“Fuck!” he shouts, his hands fisted at his sides as tears stream down his cheeks. He looks the most broken about this, at least outwardly. My heart aches for him as he wheels around and stalks out.
“Sobriety be fucked,” Aiden murmurs under his breath. “He’s going to get shitfaced.”
My heart sinks. I can’t even begin to imagine what kind of trouble Finn might get into in the emotional state he’s in right now, especially if he gets drunk.
Lachlan is leaning over, elbows braced on his knees and one hand covering his mouth, like he’s been keeping in a shouted curse of his own. But he rouses himself enough to shake his head, sitting up a little straighter as he glances at Connor. He jerks his head toward the door, almost imperceptible.
“Will you keep an eye on him?”
“Yeah. I’m on it.” Connor stands up, looking strung out and haggard.
They all sound like there’s so much they’re holding in, so much they’re not saying. They’re biting their tongues so hard they must be bleeding. So much left unsaid, so much pain being bottled away. I almost can’t believe that any of them have lived like this.
How can they survive with all this pain and anger shut away?
I want to say something, to tell them to let some of it out. I know how bad it is to keep everything held inside. It’s what I did when Aiden hurt me. I kept it all inside and withdrew from everyone. It made my last year of school hell.
I can only imagine what it’ll be like for them if they never talk about their mother, never let themselves deal with the loss.
With a nod to his brothers, Connor steps out of the room, heading after Finn. It’s just Lachlan and Aiden now, still hunched over in their chairs as if the weight of what they’re carrying is too much.
Lachlan murmurs something, and Aiden replies in a low voice. I try not to listen to their words, feeling like I’m intruding somehow. When Lachlan holds out a hand, Aiden grips it, as if the two of them are sharing their strength, passing support silently back and forth as they each try to survive this moment.
Then Aiden releases his brother’s hand and rises, his back straight and rigid. Lachlan stays where he is, but I follow Aiden out, striding after him down the hallway.
He’s quiet all the way to the car, and just as silent when we both get in and he starts the engine. His expression is almost blank, but there’s a glassiness to his eyes that I’ve never seen before, a well of indescribable grief brewing within him.
I don’t know what to say. I don’t even know what to think.
I thought this man was my enemy, but seeing him in so much pain makes my chest ache.
We pull into the garage at his house after several long minutes, and Aiden gets out of the car. I follow him, shadowing his steps, still feeling like the ground is giving way beneath my feet. I can’t find solid footing.
When we enter the house, his footsteps slow as he makes his way down the hall, as if he’s not sure where to go. After a few more strides, he stops entirely, standing stock still.
He’s trying to master his grief. I can see it in every inch of him. I know he’s trying to come to grips with it, tamp it down, manage it enough to survive the next twenty-four hours, the nextdecades, without his mother.
I want to help him, but I don’t know how.
“Aiden,” I whisper.
He doesn’t respond, and I’m not even sure he heard me. The sight of his tensed shoulders makes a lump form in my throat, and I take a few more steps and then turn to face him, looking up at his haunted features.
“I’m sorry.”
It’s not enough, and I know it even as I say it, but he jerks a little at the words, as if they’re the first thing that’s penetrated the fog in his mind since we got home.
“What can I do?” I ask, taking a step closer to him and resting my hand on his chest.
I don’t know why I do it. Maybe I’m trying to ground him, or to ground myself. Maybe I just want to be sure his heart is still beating, that he hasn’t let the shock and grief turn him to stone.
His breath catches, and he stares down at me, raw emotion passing over his face. His jaw clenches as he swallows, and then his head tilts toward mine just the slightest bit.
It’s like a magnet is pulling me toward him, making my chin tip up as I rise up onto my toes.
When my lips meet his, I’m honestly not sure which one of us closed the distance. And I don’t know if I care.
His mouth is firm against mine, and his arms wrap around me like steel bands, pressing me flush against him. He kisses me like the contact of our lips snapped something inside him, some thread of control I didn’t even realize was holding him back.
