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Paxton nodded against his stomach.
“I want you to promise me something,” Darien said as Paxton continued to cry into his shirt. “The next time Zac or one of his friends gets up in your face…” Darien grabbed Paxton by the shoulders, gently pulling him back until the kid was looking him in the eye.
Pax blinked, tears rolling down his face.
Darien said, “You knock them the hell out.”
Loren hadn’t meant to see this. She’d followed Darien down to the training rooms, and when she’d caught a glimpse of him and Paxton in front of the punching bag, she hadn’t thought much of it—not at first.
Until she’d realized that Darien was teaching Paxton how to deal with school bullies.
Until she’d seen Paxton pummelling Darien’s stomach and sobbing about how much he hated those bullies.
And one of those bullies, she’d come to realize, was his own father.
She backed up into the hallway, but her heel caught on something—a boot—and she stumbled.
Roman stood just behind her. Staring into the training room with dead eyes, where Darien held Pax in a tight embrace. The kid was still shaking—still crying. Completely unaware that Loren and Roman were watching.
Darien’s eyes locked on Loren’s first. And then they shifted to Roman, who now wore the same furious expression as Darien—almost identical.
Roman tipped his chin up—gesturing toward the upstairs.
Darien nodded once, but did not let go of Paxton.
Loren couldn’t read auras, but she could feel a lot in this one space. A lot of hurt, yes, but there was love, too.
These people loved each other. And she could tell, simply from the look in Darien and Roman’s eyes, that both of them would go down fighting for that twelve-year-old boy crying over school bullies.
Crying over his dad.
Her throat was so tight, it felt like someone was choking her, and the backs of her eyes began to burn.
She stepped around Roman and left, taking the stairs quietly.
Darien found Roman on the roof. He was sitting on the highest peak, his boots dangling over the edge, his gold eyes fixed on the glimmering spread of the city. Roman didn’t look up as Darien crossed the roof, his steps echoing hollowly, and sat down beside him.
“Bullies?” Roman asked.
Darien gave a stiff nod.
Roman’s smirk was cold, his attention still fixed on the twilit sprawl of Yveswich. “As if it isn’t bad enough already.”
“He didn’t want to tell you. He was worried you’d kill them.”
“Those assholes are doing it for status. They think it somehow makes them look tougher if they can get away with bullying Donovan Slade’s kid.”
“Damn rights. But not anymore.”
“You really think he’ll follow through?”
“Do you?” Darien countered. “If not, you just keep instructing him until he does. Those bullies are the one thing he can deal with on his own, and he’s gonna deal with them.”
They sat for a while in silence. It was milder tonight—still cold, but not as biting, the wind just a quiet breeze.
Darien said, “You gonna tell me what he does to Pax?” As soon as the question was out, he sensed Roman tense. Darien stared out at the city, giving Roman the chance to breathe and think—and hopefully answer—without the weight of being watched.
Finally, Roman spoke on an exhale, the cold turning his words into ghosts. “Same shit he does to me.” He drew a shaky breath. “Less hands-on garbage, but same shit. He doesn’t let anyone hit Pax—only he’s allowed to do that, but we’ve been lucky enough that he’s only done it once. Doesn’t stop him from having a firm grip, though.” That explained Paxton’s reluctance to wear anything but long sleeves. “Me, though?” The corner of Roman’s mouth twitched. “I’m the lucky one. He saves all the hitting for me. Sometimes, he doesn’t go as hard, if he needs some extra bills paid.” That cold smirk spread. “Other times, Pax’s lessons piss him off so badly that he beats me till I can’t walk for a few days.” The smirk fully faded, and his throat bobbed with a tight swallow.
