THREADS OF MERCY

The therapist’s office smelled of chamomile and old books soft, deliberate calm in a city that never slept. Aiden sat between Silas and Marcus on a wide gray sofa, knees almost touching the low coffee table. The room was neutral: cream walls, abstract prints that suggested water without committing to it, a single potted fern in the corner. Dr. Elena Reyes no relation to Silas’s former enforcer sat across from them in an armchair, notepad balanced on her knee, expression open but unreadable.

Aiden had insisted on family therapy. Not couples counseling for him and Silas (they already had a private therapist for that), and not individual sessions for Marcus (he was doing those twice weekly). This was something else: three men who had once shared blood and betrayal, now trying to share space without the past bleeding through every silence.

Silas had agreed without argument rare for him. Marcus had simply nodded, eyes down, as if afraid to hope.

Dr. Reyes started gently. “We don’t have to dive into the heaviest things today. We can begin wherever feels safe. Aiden, you called this session. What brought you here?”

Aiden exhaled slowly. His fingers brushed the cuff of his sleeve where the edge of the collar sometimes peeked when he moved wrong still there, still a private anchor between him and Silas. He didn’t hide it today; the leather was visible, a quiet declaration.

“I forgave Marcus a long time ago,” Aiden said. “Or at least I thought I did. But forgiveness isn’t a switch. It’s… layers. Every time I look at him now, I see the brother who taught me how to ride a bike, and the one who sold Silas’s life for a gambling debt. Both are true. Both hurt. I want to stop flinching when I remember.”

Marcus shifted beside him small, involuntary. His hands were clasped tight in his lap, knuckles white.

Silas remained still, but Aiden felt the tension radiating from him: shoulders rigid, jaw set. Silas had never spoken the word “forgiveness” aloud in relation to Marcus until the ride here. He’d only said, “If this helps you, I’ll sit through it.”

Dr. Reyes nodded. “And Silas? What’s forgiveness mean to you in this room?”

Silas’s voice came low, gravel-rough. “I don’t know if I’m capable of it. I spent years building walls out of hate because it was easier than feeling the hurt. Marcus tried to have me killed. He sold my people. He endangered Aiden repeatedly. I protected Aiden by keeping him close, by claiming him, by turning pain into something we could both hold. But forgiving Marcus?” He paused, eyes flicking to the older Blackwood brother. “That feels like betraying the kid who survived by never trusting again.”

Marcus flinched visibly. “I deserve that.”

“No,” Aiden said sharply. “You don’t get to decide what you deserve anymore. That’s part of the problem. You spent years punishing yourself so no one else had to. But I’m tired of all of us carrying your guilt like it’s ours to fix.”

Marcus looked up eyes glassy, voice barely above a whisper. “I wake up every morning remembering the warehouse. You bleeding. Silas bleeding. The way you looked at me like I was a stranger wearing your brother’s face. I did that. I can’t undo it.”

Silas spoke then, quieter than Aiden had ever heard him. “I wanted to kill you. For years. I kept the evidence the hit contract, the wire transfers, the audio of you begging Moreau for another loan. I could’ve ended you clean, quiet, no traces. I didn’t. Not because I’m noble. Because Aiden asked me not to. Because he still saw something worth saving. And every time I look at him now every time he smiles at you I have to ask myself if I’m strong enough to honor that.”

The room fell silent except for the soft hum of the air conditioning.

Dr. Reyes leaned forward slightly. “Aiden, you’re carrying a lot here. You forgave Silas for the leash, the control, the brutality because you understood it came from pain. You forgave Marcus because you loved the boy he used to be. But have you forgiven yourself?”

Aiden blinked. “Myself?”

“For staying loyal to Marcus even when it almost cost Silas his life. For signing that contract knowing it was a leash. For craving the submission even when it scared you. For still wearing the collar today not as punishment, but as choice.”

Aiden’s throat closed. He hadn’t expected that question.

“I told myself I was doing it for Marcus,” he said slowly. “But part of me… liked the surrender. Liked belonging to someone who saw me really saw me broken pieces and all. I hated that I liked it. I hated that I needed it. I hated myself for not walking away sooner.”

Silas’s hand found Aiden’s on the couch slow, careful, palm up. Aiden laced their fingers together without hesitation.

“I don’t regret the collar,” Aiden continued, voice thick. “I regret the years I spent believing I had to earn love by bleeding for it. I forgive that version of myself. I’m not him anymore.”

Marcus wiped his eyes roughly with the back of his hand. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m so fucking sorry. I didn’t just betray you I made you think your worth was tied to how much you could sacrifice. I stole pieces of you I can never give back.”

Aiden turned to him. “Then don’t try to give them back. Just… be here. Show up. Keep showing up. That’s enough.”

Marcus nodded small, broken movements. “I will.”

Silas exhaled a long, shuddering breath. “I don’t know if I can forgive you, Marcus. Not fully. Not yet. But I can try. For him.” He squeezed Aiden’s hand. “Because he’s worth every uncomfortable fucking minute of this.”

Marcus looked at Silas really looked without flinching. “Thank you. For giving me the chance to prove I’m not the man I was.”

Dr. Reyes closed her notepad gently. “We don’t have to solve everything today. Forgiveness isn’t erasure. It’s choosing to stop letting the past rent space in your present. We’ll keep meeting. We’ll keep peeling layers. And we’ll do it together.”

The session ended quietly. No dramatic breakthroughs, no tears that demanded attention just three men walking out of the room a little lighter, a little rawer.

In the elevator down, Silas pulled Aiden against his side possessive, protective. Marcus stood opposite, giving them space.

When the doors opened to the lobby, Silas spoke without looking at Marcus. “Dinner next week. Our place. Bring whatever you want to say. No pressure.”

Marcus swallowed. “I’ll be there.”

Silas nodded once curt, but real.

Outside, rain had started again soft, steady. Aiden tilted his face up, letting drops kiss his cheeks. Silas watched him, something soft and unguarded in his stormy eyes.

Aiden turned, cupped Silas’s face with both hands. “You did good in there.”

Silas leaned into the touch. “I didn’t punch him.”

Aiden laughed quiet, warm. “Progress.”

Silas kissed him then slow, deep, unhurried rain falling around them like quiet applause. When they parted, Silas rested his forehead against Aiden’s.

“I’m learning,” he whispered. “How to forgive. How to be forgiven. How to love without owning.”

Aiden smiled against his lips. “You’re doing beautifully.”

Behind them, Marcus watched silent, grateful, hopeful.

The three of them walked into the rain together not fixed, not perfect, but moving forward.

And for the first time, the leash between all of them felt less like a chain and more like a shared thread thin, strong, and willingly held.