Vipers and Virtuosos (Monsters & Muses, #2)(92)

Boyd pauses, sucking in a deep breath as he presses his palms into the countertop. “He was standing over you, and you didn’t even…” His fists curl, knuckles bleaching, and my sinuses burn as I watch him struggle to relive it.

There’s blood everywhere.

The memory flashes across my vision, assaulting my senses with its force, and I latch on to it the way one might their comfort character, letting it permeate my skin as if it deserves a place in my life.

“You didn’t look like you,” he finally manages, his words harsh. Rushed, like they’re as painful to utter as they are to hear. “I don’t think I’d ever seen so much blood in my life, and I knew things couldn’t be good if that much of it was outside your body. And I felt so fucking guilty that in the milliseconds before I processed, I wished for the universe to open up and just swallow me whole. To punish me, once and for all, for being an absolute piece of shit brother.”

His voice cracks, and so does something in my chest.

“I swear, Riley, if I had ever thought something like that would happen to you, I would’ve done anything to have prevented that.”

Tears sting my eyes, and I turn away, the agony etched into his face unbearable. “You couldn’t have known, Boyd. It’s not like I told you how Mom was, or what her boyfriends were like.”

“But I did know. I lived with her. I knew what she was capable of, but I was fucking selfish. So selfish, and you paid for my mistakes.” Palming the sides of his face, he lets out a ragged breath. “I thought bringing you to live with me might be my second chance. That I’d… I don’t know, fix you, or something. Reverse the damage I’d caused and absolve myself of my sins. But I still didn’t know what the fuck I was doing, or how to help, and then you were growing up and begging to go to New York—”

“And then I left,” I finish, mashing my lips together.

He peeks at me through his fingers. “And then you left.”

Every cell in my body is screaming to apologize—for leaving, for not going to him for help, for being the one our mom kept. The words claw their way up my chest, heavy with the weight of self-flagellation I’ve carried my whole life.

Shame I felt for things I had no control over. Grief for the girl I could have been—should have been, had Boyd been able to see past his own experience.

“I want to tell you it’s okay, and that I forgive you,” I say in a soft voice, and the spark of hope that flares in his eyes almost breaks me.

It slices through my heart, shredding it to pieces, leaving me bleeding and helpless on the floor all over again.

Biting my lip, a tear spills over, and Boyd’s shoulders slump. “But you can’t tell me that.”

“No.” I shake my head, looking down at the counter, drawing tiny circles on the granite with my middle finger. “Not yet.”

I’ve never seen my brother cry, or even come close to it, but as he sits in my kitchen, soaking in our shared regret and misery, his eyes grow red and puffy like he’s trying to hold it in.

And as much as I want him to stop fighting, I know that path isn’t linear. Or easy. So, I don’t say anything, letting the quiet ebb around us like soft waves kissing the shore.

Clearing his throat, Boyd reaches into the breast pocket of his pajama shirt and pulls out a little brass key. “I know I can’t make up for everything in one night. Hell, I might not ever be able to. But I would love for you to come home. Maybe one day we can even talk about the boy you’re apparently seeing.”

I take the key as he places it in my palm. “Home? I still have my old house key—”

“Not our home. Yours, if you want it.”

My eyebrows furrow. “You… bought me a house?”

“Well, I had several birthdays and holidays to make up for.”

Shock seizes my chest, and I stare down at the scrap of metal, letting his words soak in. “But what about—”

The small jerk of his chin is sharp, and his eyes meet mine for the first time since I sat down beside him. “They’re all dead, Riley. Anyone who ever might have come back to hurt you. I spent the last three years hunting them down and destroying their operation. No one is ever going to come after you again.”

He glances down at his hands, clenching and unclenching his jaw. “I know you thought I was just being a dick all this time. That I didn’t want to see you, or didn’t want you to come back. And maybe, deep down, that was a stupid part of it. But… I just wanted you to be safe, Riley. To feel safe. Now, maybe you can.”

Curling my fingers around the key, I try to let his words warm my soul. Try to think about how good it’ll feel to go back to King’s Trace, even if reintroducing myself back into the land of the living will be difficult.

But one sentence he said niggles at the back of my mind, and I note that it’s not entirely true.

I can think of one person who might come for me.





43





The people in Lunar Cove are no different than the ones in the rest of the country, I’m learning.

They’re just slower, like time travels at a wildly different rate here than anywhere else.

But now that word is out about the famous musician in their midst, the townsfolk can’t seem to stay inside. I haven’t even been to the boardwalk strip in days, because each time I’m swarmed by a mob of people begging for autographs and pictures.