I couldn’t.
Charlie pushed off the wall, taking a half-step forward. “It’s true. All of it. I didn’t know how to tell you without?—”
“Shut up,” I snarled. The words exploded out, venom and grief and betrayal all twisted together. “Youknew. You sat there this morning, grinning like we were strangers, and youknew.”
Charlie’s face crumpled—just for a second—before the mask snapped back. “I was waiting for the right time. Dad thought?—”
“Dad?” I laughed, the sound broken and ugly. “He’s notmydad. Not anymore. And you’re not my brother. You’re a fucking liar.”
Byron flinched like I’d hit him. Good.
Amelia’s grip tightened, nails digging in. “Levi?—”
“No.” I yanked away from her, staggering back until the wall caught me. My chest heaved. “This isn’t a family. This is a goddamn conspiracy. You faked your death, hid half your kids, built this … thisfortresson lies, and what? Expected me to just waltz in and play happy reunion?”
Byron’s voice cracked. “I did it to protect you. All of you.”
“Protect?” I roared. “You destroyed us! Mom raised seven boys alone because of you. We fought over scraps because of you. And now you tell me there were more? That Charlie—Charlie—is one of us, and he let me walk in blind? Different mothers? What the hell does that even mean—you screwing around while we waited for you to come home?”
Charlie’s jaw clenched. “I wanted to tell you. From the second you showed up. But Dad said?—”
“Stop hiding behind him!” I shouted. “You’re a grown man. Own it.”
The room went tomb-silent. Only the distant hum of the house—AC kicking on, a clock ticking somewhere—filled the void.
I couldn’t look at them. Couldn’t breathe the same air.
Amelia stepped in front of me, blocking my view. Her eyes—fierce, steady—locked on mine. “Outside,” she said quietly. “Now.”
I let her pull me toward the door. Past Charlie’s haunted eyes. Past Byron’s outstretched hand that never quite touched me.
The night air hit like a slap—humid, alive, smelling of marsh and magnolia. I sucked it in like a drowning man.
Amelia didn’t stop until we were on the veranda, hidden in the shadows between two columns. The lights from earlier were off; only the moon and the low glow from the windows lit her face.
She didn’t ask if I was okay. She knew better.
Instead, she pressed her forehead to my chest, arms sliding around my waist, and held on.
I disintegrated.
Not loud. Not with screams or fists.
Just my forehead dropping to her shoulder, my arms crushing her to me, a sound ripping out of my throat that wasn’t a word. Wasn’t anything human.
She took it. Took all of it. The shaking. The wet heat against her neck. The way my knees finally buckled and she guided us down to the veranda floor, my back to the column, her in my lap like I was the one who needed holding together.
Minutes. Hours. I didn’t know.
Eventually, the storm passed. Left me hollowed out, raw, but breathing.
She didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Just traced slow circles on my back until my heart stopped trying to punch through my ribs.
When I could talk, my voice was gravel.
“They’re my brothers.”
“I know,” she whispered.
