It’s three months to the day that Jones tried to hang himself. I can finally say those words without breaking down, without it breaking me. It’s a cold, clear day and snow blankets the fields, outlines the bare branches of the trees. It’s so beautiful. White as far as the eye can see. Clean and new and filled with promise.

“I’m freezing my ass off, Cilla.”

I smile.

Kill and I are standing outside the entrance of the Dover Recovery Village. He’s holding my hand and I can feel him watching me as I stare at the double doors. I take a deep breath in and nod. Kill pushes one of the doors open and we step inside, the gust of wind that sneaks in around us ruffling the papers on the desk in the lobby.

Today will be the first time I see Jones in three months, although I’ve been talking to him in brief conversations over the phone for a few weeks now. He’s doing so well, remarkably well. And so am I. At Kill’s urging, I’ve been talking to someone too, talking about everything.

I underestimated the power of spoken words. I didn’t realize they can heal as surely as silence can destroy.

“Good morning, Mr. Black. Ms. Hawking.” The same nurse who’s always here stands to greet us, the smile on her face easier than I’ve ever seen it before.

“Good morning. Dr. Moore is expecting us,” Kill says.

“Yes, he is.” She turns to me and gives me a smile. “And so is your brother.”

I’m reassured by this. I don’t want to push Jones but it’s taken all I have to let things play out like this. I know it was the right thing to do, though. For both of us.

Kill squeezes my hand as we follow the nurse to Dr. Moore’s office instead of directly to Jones’s room. “Is something wrong?” I ask, confused by this.

“No, the doctor just wanted to talk to you for a few minutes first.”

“Okay.”

Once we’re seated in Dr. Moore’s office, he opens a folder and arranges some papers.

“Did he change his mind?” I ask, my heart racing. I’ve been looking forward to this for more than a week and I don’t want him to have changed his mind.

“No,” Dr. Moore says, looking up at me as he turns the papers around so Kill and I can read them. I’m surprised at the glimpse I get. They’re release papers. “He’s looking forward to seeing you.”

Kill picks up the pages, shuffles through them.

“I wanted to meet with you to discuss Jones’s departure from Dover Recovery Center.”

I’m both elated and terrified by this. “Is he ready?”

“I think so. I don’t think there’s more we can do for him. But I do think he’s scared, which is natural.”

“He can live with us,” Kill says, setting the papers back on the desk.

I’m taken aback by this and shift my gaze to him.

Although I’ve kept my apartment, I only go back once or twice a week and never sleep there. We spend most of our time at Rockcliffe House these days, but I guess I hadn’t thought of it as living together, not until Kill says it that way.

He glances at me, then back at the doctor.

“No, I think he wants to go back to his own apartment and I think it’s important for him to do so,” Dr. Moore says. “He’ll still be coming in twice weekly to meet with me, his suggestion, I thought once a week would suffice.”

“That’s great,” I say. “He must trust you.” I push away the thought that my brother trusted his secrets, his pain, to this stranger and not me, but I also know it’s easier sometimes to tell a stranger. Easier than having to look someone closer to you in the eye while you give voice to your shame.

“I think he’s found a safe place here. You’ll see what I mean when you see Jones.”

“When—”

“I just wanted you to know about his release. We’ll finish out the month here, but after that, he’ll be able to resume his life.”

“And you’re sure he’s ready?”

“I am. It won’t be without difficulties, the demons are in no way banished, but he is better able to cope.”

“He’ll need a job,” I say, turning to Kill.

“I have an idea,” Kill says.

“And my apartment is only a short drive from his,” I say, unsure where this leaves us.

“So is the penthouse,” Kill says.

“Maybe it’s better if I—” I start.

“You’ll be at the penthouse,” Kill finishes, rising. “I think we’re ready.”

Dr. Moore clears his throat. “Of course.” He steps out into the hallway.

I’m still staring up at Kill. “What was that?” I ask, standing.

He looks at me. “What was what?”

“You’ll be at the penthouse,” I mimic him.

He raises his eyebrows. “Poor imitation, Cilla. Let’s go.”

“Wait.”

“What?” He seems oddly, mildly irritated.

“Why did you say it like that?”

“You’ll be staying with me, Cilla. At the penthouse or Rockcliffe, but it’s time you gave up that apartment.”

I stare at him, dumbfounded. This changes things. Officially living together changes everything.

For the first time since I’ve known Kill, there’s a single moment of uncertainty in his eyes. Just the briefest flash of it.

“Kill?”

“I’m not doing this here.” He hasn’t quite met my eyes. “Your brother’s waiting.”

I smile at his uncharacteristic behavior, put my hands on his face, make him look at me. “Are you asking me to move in with you?”

“You already live with me,” he tries.

“Kill?”

“Let’s go see your brother,” he says, taking my wrists to pull my hands away, walking me out of the office.

Dr. Moore is waiting for us outside. We walk toward Jones’s old room where he’s been moved back to, and my heart is racing. I don’t know what to expect. But when we get there and he pushes the door open after a brief knock and I see my brother for the first time in too long, a wide smile spreads across my face as tears slide down my cheeks.

“Jones!”

He smiles back and it’s just as big as mine. When I run to him, he opens his arms and for the first time in more than eight years, we hug. We actually hug.

Kill and Dr. Moore leave us alone at some point, and after a long time, Jones and I sit at the window of his room again, like that last time, except this time, we’re holding hands and smiling and not looking at the beautiful scene out the window but each other. And for the first time in too long, I see a spark in Jones’s eyes that I remember from home. Our real home with our parents.

“Stop with the tears already, Cilla.” He wipes my face.

“They’re happy tears.”

“I don’t care. We’ve both cried enough for two lifetimes.”

“You look really great, Jones. Better than in a long time.” He’s put on weight again and his color is alive. It’s like he’s alive again.

“I feel better than I have in a long time. We should have done this sooner, huh?”

“I’m glad we’re doing it now.”

“You were holding hands with him when you came in.”

I smile. “He saved my life. Both of our lives.”

“I told you so,” he teases. “He’s in love with you.”

I feel myself blush. “You were right. And you were wrong. He is a beast. But he’s also my dark knight. I love him.”