Page 95 of Icarus

Icarus threw his arm out, furiously. “Asking, whatever!” he shouted.

Angus closed his eyes for a long moment, but opened them before Icarus could start screaming again.

“It’s a favorite of Ramona’s. Mr. Black’s wife. He . . . likes to buy pieces she is fond of and destroy them. Or display them, whichever he thinks would hurt worse. The piece is on loan from a museum and they will never get it back from him. Ever. To me, it’s worth the risk.”

Icarus stood in the shaft of light from the hallway and crossed his arms. The risk. Icarus was the risk. His safety was the risk. Icarus had been feeling so fucking hypocritical about planning to take the torque and leave nothing, but this was so much worse than that. At least Icarus was leaving the entire city directly afterward and saving a child abuse victim with the proceeds. Not sending his own kid in as some sacrifice, for a woman he hadn’t even seen in—

“What does she mean to you?” Icarus asked dangerously.

“Icarus—”

“Were you fucking her while my mother was dying?”

Angus stood, fully awake now. “Watch your tone.”

Icarus whirled around. He snatched the disc off the table. He was so furious he could barely feel his arms.

“Icarus stop!” Angus shouted. He grabbed it from Icarus’s grasp, sinking beneath its heft. With a groan, he settled it back onto the table. “I owe her. She helped me. I owe her.”

Icarus backed away, shaking.

“The commission. She painted from the bottom up and I painted from the top down. She was helping me. We were working as fast as we were able,” Angus panted. “I owe her for trying.”

Icarus pressed himself into the wall by the door as Angus pushed the statue away from the edge of the table, gritting his teeth at the pain.

“I was there every night, but it wasn’t enough . . . She got up in the middle of the night, when Stuart was asleep, and filled in what she could. He broke her arm for it when he caught her, Icarus. That is on me.”

Angus looked exhausted.

“I don’t like talking about this,” Angus said. “I am too old to keep reliving this.”

“I didn’t know,” Icarus mumbled.

Angus rubbed his eyes, agonized. “I didn’t tell you. How could you?”

That wasn’t enough.

“Dad, you just can’t. You can’t do reckless things like this just because of your own fucking . . .” Icarus shook his head. “Look, I get it. I understand what it means to owe someone something. But, you also owe me. You owe it to me to not create fucking situations like this. Are you trying to go to prison? Do you want Mr. Black to catch me? To trap me? Do you think Ramona would want that? Do you even know what she would want anymore?”

Angus shook his head. “Icarus—”

“It’s been sixteen years. Can’t this stop? Can’t we all just stop?” Icarus wanted to scream this, but could hear the tears in his voice. The sound choked, quiet, in his throat.

“You have never asked for this before.” Angus caught the edge of the table, put his other hand to his chest.

“I . . . I . . . it’s not like I don’t care anymore. I do care, and I still love her just like you do, but. Please, Dad. Please.”

Angus swallowed. He brushed the dust off his hands and crossed the room.

The weight of his hands, when they came, was heavy on Icarus’s shoulders.

“You can stop. Icarus. My son. You can stop now.”

Icarus looked up at his father.

“When will you stop?”

Angus turned from him and faced the dark of the room.