It hurts so much I can barely breathe. Does he blame me? I called Eleanor. Itismy fault. My heart squeezes inside my chest. He never leaves me alone. Never. He always predictswhat I need, protects me, loves me, and now… He’s left me! He left me to do this alone.
My heart shatters.
Breathing too quickly, I stare at Max as I cross the space. Last time we were alone together, he was guiding me through a burning national park, his grunts of conversation and the cracking of trees were my only companions.
I stop close enough that I have to crane my neck to hold his stern gaze, trying to hide the way my heart feels as though it is bleeding through my skin. “Max…”
His jaw muscles punch outwards, storming grey eyes assessing me. “I know the buildings,” he states as if answering the question of why he is here. “I approved the plans for them.” Then he grabs the back of my head and pulls me to his chest and— I wrap my arms around his thick waist. Thicker than Clay’s. I sigh into his shirt, suddenly feeling too much, too scared, too vulnerable, as though his strength is breaking the dam on my own?—
Then it’s over.
“That’s enough.” He pushes me out in front of him. “You’re a Butcher. Keep it together. I know you can.” He looks at me. Serious. “You walked nearly ten kilometres through a burning forest for my little brother. You’re not soft. Not fragile. Break down once this is over, got it?”
I nod slowly, ignoring the twitch in my neck muscles wanting to frantically shake my head in a desperateno.I stifle the flow of tears in my throat, bury my need to sob. I won’t let myself. Not yet.
Snap out of it, Fawn.
For them.
I swallow. “I got it.”
So I walk to the door that Max faces, instinctively knowing my babies are inside—longing for Clay, my heart aching—andknock on the door, ready with shaky hands to be the woman my sons deserve, the right mother for the heirs of theCosa Nostra.
“Eleanor?” There is silence.Why are my babies so quiet?“What do you want from us, Eleanor?” I face the door, my lower lip wobbling as I say, “Have you hurt my babies?”
More silence.
Painful silence.
“You knew…” I press my forehead to the door, tasting tears now as I try to breathe shallow, measured, so she doesn’t hear the tremble in my voice. “Didn’t you?”
Time stretches.
I hiccup a sob, unable to stop.
Then, I hear a scoff, far away, but distinct. “I don't know what you're talking about.”
I lift my head. Never so thankful to hear her speak, to know she is coherent. That’s good. Does she like it when I’m sad? She likes it when I hurt? Cry? I don’t hide the humiliation, enhancing it, even. “You know they raped me that night.”
“I know nothing, stupid girl.”
I whimper—it’s both real and exaggerated. “You said, ‘One minute you’re pregnant with one of my boys’ babies.’ How did you know that? I was such a slut, right? It could have been anyone’s. How did you know it was one of your boys?’”
Her horrid voice comes through the door, closer this time, so close I can imagine her body right there, only the wood separating us. “You were always making moon eyes at my poor Benji.”
That might have hurt once. Not anymore, because Clay Butcher hangs my moon and stars now.
“Yes, Benji.” I press my hand to the wood, wishing I was an X-Man with the power to burn her through the grain. “So why did you say, ‘one of my boys’ babies? One of?”
“You didn't remember what happened.” Her voice is flat and uncaring, but the message strikes me like a punch to the head—she knew everything.
“Did they tell you?” I ask, “Like, how did you know?”
“I saw the tape.”
Her admission makes me want to vomit, stomach churning at the idea she has seen what they did to me. I feel lightheaded and confused. “What? You watched them rape me and didn't... You didn't even care?”
Don’t lose it, Fawn.
