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As if I’ve given him a present instead of my shitty memories.
Then again, in a sense I’m laying myself wide open, bare all the way, for him to see, like I did with Dakota. He’ll know my darkest fears, see right through to my soul. I’m giving up control by tearing down my secrets, my walls.
Trust. It’s all I have, and I trust them both.
“Maybe someday you can talk about it,” Ash says, and I shrug, not sure I’ll be able to. “Anyhow…” He frowns and glances over his shoulder. “There’s someone here.”
I try to see past him, and he steps aside.
“Hey, man,” Matt says. He glances from Asher to me and shoves his hands into his pockets. “Can I come in?”
***
“…said you were out of hospital. I know I arrived way too late, but I had to see how you are.” Matt stops and stares at me, as if expecting something.
A reaction.
Shit, he’s really here. For a moment I thought I was dreaming—then I remembered Emma, and her funeral and sort of missed the rest of what he was saying.
I scrub a hand over my face. “Did you say Ash called you?”
“I don’t even know who he is,” Ash grumbles from my right.
When did Ash sit back down on the sofa? Wasn’t he on his way out?
“Rafaele Vestri called me,” Matt says.
I blink at him stupidly until my brain restarts. Rafe. Rafe called him?
“I’m Matt, by the way.” Matt extends his hand to Ash. “Emma’s husband.”
Ash shakes Matt’s hand, his gaze clearing. “We’ve met before, haven’t we?”
“Yeah. We sometimes came to visit here, before Emma fell sick.”
Ash nods, looking partly glad and partly horrified. I wonder why he stayed, but then I notice he’s sitting between Matt and me, as if to protect me. Or protect Matt from me? No idea.
It really makes me wonder what expression I wore when Matt came in.
“Rafe said you were in a coma. That you were in the hospital.” Matt frowns. “I didn’t know. If I’d known, I’d have come earlier.”
No idea what the hell to say to that. “Why are you here now?”
He flinches. “Because… we’re family, Zane.”
“You left.” Anger warms up the cold spaces inside me, so I welcome it. I’ve hung on to anger all my life to survive. Anger hasn’t let me down as much as people have. “You took the kids and left.”
“Try to understand.” He tugs on his short hair. “I had to take them away, far from home. They miss their mom. I was only trying to help them get through this.”
I nod, because I can’t speak without yelling at him to get the fuck out.
After a while, he seems to get the message anyway and stands to go. I still want to yell at him.
And I don’t want him to go. Not really.
I lurch to my feet before he takes a step. Something is tightening in my chest. Chances are I’m gonna fucking break down for the first time since I can remember myself.
Matt shifts his weight from foot to foot nervously. He may be in his mid-twenties, but in the span of a few months, his hair has gone gray. How didn’t I notice before?
