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Simon stabbed his fingers into his eyes. Goddammit, what happened? Where was she?
“Simon.”
His name made him whirl around in the chair, the wheels spinning as he yanked away from the table. His brother stood beside him, his hair scraped severely away from his face. Making it obvious that his eyes were red-rimmed and wet.
Eyes so much like his own even in their differences.
“Why are you here?” Simon stared at Ian, feeling as if he was looking at a ghost.
Not that Ian was dead.
That he was.
He’d crossed to the other side and this was his hell.
It wasn’t enough that Margo was—
He exhaled a shuddering breath. And who was left behind with him? This reminder of the parents he hated.
No, not hated. Wasn’t a strong enough word. Despised.
Loathed with every fiber of his body that wasn’t consumed with sheer terror.
And now he had to look at Ian, to accept that somehow they’d come from the same wretched place.
Somehow he wasn’t supposed to hate Ian simply for existing. He didn’t want to remember that hellhole he’d been born into. Hadn’t he done everything he could to extinguish its very existence?
Tear down the house.
Rip apart every memory that had tethered him to that worthless bastard and the woman who’d given birth to him.
To them.
Now there was a them, and he didn’t want it. There was no comfort in knowing you had someone seated beside you amidst the flames.
He’d always been alone.
Fucking always.
“I asked you why you’re here.” Simon shoved the chair beside him at Ian, hitting him hard in the hip.
Ian scrubbed a hand over his face, but he didn’t step back. Didn’t even react to what Simon had done.
Just fucking stood there as a tear wound down his cheek like blood seeping through flesh.
And just like that he knew.
Knew without a doubt what Ian had done.
What had been brought to their doorstep because of this man.
Again, the goddamn misery of his birth had tried to ruin the only perfect thing in his life. Like fucking hands grasping out of the grave, determined to pull him down into the fresh earth.
Not fucking happening.
“What did you do?” Simon stood up so fast that the chair rolled away, slamming into the wall. He stepped toward Ian, who didn’t move. Didn’t seem to even breathe. “You have one fucking second to start talking and then I make sure you can’t talk anymore. Ever.”
“I’m helping,” he whispered, and that was all Simon needed to hear.
