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Oh, thank fuck.
The doorman nods. “The elevators are on your left, Mr. Leblanc.”
I go up to Will’s apartment in a brief pocket of calm. I had a purpose in getting here, and I’ve achieved it. However, nervous systems are almost entirely bullshit. The knowledge that Will’s place is locked down, with private security in the building and a doorman who’s paid a salary commensurate with keeping his mouth shut, won’t prevent the oncoming panic attack. The body responds to perceived threat, but it also responds to perceived safety.
Will’s door is already open. He looks me up and down.
“The fuck is happening? The doorman said you showed up here on foot. He didn’t say you were wearing a fucking wetsuit. No wonder he wanted you out of the lobby. Jesus, Emerson, get inside.”
He pulls me in by the front of my jacket and locks the door behind us.
“Did you swim to the city docks?” he demands.
“I swam to a beach and then I called an Uber. And then I walked.”
He sighs, pushing both hands through his hair. “Did you bring clothes?”
“I didn’t have much time to pack.”
Will takes me through to his spare bedroom. “I’ll get you some stuff to wear.”
He goes across to the master, muffled curses floating out as he slams drawers and yanks things around on hangers. My brother reappears a minute later with a stack of clothes in his arms and his phone wedged against his shoulder.
“Get in the shower before you die of hypothermia. We’ll have a drink when you’re done. Yes,” he says, to whoever is on the phone. “He showed up here in his wetsuit. Did he say anything to you?”
He called Sin, then. Will’s voice fades as I go into the bathroom.
Hot water appeals to the animal part of me that agrees with Will. I’ve been cold for a long time now. The patterns of his bathroom tile imprint onto my brain. It’s going to be the worst kind of attack. One that builds in intensity until the least opportune moment. One that happens in front of another person. One that is, to my shock and embarrassment, all painted together with a strange grief.
I shouldn’t be away from her.
After I’m showered and clothed, I find Will in the living room with a beer in each hand.
“Everything fit okay?” he asks.
“Yes.” I surf more than he does, but we’re roughly the same size. He chose comfortable pants and a sweatshirt that feels obnoxiously expensive. I thought I’d overheat in these things. I underestimated how cold I’d gotten. Will holds out one of the beers, and I take it.
“What happened?”
“Dad.” The rest sticks in my throat. Fuck our father. He ruins everything he touches. He started with us, and he hasn’t stopped. I take a seat on Will’s couch. He sits in an overstuffed chair not far away. “He tipped off the Morellis. They came for her.”
He leans back in his chair, shaking his head. “What did you expect? You kidnapped her.”
“So call the cops.” My grip on the beer bottle makes the muscles in my hand ache. “Put me out of my misery. Do it because it’s the right thing to do, not to get the fucking reward money.”
“Oh, shut up. I’m not calling the cops on my own brother.” He gestures to my beer with his own. “Relax, asshole. Drink some alcohol and we’ll have dinner.”
“Dinner?”
“Yes. Food. We’ll be eating it in the same room like civilized people.”
“We haven’t done much of that.” Because of me. Because I knew how my brothers saw me. Because I knew what I’d become.
“We couldn’t do much of anything from inside a fucking closet.” Will takes out his phone and scrolls. “What do you want?”
A blink sharpens the lamplight coming down over him and adds intensity to the shadows. The variations in his navy sweater take turns foregrounding themselves. Every breath I take seems to contain less oxygen.
“You choose.”
