Trevor is going to die tonight.
Falk says something, but wherever I go when it’s too much begs to take over, muffling his voice. I don’t want to come back. Diving into the rage frees me to do what I must without regret.
But Clara’s dark eyes catch mine, just for a moment, before she spins to fend off another guard trying to break up the fight. There’s trust there. So much goddamn trust that I desperately want to deserve. Even more than I want my brother’s last breaths coating my soaking skin.
So I do the impossible. I count the three fingers on Trevor’s hand that are still attached, two of them dangling free from their joints. I sniff, the sting of chlorine mixing with the copper of blood that hits my nose. Counting the spots of blood on the blue tiles and every swipe of the blade Clara waves, giving me time to gain control again, I reach for calm. I wrestle myself back to reality.
And then I hear one sound that shouldn’t be here—a voice I’ve always listened to, someone who should never see me like this.
“Archie, stop!”
Mattie.
Not Mattie.
I force my gaze up in time to see her sprint around the pool, her sandals slapping against the tiles, her eyes wide as she takes in the handful of guards nursing broken bones on one side of the pool, while the rest of us huddle together on the other side, drenched, Clara with a knife, covered in blood, and Trevor writhing and begging beneath me, two stubs where his fingers should be spurting blood across the tiles.
Her mom and I sheltered her from this part of our lives as best as we could manage.
She should never have seen something like this.
“Stop,” she repeats, the guards stepping back as I release Trevor, Clara holding the knife loosely in her hand. Another cough racks through her, shaking her so hard she folds in half.
I wrap my arm around her, wishing I could take on some, any, all the pain she’s feeling, but I keep my gaze trained on Mattie. On my baby sister’s shattered and terrified face.
Falk and Trevor’s pet guard both rush to her trying to explain what’s going on, but after a moment, she waves them away. “Somebody call an ambulance. I, I just,” she stops, words failing her, her eyes full of pain and confusion as she looks at Trevor, at Clara, at me. Then she turns, her legs shaky as she strides from the poolroom, head held high.
Oh Mattie.
Trevor’s guard helps him to his feet, his shirt jammed against his bloody hand, while a second guard ties his arm into a makeshift sling. “I think you just lost the hero worship she always had for you,” he hisses.
Instead of answering, I scoop up Clara, wanting her as far away from Trevor as possible.
I can deal with Mattie later. I’ll have to.
Kicking off my one remaining shoe, I leave, trailing water up to Clara’s room. Falk stays one step behind us, Clara’s coughs both a blessing and a curse, her growing trembles too much of a reminder of last winter for my frayed temper.
Once we’re in the blue room, I draw a bath, not knowing what else to do. But when I carry her to the bathroom, she shrinks away from the water, and I feel like an idiot.
Of course she’s not going to want to dive into a tub right after being drowned.
“Shit. Sorry. I just want to warm you up. Can you handle the shower? Otherwise, we can cuddle under the covers.”
Her nose presses against my chest, and I can practically see her pulling bravery from somewhere deep-seated. A well so unfathomably deep it consistently surprises me. “No. The tub. I won’t let him take that from me.”
“Are you sure?”
She nods against my chest. But then she tilts her chin up, meeting my gaze. “Come in with me?”
I hide my rage, my sympathy. She doesn’t need either. Instead, I force a small smile, my best attempt at being supportive. “Of course.”
The water is just shy of scalding as I step in, both of us fully clothed, her trembling slowing the longer we stay pressed together in the hot water, the scent of chlorine stuck to her hair. I unravel her braid, carefully washing the heavy curls until they smell like whatever expensive shampoo she has here. The scent seeps into my wet clothes as well, the chlorine sting in my nose finally dispersing.
“Trips?”
“Yeah?”
Clara doesn’t look at me, doesn’t shift her weight in my lap, does nothing but let her whispered words loose in the steam of the small room.
