They turned off all the monitors except the one showing his slow, low heartbeat. Someone unhooked the vent from the ET tube. Once the faceless people in scrubs and lab coats left the room, Jeuel circled to the window-side of the bed. He took Uty’s pale hand and held it to his chest, clasped in both of his own hands. Jeuel’s chin trembled but he didn’t seem to be crying. Simply existing with his sire. Branson felt Tarius come up behind him, and he was grateful for the firm hand Tarius placed on the small of his back.
A firm, grounding touch that showed Branson how badly he was trembling. An odd tremor he couldn’t explain that started behind his breastbone and wobbled down both hands. Made his fingers twitch. His belly swooped in a weird way. The physical reaction made no sense. He held no grief for Uty.
He fuckinghatedthe man.
So why the fuck was he so upset?
Time stretched into an endless cycle of glancing between Jeuel’s stony expression, Uty’s chest to see if he was breathing, and the slowing blip of the heart monitor. Jeuel didn’t move; he barely blinked. Branson couldn’t seem to lift his feet from the floor, to move any closer, to comfort his brother.
Then Uty’s chest didn’t appear to be moving. Startled, Branson looked higher. At a pale, gaunt face covered with thin, gray whiskers. Jeuel said the man didn’t look like his father anymore. The man in the bed was a stranger to Branson, any John, Joe or Stanley off the street. But Branson’s chest still constricted with unexpected pain. This man was nothing to him, but he’d also given Branson life.
Through the absolute worst, most violent way possible, but Branson wouldn’t be who he was today without that man’s genetic deposit. They’d never spoken a single word, never looked in each other’s eyes, never even touched. Branson hadn’t known about their connection until seven weeks ago.
The fact that the asshole was actively dying in front of him shouldn’t hurt this badly. Shouldn’t feel like fire in his lungs, or needles piercing his skin. Wetness rolled down his cheeks. Tarius’s arms wrapped around his waist, and his chin rested on Branson’s shoulder. The heart monitor flat-lined. Jeuel never moved.
Something shifted deep inside Branson when the doctor called time of death. A loss he didn’t understand, and he didn’t need to. He felt it vividly. He twisted in Tarius’s arms, allowed himself to be drawn into a firm, necessary hug, and he mourned a loss he hadn’t truly prepared for and had no idea how to process.
SEVENTEEN
Tarius had spentthe long train ride to Sonora planning how to best support Branson once they arrived, assuming all of Branson’s energy would be spent comforting and supporting Jeuel. And it had—until they crossed the threshold of Uty’s hospital room. Jeuel had gone stone-cold, while Branson had practically aged in reverse, reverting to a scared child, trembling in the face of a terrifying monster.
They didn’t stay in the room long after the doctor called time of death. Jeuel walked out first, and he kept going, so Paxton and Quillen raced to catch up with him. Tarius held onto Branson until he seemed aware of Jeuel’s absence. Without a second glance at the body in the bed, Branson pulled in Jeuel’s direction. Tarius went with him, concerned that Branson might stumble or collapse if Tarius let go of him while they walked.
No one spoke on the interminable trip to the parking garage. Tarius fought the urge to cough more than once, irritated by the persistent tickle in the back of his throat, and the new, gentle throb behind his eyes. His body was probably mad at him for being cooped up in a metal can for the last two days.
Once their group reached the cars, which were only two spots apart, Paxton said, “My condolences to you both. If there’s anything you need while you’re here, please call.”
“Thank you for everything,” Jeuel said, his voice as hollow as his eyes. “I just want to go back to the hotel. It happened…so fast.”
“That’s where we’re going,” Tarius replied. “I assume that was the last legal act required of either Branson or Jeuel? Once we board the train home, it’s over?”
“It’s over,” Quillen said. “But we will have eyes on you until you board the train. Just to be on the safe side.”
“Of course. Much appreciated.”
Corinth conferred quietly with Quillen, and then he was driving them back to the hotel using the car’s fancy GPS navigation. The door between their adjoining rooms stood open, and Corinth disappeared into one without closing it. They hadn’t discussed whose room was whose, because no one was sure if they’d be staying the night. It was barely lunchtime now, but everyone might prefer a night’s sleep in a semi-comfortable bed before braving the train’s cots.
Branson and Jeuel sat together on the side of one bed, knees touching but otherwise separate in their emotions and grief. Tarius wasn’t sure what to say or do, so he picked up the ice bucket and went in search of the little service room every hotel had. Filled up the ice bucket and bought several bottled drinks from the vending machine, including a bottle of orange juice for himself. A few snacks, too, partly to give himself something to do.
They hadn’t talked about this weird limbo in between Uty’s death and going home. Tarius had honestly expected Jeuel to waffle over his choice to sign the papers, to sit with his sire for a few hours, rather than getting it over with almost immediately.He hadn’t expected Jeuel to be so cold about the entire thing, and it worried Tarius.
When he returned, Branson was alone on the bed. The bathroom door was shut, the shower running behind it. Branson accepted a cola then held the chilly bottle to his forehead. “Do you have a headache?” Tarius asked.
“Small one. I feel a little like the ball in one of Linus’s soccer tournaments.”
“Ouch.” He put the other food down on the dresser, and then rooted around in his overnight bag for the little white bottle. Shook out two ibrospirin tablets and handed them to Branson. “Here.” He considered taking some for his own aching throat, but he didn’t want to make the moment about himself.
This was Branson’s loss.
“Thank you.” Branson opened the cola to wash down the pills, flopped backwards onto the bed, and put the bottle on his forehead. “I don’t know why I lost it like that. When he died. I hate Uty for what he did to my omegin.”
“Grief doesn’t always make sense, Bran. Remember what we kept telling Jeuel?”
“To feel what he feels?”
“Exactly. Feel what you feel.” Tarius eased onto the bed and squeezed Branson’s thigh. “I don’t think you could have predicted how you’d feel about today until it happened. I didn’t expect Jeuel to react like he did.”
“You mean so unemotional? Same. But maybe he really has mourned his sire, and today was more symbolic than emotional?”
