It was then or never.
I gripped the fork harder until my knuckles turned white. I glanced at Alan, my gaze zeroed on his forehead.
"Wait," Damon called and held my hand.
My grip loosened and I turned to him. His eyes were on Alan.
"You won the bet, what do you want?" Damon asked.
"Damon," I called.
I knew what Alan wanted, and so did he. So, why did he stop me from killing him? We both knew there was no middle ground when it came to Alan.
"It's okay," Damon said.
I sat down slowly and sighed. Alan leaned forward and crossed his fingers.
"What I want is simple," he paused, eyes on Damon. "Come home."
Damon breathed loudly and folded his fists. His chest heaved loudly as he glared at Alan.
"Home?" he asked.
Alan nodded.
"To the very place you tortured Mom and I for years? The place we ran away from?" Damon asked.
Alan sighed and looked down. "I've made mistakes son. Mistakes I wish I could go back and fix."
