Chapter 233


    The car ride was suffocating. I felt the ropes digging into my wrists, rubbing the skin raw. ncing


    sideways, I saw Bruce, his face etched with conflicting emotions as he drove. He seemed lost in his


    own thoughts, wrestling with a dilemma that I couldn’t quite ce.


    I needed to find a way to crack through his facade, to spark a flicker of realization in him, a glimpse


    of the person he thought he was.


    “You know, Ste was right,” I ventured cautiously, my voice shaky yet deliberate. “You’re nothing


    like


    Timothy.”


    The words seemed to jolt Bruce. He shot me a quick, intense nce, his jaw tightening as if trying to


    suppress an eruption of emotions. “What the hell are you talking about?” His voice was sharp,


    cutting through the tense silence in the car.


    I pressed on, sensing a crack in his armor. “Timothy would’ve killed me already if he wanted. He’s


    just that determined as a person, even to a vicious degree.”


    Bruce’s grip on the steering wheel tightened, his knuckles whitening. “Don’t test me, Evie,” he


    warned, his voice low and dangerous.


    But something stirred inside me, a desperate need to reach the person I once knew. “You always


    had my best interests at heart, even when you didn’t know how to show it,” I continued, ignoring his


    warning. “You never learned to express it because you never had anyone to teach you.”


    N?velD(ram)a.?rg owns this content.


    The mention of his mother seemed to strike a nerve. Bruce’s eyes flickered with a mix of anger and


    pain. .“Stop it,” he bit out, his voice strained. He reached for the device streaming our conversation


    and


    abruptly shut it off.


    But I couldn’t stop now. “Where was your mother when we were teenagers?” I pushed, ignoring the


    fear that simmered beneath my skin. “We were left to navigate our own chaos.”


    Bruce’s knuckles turned white as he clenched the steering wheel tighter. “I said stop talking about


    that!” His voice shook with a raw intensity.


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    “I had to deal with my mother’s sudden return,” I pressed on, desperationcing my words. “It tore


    open old scars, Bruce.”


    The car fell into an eerie silence, the tension thick enough to suffocate us both. Bruce’s grip rxed


    on the steering wheel, his jaw twitching. His gaze flickered to me, a whirlwind of emotions swirling in


    his eyes anger, confusion, and a hint of vulnerability.


    –


    “You have no idea what it was like,” Bruce muttered, his voice barely audible.


    “I do, Bruce,” I replied softly, hoping to bridge the gap between us. “I do.”


    “What do you want from me?” Bruce finally asked, his voice hoarse. “A sob story? Because that’s


    not. happening.”


    “You don’t have to,” I whispered, my voiceced with hope. “We all cope differently.”


    A hesitant pause lingered between us before I went on, my attempts more desperate. “I always had


    a soft spot for you,” I lied, my voice tinged with manufactured sincerity. “Even when your mother left


    you. alone.”


    He snorted. “Sure.”


    “We’re more simr than you think,” I added, attempting to bridge the gap between our tumultuous


    histories.


    His gaze softened, a flicker of surprise and something akin to understanding shining in his eyes.


    “Maybe,” he replied.


    The silence returned as the car rolled along the dark, winding road, the hum of the engine a


    constantpanion in our tense silence. I stole nces at Bruce, his face etched with a mix of


    turmoil and contemtion.


    “I can’t believe Mia had the nerve to show her face to you again,” Bruce started out of nowehere, his


    voiceced with bitterness. “But she always seemed…nicer than my own mother.” He nced at


    me, his eyes holding an unfamiliar vulnerability. “Even before my father decided to abandon us.”


    His words hung heavy in the air, revealing a certain pain beneath the surface. “What did Mia used to


    do


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    for you?” I asked, hesitant yet curious about this unseen side of Bruce.


    A hint of wistfulness softened Bruce’s features as he spoke. “When she still lived with us, she used


    to cook for me,” he began, a flicker of nostalgia coloring his words. “Whatever I wanted to eat, she’d


    just make it. And it would usually taste perfect.”


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    I hummed in agreement. “Yes, if my mother knew one thing, it was how to feed just about anyone.


    Even picky eaters.”


    It looked like he was ready tough at that, but he fixed himself quickly and cleared his throat. “She


    even helped me join sports at school. I would’ve never even considered doing track if she didn’t


    encourage me to.”


    The image of Mia, a nurturing figure in Bruce’s life, conjured a pang of unexpected empathy within


    me. I


    don’t know if her amount of mothering could’ve saved Bruce. He seemed to have already been


    harboring an unfixable darkness before their families blended.


    “She’d hug me without question,” Bruce continued, a hint of vulnerability seeping into his tone. “She


    was…there for me.”


    As Bruce spoke, memories of Mia drifted through my mind like elusive shadows. The thought of her


    cooking for him,


    something denneering him on at games, offering simple yet profound gestures of affection, tugged


    at


    within me.


    The realization struck me like a bolt of lightning – Bruce’s loss of Mia was also my own. The


    absence of this woman, who had been an integral part of his life, had inadvertently left a void in


    mine too.


    The car ride became an echo chamber of shared silences and unspoken sentiments. Bruce’s


    “vulnerability, once shielded behind a facade of indifference, nowy exposed in the subdued glow


    of


    ‘the dashboard lights.


    “Thank you for sharing that,” I murmured softly, surprised at my own genuine tone of sincerity.


    Bruce’s gaze lingered on the road ahead, a myriad of emotions ying across his features regret,


    longing, and a yearning for something irretrievably lost.


    “I didn’t realize,” I admitted quietly, “That she made an impact on you.‘


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    I couldn’t reach out due to my bound hands, though that may not have helped matters anyway.


    “Neither of us should let our horrible families define us,” I offered softly. “They don’t deserve that


    power.”


    Bruce’s gaze softened, his guard momentarily lowered.


    “Not even Timothy would define me,” I continued, my voice steady with conviction.


    For a moment, something shifted between us, a fragile connection built on shared wounds and


    unspoken truths. But Bruce quickly retreated into his familiar stoicism, as if realizing the vulnerability


    he’d exposed.


    He cleared his throat, his hands tightening on the steering wheel. “Since Ste’s likely dead,” he


    said


    abruptly, as if changing the course of our conversation, “I won’t get paid by her.”


    A surge of realization hit me. “Bruce, what…”


    “Finishing the stream…that’s the next best thing for me,” he finished.


    My jaw dropped. “W–What? No!”


    Bruce nodded tersely, his jaw set in determination. “I’ve made up my mind.”


    The car veered off the main road, heading toward a secluded area shrouded in darkness. Bruce


    pulled over, his actions deliberate as he reached for the camera that had been streaming our lives to


    an


    audience hungry for closure.


    “It’s time,” he muttered, his voice carrying a weight of finality. “Say your farewell to the viewers.”


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