Screaming in the next room.
And Reeves, shirtless on his kitchen table, a gaping wound on his side and a surgeon over him. His pulse weakened beneath Matthew’s fingertips. Aunt Valentine barked orders. Strangers moved around his father’s house. Samaritans in the street had swooped in to help like fallen angels, their white shirt sleeves stained red, fluttering like clipped wings. Trevor stood at Reeves’ side, gritting his teeth, giving tools to the surgeon intuitively. AndReeves, pale and lifeless. Matthew held him down when it was no longer necessary.
Reeves had stopped fighting.
But Matthew couldn’t move. If he moved, Reeves would be gone.
There’s no way he can survive this.
Then all he could see was the purple of Aunt Valentine’s dress. Sweat dampened the pewter hair on her brow. She placed her hand on his shoulder. “Step back, Matthew.”
“I can’t.”
“Mattie.” With great care, Aunt Valentine placed her hands over his. “You have to let him go.”
“Auntie,” he sobbed. “Ican’t.”
“You can’t do anything for him now. Let the surgeon do his job, and let God do the rest.” She eased his hands away from Reeves’ prone form.
Matthew’s arms fell to his sides, and tears ran from his eyes when she released him.
“What am I supposed to do?” He sounded like a young boy, pitched and desperate.
“You get cleaned up,” Aunt Valentine instructed, but her voice caught. “And you go hold your sisters, Matthew Cooper.” Her voice dropped into a pained whisper as her eyes roamed over Reeves. “Andpray.”
As Matthew stepped from the kitchen, he tripped over a potted plant. Soil spilled across the hallway, its white flower crushed under his foot. Bile rose in his throat, worsened by the sounds coming from his sisters down the hall.
He couldn’t go in there now.
Not covered in Reeves’ blood.
Matthew leaned against the wall, taking ragged breaths. He ran his hands through his hair, gripped handfuls of curls in his fists, bent forward, and soundlessly screamed.
“My lord.”
Matthew whirled to Davis, holding the only clean towel in the house. With a grave expression, the older man glanced down the hall, closing his eyes tight as another wail escaped the sitting room. Matthew didn’t know which of his sisters made the sound.
“A bath has been prepared, my lord,” Davis whispered. “Perhaps… do it quickly?”
The heavy burden of necessary strength settled over Matthew like an iron blanket that buckled his knees. He wanted to fall to the floor andcrybecause Reeves was hisbest friend, hisfamily, hisbrother.
And by the night’s end, he would be dead.
Taking a shaking breath, Matthew locked his knees, straightened his spine, and tried to build himself up brick by brick while his foundation crumbled.
“Yes, Davis.”
A week’s worth of flowers smothered the sitting room, giving it the appearance of a funeral home—complete with a grieving widow.Held to either side by Caroline and Lady Jasmine, Cassandra sat in the middle of the sofa. Matthew kneeled in front of her on the floor.
“Sister.” He reached his hand out, and Cassandra threw herself intohis arms, knocking him backward. He caught her and wrapped his arms around her shuddering frame.
“He can’t die!” Warm tears streamed down her face, soaking his shoulder. “We were fighting! I saidawfulthings! He can’t die before I can tell him that I’m sorry!I love him, Matthew! And I never told him, andnow—” She released another soul-crushing sob.
“Cassandra,” Caroline cried, coming to his other side. He wrapped his other arm around her and the siblings clung to each other in a huddle on the floor. “He’ll be all right! Right, Matthew?Right, Matthew?”
But Matthew didn’t have answers and didn’t know what to say, so he did what he could.
He held his sisters close to him.
