I keep the bow moving long after the music stops making sense. Long after it stops being music at all, turning into nothing but mechanical repetition and the sound of an agony that has nowhere left to go.
When my hand finally stills, it’s not because I decide to stop, but because there's nothing left of me.
19. Pumpkin
Ghost
Morning finds me on the edge of the bed, back hunched, violin on one side, bow on the other. I stare blankly at the wall like it might give me the answers I need. It doesn’t. Just stares right back.
I should’ve been in the kitchen by now. Coffee brewing. Eggs sizzling. Her favorite mug waiting on the counter. She’d still be in bed, hair a mess, blanket tangled around her legs. Maybe I’d wake her with a kiss. Maybe I’d drag her into the shower, steal a lazy morning in warm water and whispered jokes. Maybe we’d read. Watch something stupid. Spend the day naked together and touch each other like we had forever.
So many fucking maybes.
All dead now.
I killed them. Killed her. Killed myself.
The future we could have had is rotting in my hands, and there’s no glue in the world strong enough to put it back together.
Only one thing left to do now. Hunt and kill. And maybe, if I’m lucky, bury the rest of the man she used to love.
I rise slow, every muscle stiff. Leave the violin where it is. It’s useless to me right now. The only music left in me is war.
I’m halfway to the shower when the door creaks open. Only one person walks into my room like that, and it’s not one of the brothers.
“Pumpkin,” Mama says, voice hard. “I made you breakfast. We need to talk.”
I sigh, and drop my head. “I don’t have time, Mama. But thanks.”
“You do have time,” she snaps, and now her voice is all fire. “You refused to say anything these days and I’m done waiting. You think I’m just gonna stand by and watch you implode? If you don’t start talking to someone —anyone— I’ll drag Pops in here and let him knock some sense into you. Don’t think that’s an empty threat! It doesn’t matter that you're a grown-ass man!”
Her glare could cut stone. Plate of food in one hand. Disappointment in the other. She’s not playing.
There’s a shift in her expression, and that’s when the real fucking hit comes. The one that cracks straight through the armor I’ve barely managed to keep on. Her eyes soften. And just like that, I’m a kid again.
“I’m worried about you, Dominic,” she whispers. “I’ve seen this before with you, years ago. I know the signs. Don’t go back to that place. Please.”
I don’t meet her eyes. I can’t.
“I’ll be fine, Mama,” I murmur. But we both know I’m lying.
She sets the plate on the small table by the door, then turns to me with a tilt of her head and that look. The one that used to make me confess things before she even asked.
“I don’t know where I went wrong with you boys,” she says softly, sadness creeping into her voice. “First Kane, now you.”
Then her eyes narrow, arms crossing tight over her chest. “It’s all Pops’ fault! When I was trying to teach you right from wrong, he was teaching you how to wield a knife! Of coursethat was more interesting to two wild little hellions,” she huffs, exasperated.
Somehow, she just managed to drown me in shame and make me smile at the same time.
Her voice shifts. Gentle, but coated with steel.
“I want to know what happened with Adora, Dominic.” Her gaze sharpens, piercing right through me. “Why did you even go near her in the first place? She was a kid herself back then. There were bigger fish who were involved in what happened to you. So why her?”
She shakes her head. “I told you years ago — let her go. She was young. She had no choice. It was clear. But you still went for her. And now look at you.” Her voice starts to break. Her eyes glass over with unshed tears.
Fuck. That slices me straight through.
I move to her in two strides, and wrap her in my arms tightly.
