“You really think I wouldn’t have helped you protect her?” I protest. “You know I would’ve, Joe. She would’ve been a priority.”
“Well, clearly she has been.”
“You fucking ruined me! The pain you left behind...” I smack my hand on the desk. “Fuck!” I stand up and breathe through my teeth to calm my impending rage.
He looks up at the ceiling, running his hand through his hair, and dragging it down his exhausted face. “I’m… sorry, Liam. I really am.”
He walks over to me and extends a hand, like an agreement, and to my surprise, I take it and pull him into a hug.
He’s alive.
My breath hitches, and the pain in my chest makes me flinch, but if there’s a world where I don’t lose the two people I care about the most, I’ll do what needs to be done.
I clasp his shoulder. “I’m sorry too, for what I’ve taken from you.”
Joe chews his inner cheek, contemplating what that means and how it will all play out.
“And Joe, I’ve always been proud of you.”
His jaw tightens, and he swallows hard before nodding as I walk out of the office.
“By the way, where the fuck is my bed? Cause I'm tired of sleeping on the couch,” he asks.
I smile over my shoulder. “Dead men don’t need beds. It’s in the garage.” I take one more look at my brother, my twin, my blood.
“Welcome home, bro.”
Forty-one
Liam
As I walk through the kitchen, leaving Joe in the office, I check that there are enough coffee pods to make Sara’s cup in the morning.
Suddenly, my attention snaps to the refrigerator's hum cutting off, and every light in the kitchen dying simultaneously. My heart kicks against my ribs as darkness swallows the house, leaving only silver moonlight slicing through the windows and dead silence. I whip around toward my bedroom, eyes straining to make out Sara's silhouette under the blankets. Still there. Still breathing and sleeping peacefully.
Thunder cracks overhead like a gunshot, rain hitting the roof, but this isn't just weather. My skin prickles, and Joe materializes from the hallway, gun already drawn with the same instinct we share, his eyes scanning every shadow.
“Generator?” he whispers, voice tight.
“Three seconds,” I breathe, muscles coiled. “One... two...” And the house jolts alive with electricity.
Just to die again with a sickening finality that leaves us standing in the dark. Could someone have cut the backup?
“Fuck,” I hiss, the shot of adrenaline making me forget my chest wound until movement reminds me with a sharp stab of pain.
I don't have time for this.
I quietly jog back to my bedroom, each step sending fire through my torso. Sara's still asleep, curled on her side of the bed, oblivious to the danger that's crawled up to our doorstep.
A danger all too quiet… way too silent.
I slip on a shirt, wincing as the fabric catches on my bandage, then reach under the mattress for my gun. The weight of it centers me, focuses my mind away from the pain.
I move methodically through the house, checking windows, sliding the patio door locks into place. I draw my gun back to the living room, catching Joe's eyes and signaling with a sharp nod. We communicate without words, a twin thing and training that even death can’t erase.
He slips through the kitchen toward the back door while I head for the front entrance. The rain pounds against me as I move outside, keeping low, my body protesting each careful step.
The front yard lies empty. I scan the driveway, gate, perimeter but I see nothing except trees blowing in the wind and streetlights dancing under the storm, yet my instincts still scream danger.
