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I jerk my arm free and turn back to Seth. “Yeah, we need to talk.”
The pain in my chest is wrenching. Feels as if something’s breaking inside.
Goddammit, I was right the first time.
I should have fucking run.
***
“What’s going on?” Seth rounds up on me the moment we find a quiet corner of the house—a study room, from the looks of it, filled floor to ceiling with shelves stacked with books and papers. A large desk takes up one side, stacked with more papers, and a French door gives a view over the garden.
“You were late to the wedding,” I mutter, avoiding his question. Leaning against the wall, I fold my arms, not sure what to do with this newfound pain.
Though it somehow feels familiar. A sense of loss so deep and sharp it’s like a stab to the heart. The date inked in my chest burns. The date of her death. My mom’s death.
This isn’t the same, I tell myself. Cassie is fine.
She just isn’t mine.
Shouldn’t feel this way. She’s helped me. She’s been there for me. The fact she doesn’t want me as a boyfriend shouldn’t hurt.
You’re not a kid anymore. Get over it. Besides, you knew it all along. You’re not what Cassie needs. You never were.
“You listening to me, man?” Seth is scowling at me, running a hand through his short hair. “What was Jesse ranting about? What happened with Cassie? What did she do?”
“Why does everyone automatically assume she did something to me?” I match his expression. “I’m a big boy, Seffers. I don’t need a fucking nanny.”
“Whoa.” He lifts his hands, his brows arching. “Is this about her? Didn’t know you had feelings for Cassie.”
“I don’t.”
“You sure?”
“I’m sure you should shut your fucking mouth.”
He’s glaring again, and I glare right back. “I’m trying to look out for you.”
“And how has that worked out for you so far, huh?”
The clue that I’ve fucked up once again comes from his face paling and a glitter coming to his eyes. “Son of a bitch.” He blinks at me, then turns around, giving me his back. “I tried, goddammit. Tried to save you from that hell. I failed you.”
Jesus fucking Christ, Shane. I open my mouth and close it again before I find something to say to that.
“And it was all my fault,” he goes on, his back rigid, his shoulders pulled in. “That you went to fucking prison with me. Because of my mom. My problems. You stayed with me, had my back when I was too beaten up to move. And I couldn’t help you.”
Fuck. Seth breaking apart isn’t what I came here to do. Never was.
“Shit, I’m not blaming you.” Not for this. Not when I let you down just as badly, if not worse. “Stop it.”
He rubs at his arm. “You don’t have to. I blame myself.”
“Dammit, Seffers.” This isn’t what I need right now—to remember the prison and everything that has led us here. Already my pulse is booming in my ears. “You didn’t have it much better.” He’s rubbing his arm again. “What have you got there?”
“What? Oh, Zane inked a dragon on me.” He turns, frowning down at his arm. “Said that we’re as fucked up as the Inked Brotherhood is, and that we deserve dragons. Whatever the hell that means.”
Bring on the dragons. Fucking hell. “He wants us in the Brotherhood?”
“Maybe. Listen man, I…” He starts to pace. “You don’t get it. I still wake up at night, yelling for help. I keep seeing the prison, hearing you scream. I can’t… My brain still hasn’t processed that you’re okay now.”
