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The toddler giggles the word, “Nutcase.”
“Don’t you start, my boy,” Bronson says to his son before holding his hand out for me to shake. “Nice to meet youofficially, Scrapper.”
“Scrapper?”
Xander presses his shoulder to mine. “He saw footage of you wrestling for the case.”
I roll my eyes. “Oh. Right. My finest hour.” I accept Bronson’s hand, but he tugs me into a bear hug so powerful that I wheeze. Dropping me to the ground, he steps backwards.
“Wow.” I shake myself off. “That was a strong hug.”
Xander pulls me to his side. “Couldn’t help yourself, could you?” The smile tugging at his mouth indicates he only half means that.
“This ravishing creature is Akila.” Bronson directs my gaze to the brunette in the chair who hasn’t said anything. Her face is still. Like a statue. Admittedly, I was trying not to look too closely because I’m awkward, wary, and I don’t want to make anyone feel uncomfortable. I know that’s wrong. But I just want to be respectful.
“Hi.” That patronising voice people use when they are trying to be extra sweet slips through my lips.God, I despise that voice. Clearing my throat, I say in a more natural pitch, “I’m Kaya.”
“She doesn’t talk anymore,” Shoshanna advises with the slightest hint of regret hiding in her tone. “You don’t need to feel uncomfortable. I know a lot of people do. Akila is my sister, and she was in an accident many years ago. We don’t know how much she understands.”
“I’m so—” I go to say the basic thing everyone says: I’m so sorry. Like, it’s something needing an apology. One that I can give… that convention never made sense to me. So, instead, I say, “That sucks.”
Can I say sucks around a toddler?
Shit, too late.
“Yeah,” Shoshanna agrees with a hint of a smile on her tanned lips. “It does suck. Thanks, Kaya.” Her tone sounds refreshed by my choice of words.
Thank fuck.
Bronson gestures around the space, taking it all in. “We are going to need more houses to demo if he keeps this up.”
“Who?” I ask, gazing between the two brothers.
“Max,” Xander answers. “He’s not a, ah…talker.”
I chuckle. “Oh, yeah. I got that about him.”
“Yeah. You’ll learn. See, my beautiful big brother Clay will show you he loves you by trying to fix your problem even if you don’t want him to. It’s his way of showing you he cares. He has the power, and he’ll wield it for you. But Max—” Bronson opens his arms wide, drawing our focus around the empty third floor—white plaster, brickwork exposed where walls once connected. “Leaves us messages, Scrapper. We have to interpret the construction zone like reading tea leaves.” He points to a half-demolished wall. “See this wall? This says, ‘Chronic Traumatic Encet—'” He looks at Shoshanna. “Baby, help me out?”
“Encephalopathy.”
“Yep,” he nods. “It says, CTEsucks.”
Stone makes a raspberry around the word, “Sucks.”
I guess you can say ‘sucks’ around a toddler. Or maybe Bronson used it for the first time because I did. Now, I’ve taught Xander’s chubby nephew a word—sucks.
Bronson and Xander laugh in a way that feels reminiscent of their youth. I smile. Warmth moves through my stomach as their deep timbres pitch together.
And even in Max and Clay’s absence, there is a connection between the four brothers that can’t be measured or taught and stretches farther than proximity. It is intrinsic in their souls. A construct of who they are at the core, above a partner, lover, father, or friend—they are a Butcher Brother.
I feed my fingers through Xander’s, swamped with humility to be loved by him. To be forgiven by him. To be a small part of this family today, enough to see these powerful, dangerous men so raw, real, and odd—it’s beautiful.
Xander walks me to a different fractured wall.
Pointing, he says, “And that hole there say, ‘Dad, you gave us all you had at the time. We forgive you, old man.’” Sadness and happiness duelling in his voice. “’Let’s move on now.’”
I blink at the dusty cavity; Xander doesn’t bear a grudge against his dad. Not even today while Luca hides in his own guilt or regret or— I don’t know. Hides in pain.
