Chapter 114

Chapter 114
Derek’s SUV is a bunker, its windows fogged with condensation, the engine running low and quiet. Ethan yanks the back door open and throws himself inside, backpack first, then the rest of him, slamming the door against the cold with a force that rattles the cup holders. He’s vibrating with adrenaline, hands still wet with sweat, the folder of documents now a living thing in his grip.

Derek doesn’t turn around. He stares straight ahead, eyes fixed on a point far beyond the frost-rimmed windshield, fingers kneading the leather of the steering wheel.

Ethan doesn’t waste time. “You knew,” he snaps, voice raw. “You fucking knew and you never told me.”

Derek says nothing, not at first. A long silence, thick with old pain, stretches between them. Finally, he shifts, craning his neck to look at Ethan in the rearview. “I didn’t know for sure. I only—”

Ethan cuts him off, slapping the documents against the center console. “Bullshit. You had years to tell me. I was chasing a lie my whole life.”

Derek's shoulders stiffen beneath his worn leather jacket, the seams straining as muscles tense. His knuckles whiten against the steering wheel, veins rising like pale rivers beneath weathered skin. "I was trying to protect you. There's things you don't know. Things that can still hurt you."

Ethan scoffs, a short, ugly laugh that fogs the cold glass beside him. His reflection fragments in the condensation—a boy becoming a stranger to himself. "Yeah? Like what? That my real dad is a fraud, or that my mom—"

"Stop," Derek says, turning in his seat. The vinyl creaks beneath him like old bones. The word is gentle, but it snaps the air in the car like a cold wind, cutting through the heat blasting from the vents. His eyes—gray as gunmetal in the dim dashboard light—find Ethan's. "It's not just about blood. You're my son, no matter what that paper says."
Ethan looks away, jaw flexing beneath skin flushed hot with anger. Derek's words land like a sucker punch to the sternum, knocking loose something rigid inside him, then spread like a salve across the wound they just created. He wants to hate Derek—wants to feel the clean, sharp edge of betrayal—but all he feels now is the crushing weight of exhaustion pressing down on his shoulders, the slow-motion collapse of a house of cards he's been desperately propping up since childhood, each memory and milestone suddenly floating free from a story that was never quite his to begin with.

He flips through the photos again, fingers trembling. “So who’s Lila?” he asks, softer this time. “Why does she want me safe?”

Derek is quiet for a moment, his weathered face half-shadowed by the dashboard lights that catch the silver at his temples. His exhale fogs the cold air between them. Then he leans forward, the leather of his jacket creaking as he rests his forearms on the front seat, close enough that Ethan can smell the faint traces of motor oil and that pine-scented soap he's used since Ethan was small. "She was supposed to watch out for you. A long time ago, before you were even born. But something happened—she disappeared. Left a lot of unfinished business."

Ethan shakes his head, the folder's edge digging into his palm as his grip tightens. Outside, a distant siren wails, its blue-red lights briefly illuminating the condensation patterns on the window beside him. "And the rest? The hospital, the switch?"
Derek looks him dead in the eyes, the gray in his beard suddenly obvious, the years and worry carved deep. “It’s all true. There was a cover-up. A bad one. They paid to keep it quiet, but nothing like that ever really stays buried.”

Ethan closes the folder, lays it on the seat beside him. The anger has ebbed, replaced by a fragile, aching curiosity. “Why me?”

Derek sighs. “Because you’re not like them. You never were.”

The words hang, heavy and unresolved, until a new sound slices through the hush: Derek’s phone, vibrating and buzzing on the dash. He picks it up, glances at the caller ID—Steven—and answers on the first ring.

“Yeah,” Derek says, voice suddenly all business.

There’s a pause, then a series of clipped, urgent replies: “When? How bad? No, I’ll bring him.” Derek’s expression hardens, his hand gripping the phone so tight his knuckles pale. “We’re on our way.”

He ends the call and looks back at Ethan, eyes bright with something close to fear. “It’s Sophie. She’s in the hospital. Steven says it’s serious.”

Ethan’s stomach drops. “Is she—?”

Derek shakes his head. “They need us now.”

The air in the car changes. All the old anger, the bitterness, drains out, leaving only the need to act.

Derek hits the gas, pulling away from the curb so fast the tires chirp. He motions for Ethan to climb up front. “C’mon,” he says. “You belong with us. That’s what matters.”

Ethan obeys, scrambling into the passenger seat as the city whips by in a blur of sodium vapor and frost.

The SUV roars into the night, heading for the only place that ever felt like home.