Wind swirled through the trees to rustle the leaves. “What happened?”
Nick’s expression was wary, as if he expected Gabriel to hit him, or snap. Or worse.
“I did it again,” Gabriel said, and his voice sounded thick. He pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes and struggled to breathe. “I did it again, Nicky.”
“What happened?” Nick’s voice was softer now.
Gabriel shook his head. “Just go.” His voice broke and he didn’t care. Air swirled through the space between them, and the leaves rustled as Nick shifted to stand.
Good.
But then Nick had a hold of his sleeve, of his arm, and he was pulling. Hard. “Get up. Come on.”
Gabriel fought his grip as anger pierced through the despair. “Leave me alone.”
“Get up.” Nick was still dragging at his arm. The air dropped ten degrees. “Move.”
“Let me go.”
“Move.”
“Goddamn it, Nick!” Gabriel wrenched his arm free. “I’m not going in the house!”
Another ten degrees. “Why not?”
“Because I don’t want to hurt anyone else.”
Nick stared at him for a moment. Gabriel tried not to shiver.
Then Nick clocked him on the side of the head. “I don’t care. Move.”
When Gabriel didn’t, Nick kicked him. First in the leg, then in the side. Right where that horse had gotten him with a hoof.
Gabriel swore and pushed to his feet, holding his side. “Stop.”
“You stop.” Nick got in his face. The air was colder now, thin and hard to breathe. “Stop being such an ass and come in the house.”
Gabriel sucked in a breath to fight—but the air was frigid and snapped at his lungs. His ribs hurt. His hand ached. He felt like he’d been fighting for so long.
“I can’t do this anymore,” he said, so softly that he barely heard his own voice.
But the wind would carry the words to Nick, whose expression didn’t soften. “Then don’t. Come on.”
And this time when he yanked at Gabriel’s arm, he followed.
The house was quieter than the woods had been, filled with the hush of sleep and early morning. Still, the coffeepot was brewing when they came through the back door, though no one was in the kitchen. Chris’s and Michael’s doors were closed. Nick practically shoved Gabriel into the upstairs bathroom.
“Sit,” he said, his tone clipped. He jerked at the faucet, turning the water on cold.
Gabriel sat on the closed toilet. He caught the edge of his reflection in the mirror, and just that edge was enough. Leaves and fire debris in his hair, tear-streaked soot on his cheeks.
“Nick,” he said, and speaking still felt like talking around ground glass. “Just—”
“Shut up. Put your hand in the water.”
When he hesitated, Nick sighed and grabbed his wrist, thrusting his raw knuckles under the faucet.
Gabriel hissed at the sudden pain, but Nick held fast. “I’ll bet your hand is broken.”
Probably. The skin was torn open across the back of each finger, and the side of his hand was swollen. The water felt fantastic and terrible at the same time.
Gabriel didn’t say anything, just watched the water stream into the drain, dragging dirt and blood with it. Soon his hand would be clean, identical to Nick’s again, except for the gaping wounds.
He sniffed and swiped his other sleeve across his face, but it didn’t feel like it did much. “Nick.”
“Yeah.”
Gabriel glanced up and met his brother’s eyes. I’m sorry.
But he couldn’t make himself say it. There was just too much to be sorry for, as if two words couldn’t contain it all.
Nick finally sighed and looked away, turning off the faucet. “I’ll get you some ice. Think you can get out of those clothes?”
Gabriel nodded. He’d kicked off his shoes and wrestled out of his sweatshirt by the time his brother came back with an ice pack wrapped in a towel.
Nick didn’t say anything, just set it on the counter and started to back out of the bathroom, pulling the door shut behind him.
But the door stopped with a few inches left. “You want me to bring you a cup of coffee?”
Coffee. The scent of it filled the house now, just like the guilt of his parents’ deaths filled Gabriel’s heart until he couldn’t contain it all anymore. The raw emotion clawed at his chest, at his throat, at his eyes, spilling over until he was crying in earnest.
Then Nick had an arm around his back and Gabriel was crying into his brother’s shoulder.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “Nicky, I’m sorry.”
And Nick just held him until he ran out of tears, and they were sitting on the bathroom floor, side by side. They’d used to hide in here, when they were younger, usually after pulling a prank on Michael. They’d lock the door and whisper with the lights off, crouching by the bathtub while Michael pounded on the door and yelled for Dad to get a screwdriver.
Now there was barely enough room to sit.
He didn’t want to think about the past, anyway. Gabriel felt like he’d never have the strength to stand up again. To go to school.
To face Layne.
He wondered if she was okay, if the firefighters had put the fire out.
He wondered if she’d ever forgive him.
He wondered if he’d ever forgive himself.
“Want to know a secret?” said Nick, his voice almost casual, as if Gabriel hadn’t just spent fifteen minutes sobbing on his shoulder—and spent days living like an outcast. As if nothing had changed, and they were as close as they’d been two weeks ago.
It reminded him of his conversation with Hunter, about how sometimes you were left with no choice but to move forward and do what you would have done anyway.
Still, Gabriel had to take a steadying breath to speak. “You’re filming this for later blackmail?”
“That, and . . .” Nick paused, and his voice took on a new note. “When Becca’s dad caught us and trapped us in that freezer, I was so glad I was in there, and you were out here.”
Gabriel rolled that around in his head for a moment. “Why?”
“Because I knew you’d be strong enough to get us out.”
Gabriel gave a humorless laugh. “Yeah, but not strong enough to keep you from getting caught in the first place.”
“You were strong enough to get away.”
“Jesus Christ, Nick, you don’t think I feel bad enough about that already?”
Nick swung his head around. “Bad? Why do you feel bad about that? You don’t think I feel bad being such a liability all the time? Like it’s not humiliating enough that my brother has been saving my ass since middle school?”
“What are you even talking about?”
“I’m talking about Tyler. Seth. All of them. How every time they’d want to fight, you’d stand up to them and I’d run.”
“Nick . . . you’re crazy. You’d fight—”
“No. When the fighting got dirty, when they meant business, you’d fight.” Nick was looking at the wall now. “You’d fight, and I’d run.”
This was insane. “I’d tell you to run! I was usually running right behind you.”
“Forget it. You’re missing the point.”
“Goddamn, Nick. What is the point?”
“Shhh.” Nick glanced at the hallway. “You’ll wake Michael, and he’ll have an aneurysm if he sees you like this.”
Gabriel shut up.
Nick looked down at his hands, rubbing at some of the soot that had come off his brother. “Sometimes I wonder if you didn’t let me in on the fire stuff because you knew I wouldn’t be able to handle it.”