Prodigal Son

Chapter 28

Oliver swung the axe, splitting the log into two pieces. His aim was off leaving one part still awkwardly large. He repositioned the larger section, stepped back and again brought down the heavy blade. It hit the wood with a loud, satisfying thwack straight down the middle. He tossed the firewood onto the growing stack and started the process all over again. His shoulders ached, his muscles burned, sweat dripped into his eyes, and a kiss of a sunburn stung his bare chest. He probably had new calluses on the palm of his hands. If Diggle hadn't thrown a pair of work gloves at him when he started, he probably would have a hand full of blisters.

He'd been at the manual labor for hours—time was blurring—but he still felt the same mix of confusion, pain, anger, pride and remorse. All of them were reeling from his mom's revelations. None of them knew exactly what to do with them. Not her confirmation of what Malcolm planned for those living in the Glades, nor her veiled confession of his murder.

"... the someone Malcolm Merlyn should never have crossed was me ."

A chill went down his spine just like the first time. He'd heard the truth in his mom's confession as clearly as if she'd rung a bell. He wasn't ready to examine all the implications of what it meant, but once again, everything he thought he knew shifted.

Still, after more than eight years, it was hard to let go of the past.

"You disowned me," he'd said to his mom in the cafeteria after she dropped her revelation. It hadn't been the first time he'd said it, but this time, instead of being an accusation, it became a plea for his mother to explain. And for the first time, she did.

As Oliver set up another log to split, he replayed what happened for the hundredth time.

Tears pooled in Moira's eyes. She reached out to caress the side of his face. "Oh, my sweet boy." She shook her head sorrowfully. "I never wanted you to leave. It was the only way."

"Why?" Felicity asked, suddenly there at his side. It was the first word she'd said since the vile things that spilled out of his mother's mouth. His mother looked pained. Remorse? He wasn't certain, but she answered Felicity's question.

"Oliver was in grave danger. Thea's youth protected her, but Malcolm wanted more than just my compliance." A faraway look blurred her gaze. "As a teen and through college, Oliver could be terribly careless, but there was always such kindness in his heart." She turned to Oliver again. "You wouldn't have done what Malcolm would have asked any more than your father. I'd seen what would happen if you defied him. I couldn't take that risk."

His mother hadn't exiled him believing he murdered his father, nor had she coldly let him take the blame for her crime. She'd protected him. He was still adjusting to the truth and the idea of living his life without the weight of self-condemnation influencing every choice.

"What was Dad planning?" Thea asked. "When he got to China?"

For a time, while his mother had been confessing, Oliver forgot Thea, Roy and Tommy were there with him in the private dining room. Thea had looked like he'd felt, like he still felt, shocked but also hopeful. Tommy had been hard to read. He barely spoke until the end, remaining by the window, staring down at Starling City like he was bored by the whole confession or wishing he hadn't heard a word. Roy stayed glued to Thea's side. Oliver knew the kind of loyalty Roy could give and somehow Thea already had it.

How the hell had that relationship sprung up so fast?

Oliver cleaved another piece of wood in half and then hefted one of the few logs remaining to be turned into firewood into place.