For the truth, and for you."

We finished dinner as the sun set behind the mountains, painting our little world in shades of gold and amber. Later, we sat on the porch, Hannah reading a library book while I worked on fixing an old lamp from the hardware store.

This was our life now—quiet, simple, real. No schemes, no lies, no elaborate plans for revenge or advancement. Just two broken people trying to build something good from the pieces of who they used to be.

I was about to suggest we head inside when my phone rang. The caller ID showed a number I didn't recognize, but something about it made my stomach clench.

"Hello?"

"Mr. Montgomery? This is Warden Richards from ADX Florence. I'm calling about your father."

My throat went dry. "Is he—"

"I'm sorry to have to tell you this, sir, but Griffin Montgomery passed away this afternoon. Heart attack in his cell. It was quick."

The phone slipped from my hand, clattering onto the porch boards. Hannah looked up sharply, then came to sit beside me, her arms wrapping around my shoulders.

My father was dead.