“You’re dead!” she shrieks. “You’re dead! Why would you do this to us?”
Tears gush down her cheeks, and I take a step toward her, but she shakes her head, and Denver pulls her into his arms before she collapses.
She turns and sinks into his embrace, breaking into sobs. It’s a gut-wrenching sound that will haunt me.
Denver meets my eyes over the top of her head, a silent pain in his as he dips his mouth to her temple and murmurs something I can’t hear. She nods at whatever he says and wraps her arms around his neck, gripping onto him like he’s the one thing that can hold her together.
“You told the world I was dead,” I say into the cold air, my words not directed at anyone in particular yet meant for them all.
Sinclair’s cries fill the night air like a haunting melody, making me hate myself even more.
Why would I do this to them?That’s what she said. She’s talking about Mom. Asking how I could kill our mother. How I could take her away from all of us so cruelly.
“Youweredead.”
The clipped, emotionless words have me dragging my eyes from Sinclair to my brother.
Sullivan stares at me, his eyes empty.
My gut cramps. I recognize the look on his face. It’s my face too, after all. And that’s exactly how I look staring in the mirror some days.
Like I hate the man staring back.
He doesn’t want to see me again. That much is clear. I should have stayed gone. Stayed dead. But then I would never have seen Jude again.
I swallow past the burn in my throat as my father takes a step closer, studying me like he’s still convincing himself I’m real.
“Son?” he whispers.
“Dad?” I rasp.
A choked sound bubbles past my lips before I clamp them together. We stare at one another in silence.
“I hear congratulations are in order. A new baby?” I breathe.
The deep furrow of his brow softens and his scrutiny of me eases a fraction.
“Thank you. I never thought that I…” He shakes his head, his blue eyes pinned on mine. “I’d question my sanity right now if it weren’t for the miracles this family has seen recently.”
This family.
The words slice through me. He’s talking about them. Not me. All the things they’ve been doing together. The new memories they’ve been making. New spouses. New babies.
None of which I’m a part of.
“My God, what am I doing—?” he chokes out.
He pulls me into a fierce hug like it just occurred to him that he hasn’t touched me. I lift my arms, hovering them above his back for a moment. His aftershave sinks into my senses, bringing with it peace and warmth. It’s the one he’s always worn. So familiar. So safe.
“Jesus Christ, Son…” he sobs.
“Dad!” I cry, slamming my arms around him and clinging to him like I’ll never be able to let go again. Imight be a grown man, but my composure shatters and I weep in his arms like a baby. “Oh God… Dad…”
The emotions of being back with him obliterate me like a wrecking ball. My chest heaves, breathing becomes hard, and my head spins.
My father holds me up, his arms tightening around me.
“I’ve got you, Son. I’ve got you.”
