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“Logan,” Lucas’s voice cuts into my sleep. I can’t believe I was able to doze off.
“Yeah,” I call as he stops in the doorway. I look at the clock and see it’s been five hours since we bit her with no change.
“You might want to come downstairs. In about one minute, our parents are going to be barreling through the front door.”
“Fuck.” I sit up carefully. “Will you stay with her? I don’t want her alone, but I don’t want them in here.”
“Of course, although I hate to miss the tears you are about to shed when Mom hits you.” He slides onto the bed. “Hey,” he says but stops.
“What?” I grab a shirt and shrug it on.
“Thanks for the distraction.” He shifts. “I don’t want to be the weak link,” he whispers.
I blink. “What the fuck are you talking about?”
“I’m just a fighter. I have too much energy. I say stupid shit more often than not, and I don’t feel deserving of Breeane,” he says harshly.
“I don’t have time to explain all the ways that you are wrong.” I walk to his side and grab the back of his neck. “Yeah, you are a fighter. You will fight for her.” I point. “She will always know that you love her and would do anything to protect her. We all will. Don’t ever talk about yourself like that. As we have said before, we all have our strengths. You feel so much more than any of us, whether it’s anger, protectiveness, love, or loyalty. Never be ashamed of feeling too much. Emotions are power. Emotions will make Breeane’s life full and beautiful.” I squeeze my hand. “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” he clears his throat. “Thanks, brother. Love you.”
“I love you too,” I say just as I hear the door slam open. “Shit.”
“Where is my son?” my mom demands.
“You better shut the door on your way out.” He grins, and I roll my eyes.
I run out of the room, shutting the door, and sprint down the stairs. I freeze as I see my
parents standing in the living room. Las stands slowly from the chair he was sitting on, on guard.
“Mom,” I say, licking my lips. “Dad.”
My mom puts her hands on her hips. “You come back from the dead and don’t call your mother?” I look at my dad and he smirks.
“We’ve been a little busy,” I defend.
“Your dad told me how busy you have been,” she snaps. “You could have called. A five-minute conversation.”
“When have you ever had a five-minute conversation?” Dad asks and the look she gives him should have killed him.
“Excuse me?”
“Look.” Dad points my way. “Your son is alive, and you haven’t hugged him yet.”
Her eyes fill with tears as she rushes me. “Even though you are just trying to distract me, you're right,” she blubbers.
Then my arms are full of a woman who made our home special. She smells just the same—flowers and love.
“Mom,” I whisper, dropping my cheek to the top of her head. “I’m happy to see you.”
“You have no idea what having my arms around you again means.” Her arms tighten, and it brings me back to our childhood. “You are a little asshole for making me worry longer than I should have.”
“I know.” I smile. “You shouldn’t call your son an asshole.” This conversation has happened before because all of us were assholes most of the time. We got in trouble plenty for the tricks we played on each other.
“Don’t be one then,” she snaps. “Do you really think your dad can keep a secret from me? Do you think I bought the story of your brothers still traveling, looking for you? I know my son, and I knew you needed time to heal. You’ve always been way too hard on yourself. A mother knows what her children need.”
“I missed you.” None of what she said surprised me.
