And there it was. Same story, different day. Guy still didn’t get it, did he? Shane tugged off his gloves, returned them to a shelf against the wall, and shook his head. “Not a damn thing, I guess.”
Shane reached for the door handle.
“Jesus. What do you want me to say?” The agonized whisper had Shane turning back to his friend. “Do you want me to say I was so fucked in the head I became depressed? Do you want me to say I should’ve figured out what Merritt was doing? Because I know that shit is true. And that, since I didn’t see the forest for the trees, I was so guilt-ridden I couldn’t face you guys? That I thought you’d all blame me for ruining your lives and killing our friends?” Nick’s eyes were bleak with anguish.
Shane’s gut went tight as a hollowness settled into his chest. “Nick—”
“Or maybe you want me to say it was easier to ignore you than face the possibility that I’d lost you, too? Because you had to hate me as much as I hated myself, right? Or, how ’bout that the pain of the surgeries and the PT was so intense I got hooked on painkillers for about three months until Jeremy realized what’d happened, flushed them down the toilet, and called my doctor behind my back?” Nick scrubbed his hands over his face, smearing the blood on his cheek, and clawed his fingers through his dark, sweaty hair.
Christ. How the hell had the guy carried all this around for the past year without caving under the weight of it? Just went to show that you never really knew the size of the load another person carried. Except—Shane should’ve known. He was supposed to be Nick’s best friend in the world. His brother.
Damnit. Shane should’ve forced the question.
As Nick stood there pouring his soul in a bloody mess onto the floor between them, it occurred to Shane for maybe the first time ever that he’d failed Nick as much as he’d always thought Nick failed him. If he’d only pushed through his own hurt and anger, maybe he would’ve realized that under normal circumstances, the Nick Rixey he knew would never shut him out. But things hadn’t been normal, had they? Not by a long shot.
Sonofabitch.
Shane released a long breath, then crossed the space that separated them and lowered himself heavily onto the bench. “Sitcha ass down before you fall down.”
Nick sat and dropped his gloves.
Bracing his elbows on his knees, Shane watched a bead of sweat drop to the concrete. “I wish I’d known.” From his peripheral vision, he saw Nick nod.
“I know. I wish I’d been strong enough to tell you.”
Shane’s thoughts were in a whirl. Which made sense since the earth was shifting a bit underneath his feet, at least where his beliefs about Nick were concerned.
Knock, knock, sounded against the door that led to the hall. A moment later, it eased open, and Becca stuck her head through the breach. Did she hear . . .
Yup.
Her expression was a study in worry and concern. How much she’d overheard, he didn’t know. But it was something, for sure.
“Um. Everything okay?” she asked, clearly knowing the answer to the question. She stepped the rest of the way in and let the door fall closed behind her.
Nick’s glance slid from her to Shane. The man’s eyes repeated the question. Are we okay?
Shane didn’t want an audience to say the things he needed to say, and the words weren’t there just yet anyway. So he said, simply, “Yeah, man. We are.” It wasn’t enough, but it was a start.
Nick rose. Shane wondered if Becca would catch that he’d braced himself on the weight bar to make it to his feet. Her expression darkened the closer Nick got. So, yeah, she’d noticed.
“Sorry, Becca,” Shane said, rising to his feet. “Won’t happen again.”
Nick shook his head and caught her hands in his. “Be mad at me, not him. I started it. A guy thing.”
She rolled her eyes but cupped his face in her hand as she looked him over. “Well, let’s be done with the guy things, okay? We have enough enemies out there without fighting each other.”
“Roger that,” Shane said, regret making him weary.
“Okay, sunshine,” Nick said, his voice sounding as exhausted as Shane felt. Nick followed her out the door but threw a look over his shoulder before he stepped into the hall. “You coming?”
“Uh.” Shane tugged his fingers through his hair. “In a few. I think I’ll just”—he shrugged—“listen in on the feeds from Crystal’s and Confessions for a little while. Or something.”
Nick gave a tight nod, and the door closed behind them, leaving Shane alone in the cavernous quiet of the unfinished warehouse. He licked at the crust of blood on his lip as aches screamed from every joint in his body.
But, goddamn, the silence around him only amplified the roar in his head. Because the space between his ears was loud with the sound of all the words he couldn’t take back, of all the things he should’ve said but hadn’t, of all the things he wished he could say, but couldn’t.
Like apologizing to Nick.
Like . . .
Like telling Molly, yes, she could play with him and his friends.
Like telling her he was sorry he’d sent her away.
Like having the chance to say good-bye.
Jamming his hands in his pockets, his fingers found the chain of Molly’s butterfly necklace. God, what he wouldn’t give for five more minutes with his kid sister. Just five. Did she know how sorry he was? How much he loved her? That he’d devoted his life to making things right for others as a penance for getting so much wrong with her?
He stood there. Absolutely lost and completely alone. It was the stinging in his eyes that finally caught his attention, made him realize he’d been staring off into space. He wiped the burn away. Just a little sweat in his eyes. Damnit.
He hadn’t kept Molly safe, but maybe he could do that for Crystal and Jenna. And maybe Crystal could lead him to information that would help him clear his name, his teammates’ names, and the names of his six brothers who’d died. Because they were his family, too. That was a shit-ton of maybes, but Shane didn’t have a choice. A lifetime of guilt and a soul-deep sense of duty meant, at the very least, he had to try.
Chapter 7
Crystal lurched into a sitting position, not sure what had woken her. From her makeshift bed on the floor of Jenna’s bedroom, her gaze cut to her sister, all balled up against the far wall and sleeping soundly. Then what—
“Crystal! Open the damn door!” Bang, bang.
Bruno?
Adrenaline racing through her system from being startled awake, Crystal scrabbled off the floor and dashed through the apartment. What the hell was he doing here? And what time was it, anyway? Pitch black still cloaked the outside world, so it had to be the middle of the night.
A light that shouldn’t have been there slanted in a narrow beam across the living-room carpet. Crystal flicked the switch to the front hallway’s ceiling fixture and realized it had been the light from the landing streaming through the exterior door, already ajar about two inches. Only the security chain kept it from being opened all the way.
“Open it before I break it down,” Bruno growled, peering through the gap.
“What’s the matter?” she said, completely bewildered by his presence and his urgent anger. “Step back so I can undo the chain.”
As soon as she did, he pushed his way in, shoved past her, and looked around, like he was searching for something.
Tucking her hair behind her ears, Crystal watched him for a long moment, not wanting to risk having him direct his ire at her. Though, given his foul mood, that was likely going to happen whether she did something to attract it or not. “Bruno, what’s happened? What’s the matter?” she finally asked.