A Warm Heart in Winter(67)

Qhuinn rolled his eyes and shrugged. “Sure. I’ll get right on that. No problem—”

“I’m not diminishing your loss. It’s about coping with it—because, FYI, the shit never goes away.”

“I am coping.”

“Fine, you want to play footsie with the words? You’re coping badly.”

Qhuinn jabbed his thumb toward the bed. “I haven’t followed in his footsteps. I haven’t killed myself. So give me some credit, why doncha.”

“If that’s your standard, you’ve got a ways to go before ‘functioning well’ is anywhere near your zip code.” Z spun the toy’s prop again, a little hissing noise rising up from the plane’s tip. “Let’s go through the checklist, shall we? You’re not at meals, you’re working out too much, and you have bags under your eyes you could pack for an over-day in, so you’re clearly not sleeping.”

Qhuinn shook his head. “Fuck you, I’ve been to Last Meal at least three times.”

“Out of fourteen meals served in the dining room. Congratulations.” As Qhuinn opened his mouth, that eyebrow rose again. “Do you really want to debate the facts? We can waste some time with that, but it’s just going to prolong the ass kicking.”

Crossing his arms, Qhuinn stared off at the wall. “Say your piece. And then I’m leaving.”

“Figure out how to cope.” Z shrugged. “That’s the message. That’s it. Figure out what works for you and do it. But you can’t keep going, night after night, day after day, stuck in neutral. The work is going to have to be done, and—” As Qhuinn cranked open his mouth again, Z cut him off. “Nope, I finish, then you go. The work is going to have to be done, and you need to do it not just for yourself, but for your kids and that mate of yours, too. It’s not just for you. You do it for them as well.”

Qhuinn waited, expecting more.

“Figure out how to cope,” Z repeated. “That’s it.”

“Oh, sure. That’s it.”

“I’m not saying it’s easy. Trust me. I went through hell while I was held as a blood slave. And then I went through hell all over again when I started talking about what had been done to me. But at least the second trip through got me to a better place.”

To avoid those clear yellow eyes, Qhuinn walked around, pacing back and forth from the bed to the door. Then he took a trip through the bathroom for shits and giggles.

And still the brother sat there in that chair.

“Why,” Qhuinn asked as he came out again. “Why are you doing this to me.”

He hated the capitulation in his voice. But like he could change it? Like he could change any part of this?

“You mean aside from my impeccable credentials when it comes to being fucked in the head?” Z twirled the prop again and swooshed the plane around in circles. “Don’t you remember our little ride together on FUBAR Airlines? If you hadn’t flown me out of that abandoned lesser induction site in that piece of shit we found in the hangar? I’d have died. So I owe you.”

Qhuinn closed his eyes and remembered that death flight. And what else had happened that night when they’d searched those cabins. “That was when I found Luchas.”

“I know. Which is the other reason I’m sitting here in his chair.”

“You said he was dead. That none of this was his anymore.”

“I said the room isn’t his. This chair is.”

“Splitting hairs.”

“Don’t deflect.”

The two of them stared at each other for the longest time. And stupidly, Qhuinn kept waiting for the brother to back down, look away, maybe apologize for his tone, even if his content was on point. When none of that happened, Qhuinn didn’t want to be the one who flagged out first.

So they just stared.

In the end . . . well, big surprise, he was the one who cracked. He lowered his eyes, but to make it look like it was just because he’d decided to sit on his brother’s bed, he went over . . . and sat at the foot of his brother’s bed.

“I don’t know what else to do,” he said with a defeat he hated.

“So just do something, anything.”

“Isn’t that the name of a movie?”

“You should ask Rhage that question, not me.”

There was a long period of silence. “Can I be honest?” Qhuinn asked.

“With me? Always.”

“I’m afraid to know why he did it. I’m afraid it was my fault in some way. And you know, I can live with his death if I have to, but I couldn’t live with . . .”

As his voice failed him, he tried to gather the reins, but the next thing he knew he was weeping so hard his back was in on the sobbing, his whole torso wracked with pain. And while he cracked wide open, Z stayed where he was in that armchair, a silent witness to the active mourning.

It turned out the brother was right.

Given everything Z had been through, Qhuinn didn’t feel embarrassed or self-conscious—and strangely, if the brother hadn’t been there, he wouldn’t have released the pain.

Also, if Z had come over and touched him in any way, or said a word, or tried to get help, Qhuinn would have zipped himself up tight—and probably never reopened again.

But the brother not only had a point about the credibility he possessed, he had the sense to know that this solo journey didn’t need any intrusions.