A Warm Heart in Winter(79)

Blay could still remember the male’s fine suit. Full of holes that smelled like lead, and stained with fresh red blood.

“And where was Luchas.”

“In his room. Over by his bureau.” Blay winced. “That’s where he told Qhuinn he’d hidden whatever it is. He’d probably been stashing it there when they got to him.”

“How’d they kill him.”

“Does it matter now?”

“Finish the story, son. It’s why you started talking. You need to get this out. It’s the other reason you’ve come here. You want to see your part in the story—and your identifying and burying the bodies is where so much of Luchas’s narrative began.”

Blay looked over at Z, a pit in his stomach. “Does that mean it’s my fault?”

“You didn’t do the killing on either night, son.”

“It feels like I did.”

The Brother shook his head. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but you’re not that powerful. Some things are inevitable, both for joy and for pain. Be honest. If Luchas was so weak, don’t you think he would have done what he did last week a while ago? He was a strong male of worth. In the end, though, the injuries were too much—and I’m not just talking about the physical ones. You weren’t responsible for his pain, and the choice was one he made for himself.”

Blay took a deep breath. “But what if I got him to thinking?”

“About what?”

“Where he was in his life. Whether he was ever going to get out of the clinic. If he had a future other than swimming in that pool, getting treatments for pain, and having hunks of him cut off to control infection?”

“You don’t think all of that shit wasn’t on his mind every second of every night and all the hours of each day? You really think that his reality was some kind of revelation he was avoiding—up until you said two words to him and all of a sudden he was like, ‘Fuck me, I’m here and it’s awful’?”

“I told him Qhuinn had been promoted to private guard in the Brotherhood.”

“So?”

“What do you mean, so. It clearly changed something for him.”

At that moment, an SUV drove past, its heavy tires carving a fresh track in the snow pack. Of course it was a Range Rover. Instinctually, Blay put his hand on the butt of his holstered gun as he tracked its velocity, direction, and driver.

After it had gone by, the icy, too-bright headlights fading, the glowing red brake lamps disappearing, Z shrugged.

“Forgive me for being harsh here, son, but you need to get real. Just because you fear something doesn’t mean it’s true. Just because you’re terrified you’re responsible doesn’t make you the driver of any of this. I want you to at least try on for size the idea that you were not responsible for any of it. Not the damage done to him by the Omega and Lash, not the success and good fortune enjoyed by his brother. It’s not about you, and yes, I know that can be a very hard lesson. I’m just hoping you learn it sooner rather than later because it’s clearly eating you up.”

“But I am responsible. We all are. He was part of our community and he was suffering. We all should have done a better job supporting him.”

“You may be right about that. And I am honestly and deeply sorry for everything he went through, everything that made his final choice seem like the only way forward for him. But I think you need to forgive yourself for what you perceive your role was in the whole thing. I have been where Luchas was. I’ve walked that path of crushing pain and hopelessness. I can assure you, when I was there? I wasn’t thinking about anyone else. My own suffering was all I knew.”

Blay looked up the drive. The mansion was barely visible from the street, but that was the way of the neighborhood, everything set back behind majestic gates, all kinds of land around the sprawling homes.

“Stop bargaining with what happened, son. You’re at a negotiation table with no one sitting across from you. All you’re doing is arguing against yourself—and a set of circumstances that are not going to change, no matter how much torture you put yourself through.”

With a harsh laugh, Blay shook his head. “That’s exactly what I’m doing. How do you know me so well.”

“Because my brother lived it—you’re on the Phury side of things. He blamed himself for years for everything that happened to me. He carried that burden around for a century and it nearly killed him. Does Qhuinn blame you?”

“He says he doesn’t.”

“And you don’t believe him?”

“I’m not sure he knows where he is about anything right now.”

“You think he’s that stupid?”

“I think he’s in that much pain.”

Z exhaled a curse, his breath a white cloud in the cold. “I hate this for him and I hate this for you. And when it comes to the pair of you, I can’t tell you what to do or what to believe, but personally, I’ll vote for true love—and that’s what binds you together. Qhuinn might be confused about a lot of things right now, but the one thing I’m damn sure he’s certain about?”

When the Brother didn’t continue, Blay looked across at him.

Like he’d been waiting for the eye contact, Z continued, “What I’m really damn sure he’s certain about? The quality and the kindness of the male he’s mated to.”