Now it’s me ordering myself not to allow the tears stinging my eyes like a swarm of a hundred mad-as-hell bees to fall. Clearing my throat, I duck my head. The hard clasp of fingers on my shoulder steadies me, and I inhale a deep breath, holding it.
“And when you come back—because you are coming back,” Knox growls, “the offer of the new shop is still yours. I won’t open it until you get back. The deed on the building will have both of our names on it, but the shop will be yours alone to name whatever you want, do with whatever you want. It will be your business.”
Dammit, he got me. “You don’t have to do that,” I mutter.
“Hell, I don’t have to do anything. But it’s what I’m doing. Yours, Jude. No one else’s.”
Turning around on the stool and pretending to fiddle with the needle, I murmur, “Thank you.” Clearing my throat, I get myself together and face him again. “Can you sit down now, so I can finish this thing?” I jab at the bench. “If this valkyrie comes out looking like she’s been kicked in the face, I’m telling them Hakim did it.”
Finally sitting down, Knox snorts. The vise around my chest slowly loosens as I resume tatting him, but the warmth his words left behind is probably lighting me up like a damn glowworm.
A couple of hours later, I clean up the tattoo and snap off my gloves, proudly eying the piece. A bold, winged warrior on a horse, her black hair flying behind her, gold body armor gleaming, and wearing a fuck-with-me-if-you-want expression on her gorgeous face. Like I said. Badass.
Knox stands after I wipe the last of the excess ink and blood away and strolls over to his mirror. Turning, he studies the tattoo over his shoulder. I wait, my gut tight like it always is after I ink him. Long moments later, he glances at me, a rare grin lifting his mouth.
“Like I said, the best.”
I smile back at him, so wide my cheeks pull.
“Thanks, man,” he says, giving me his back again. Carrying gauze and tape, I wrap it for him. “So…” He walks over to his chair and snatches up his shirt. “What’re you going to do about your girl?”
“What?” I ask, hedging, playing dumb, but this is my brother. He just arches a dark eyebrow and waits me out. Shaking my head, I remove my gloves and toss them in the garbage can. “She isn’t ‘my girl.’” Ignoring Knox’s snort, I start cleaning up the station. “And there’s nothing todo. She knows about London, and she has no plans on leaving Chicago anytime soon.” Not with her mother here and not doing well. Not with her just starting her life over. “Besides, have you forgotten the part about her being our stepsister?”
“Really?” he scoffs. “You’re talking to the man who impregnated his brother’s widow,” he drawls.
True that. I guess that whole taboo thing doesn’t really mean shit to Knox.
“She’s not your blood relative. Hell, before a few weeks ago, you hadn’t even seen her in ten years. And if you try to tell me you feel nothing but…familial toward her, I’mma need to take you out back and beat the hell out of you just on principle.”
“Eden gets pregnant, and you turn into Oprah.” I narrow my eyes on him. “What do you want me to say?” I demand. “Yeah, Cypress and I are fucking. But that doesn’t change the fact that she’s still Dan’s daughter, and coming clean with him would not only put Cypress and her mother in a financial pit, but it would possibly tear apart what little remains of this family.” As soon as the words exit my mouth, I whip around, facing my brother. “Knox, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…”
Anger sweeps over his face, settling it in hard, rigid lines. Propelling forward, he covers the space that separates us in two long strides. His hand cups the back of my neck and drags me up and forward until our foreheads are nearly touching.
“Don’t you ever get tired of being the savior of this family?” he snarls. “Of being the self-appointed Atlas of this goddamn crumbling world? You climbed up on a cross at thirteen and haven’t gotten down since.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” I ask it, but at the mention of “thirteen,” my heart starts thudding in my chest, my stomach bottoming out.
“I’m talking about when mom tried to kill herself, and you saved her life,” he snaps. His grip on me tightens, and he shakes me like a puppy caught by the scruff of its neck. “I’m talking about her asking you to keep it secret and you doing just that.”
“How—” I swallow. Try again. “How did you know? When—” My throat, dry and cracked, closes shut again.
“I knew as soon as Mom came home, and I overheard the two of you talking. Not that that bullshit story you came up with made any sense. Her burning her hand on the stove? That didn’t explain me having to pick you up from the emergency room later that night or her two-day staycation in the hospital. But after I overheard her begging you not to tell anyone about what happened, I snuck into her room and found the blood you didn’t do a great job of cleaning up on the bathroom floor. The long-sleeve shirts in summer filled in the rest.”
“You didn’t say anything,” I whispered, stunned, part of me still not grasping what he’s saying. He knew? I’d carried this load for over half my life, and heknew? I hadn’t been alone?
“Because you promised Mom you’d keep her secret. I couldn’t put another burden on you, one of breaking your word. But I also couldn’t help you, and I was pissed. So damn pissed at her for doing that to you. To us. For deciding living without Dad was worse than living with us. That’s when I started fighting because I couldn’t help you, and I’d failed both you and Mom when you needed me most.”
“That’s not true,” I protest. “How could you believe—”
“The same way you believe that the fate and strength of this family is all on you. That Mom’s happiness is your responsibility. None of it is. I almost lost Eden a second time because I couldn’t stand the pain of disappointing Mom again. Of being another blow to the Gordons. But guess what, baby brother? We’re her kids. That’s what the fuck we do. Disappoint. Along with bringing joy and pride. You can’t have the good without the bad. That’s life. And if you let that woman walk out of your life—or you walk out of hers—because you fear breaking apart this family, then maybe it should be broken. Because that means we weren’t that strong anyway. And maybe we all need to fall apart to build something new. Different. Better.”
Then he does something he’s never done before. Something that leaves me so blindsided that when he walks out of the room, I remain where I’m standing, those goddamn tears I battled back before sliding down my face.
He does something no one has in the fifteen years since Dad died. Especially since Dad was the last one to do it.
He kisses me on the forehead.
And walks away, leaving me to stare after him.
