Ned hesitated, breathing the same icy air as Cole. “And then… then you left. With all our food and our two horses. For the first few days, my mother tried to hunt, checked the traps Father had set up before he died, but there was nothing, she was no hunter, and I didn’t manage to get my hands on anything but a few mice either. We were so terribly hungry, and with the snow all around, there was no way for us to leave.
“I don’t know if it was five days or a week into this terrible starvation, but my mother made a rich stew for us. I was so hungry, and it smelled so good… I didn’t ask her where she got the meat, and she didn’t say. But I knew.”
Cole sat up and stared at Ned, nausea rising in his throat as he dug his fingers into the ice cold snow. “She—”
It didn’t need to be voiced. She cooked the flesh of her husband so her child could survive. Anyone would have done it in her situation, yet Cole couldn’t help the sense of revulsion twisting every organ in his body.
What a heavy burden that must have been for a small boy.
Ned wouldn’t look at him. “Yes, she did. We were stuck here for a month, and in that time she spoke less and less. It was as if her soul had left her body on that night Father died. We had a Pawnee friend who’d visit sometimes, and he came by when the snow started thawing. My mother didn’t speak his tongue, but he understood we needed help in getting to other people, and he led us to the valley where my uncle lived. I knew something was wrong on the night she told me he’d take good care of me. She was found hanging in the barn the next day. Maybe it had been the rape, maybe the sorrow for my father, maybe guilt for what we’d done, but she decided she couldn’t live on.”
Cole remained silent.
He didn’t know what he’d expected. Perhaps a long story that revealed the ills of Ned’s character, one that would ensure Cole would hate him until the day he died. But not this. Not this story of assault, murder, and, of all things, cannibalism.
He forced down the lump in his throat and realized that perhaps Ned had been right all along. Maybe Cole didn’t need to know all the painful details, because his heart didn’t feel at ease. It was frozen like the snow surrounding them on each side, and although Tom had been a bastard, it still hurt to find out the extent of his ruthlessness. Tom hadn’t even been honest about the one line he’d claimed to never cross—yet another person in Cole’s life who’d never been truthful.
“So yes,” Ned said with gritted teeth and fists clenched on his knees. “When the Pinkertons came to me, offering a way to bring the Gotham Boys to justice, I took that chance. I just didn’t expect you would happen along the way.”
Cole. The flaw in Ned’s plan.
He took a deep breath and rose, too numb to think straight anymore. The mission he’d taken on seven years back, all his suffering had been for nothing.
“It’s cold. Let’s go inside.”
Chapter 12
The water filling the tub halfway was steaming hot, yet Cole’s body still refused to warm up. He kept scooping some with a ladle and pouring it over his head and arms, but it was no use. Even his toes, which remained constantly submerged, were like a set of icicles. Was that how disappointment felt?
Perhaps he should be glad Tom had deserved what he’d gotten in the end. Maybe all the other men who’d traveled with the gang had earned their spots on the gallows or in jail? He should be happy that he’d gotten away with the things he’d done, but a part of him thought that maybe life would have been fairer if Lars had left him to die in Beaver Springs—the past buried forever and no longer painful.
Ned hadn’t looked him in the eye since his confession, even though the tub was so small their legs entwined in the middle and their feet rested against the warm sides. He’d watch the fire, sometimes leave and come back with a fresh pot of hot water, but stayed silent, leaving them with the sound of crackling fire and the wind howling outside.
Ned had scrubbed Lars’s blood off the floor earlier, but the stain had seeped into wood already and haunted Cole. Dog rested next to it, whimpering from time to time, as if he were mourning a lost friend, and each time he made the damn sound, it tore at Cole’s heart.
“I understand why you had to kill him,” Cole said eventually, pushing the words out of his throat by force, because his mind accepted it while his heart still remembered the stabbing pain of hearing about Tom’s death.
Ned ran his fingers over Cole’s knee. “I didn’t intend to. I wanted to bring him to the law, but I… I guess I’ve changed along the way.”
Cole stared at the long yet thick fingers touching him. They’d fucked only hours back, but the gesture seemed so alien now. Cole didn’t do that kind of thing anymore. He didn’t hug or cuddle. He rarely kissed for any reason other than foreplay. He’d lost his desire for tenderness the day Ned had duped him.
“I really trusted you back then. In all things,” Cole said, lowering his face to gaze at their limbs rather than at Ned’s face. Shame was a collar around his neck, and each breath he took of the warm, damp air reminded him that he’d hunted Ned down, only to protect him by killing Lars. Then, even with his hands around the bastard’s throat, Cole had been unable to end Ned. So much life wasted on a worthless pursuit.
Ned rubbed his bruised neck. “I meant it. What I said at the gallows. I never loved anyone but you. For you, Tom was like a father. I realized you wouldn’t let me hurt him when I saw how much it pained you to hear of Scotch’s death.”
“You didn’t trust me,” Cole said and lifted his gaze to meet Ned’s. He understood why, of course. Cole had been loyal. He’d killed for the rules and hadn’t ratted out his gang when his own life had been on the line. Ned had every reason to question where Cole’s loyalty lay, and Cole himself didn’t know what he’d have done if he’d found out about Ned’s plans. But the fact that Ned had done it all behind his back remained a splinter in his heart. Like a wound that might not have killed him but wouldn’t heal.
Regardless of the rationale behind Ned’s desire for revenge, he’d betrayed Cole in the process.
Ned dipped his fingers underwater, trailing them down Cole’s shin. “I saw what you did to Adam Wild. I thought that if we slipped out together, I could have it all. You, my revenge, the ocean. Then it all went to shit. I don’t even know if Zeb is dead or alive.”
Cole understood all that. He realized Ned had his reasons, and that he was motivated by a personal vendetta rather than greed, which made his actions somehow easier to swallow. But understanding didn’t equal forgiveness, and even though Ned’s touch was hotter than the bath water, he didn’t want to get any closer.
He was still bleeding on the inside, and it didn’t matter that Ned had become remorseful since they parted. What had happened between them wasn’t just a misunderstanding. A lot of time had passed, and Cole had become a different person, permanently altered by the rage he’d been harboring. He was always on the lookout for betrayal, always expecting the worst from people. It was a hard way to live, but one that had kept him sane and safe over the years.
“It’s always best to know the truth, even if it’s painful,” he said, thinking back to Tom. Both to the good times, and the bad, like when Cole had broken their code and Tom had cut deep into his skin to mark the cleaver tattoo with an X. Back then, it had seemed fair, but now that Cole knew Tom hadn’t always practiced what he preached, he looked at the old scar with distaste.