I may have poured myself a triple. Downed it. Poured another.
Society would judge me, but I find I don’t give a fuck. Not with Neo snuggled on my lap, his head resting against my collarbone. The hand not holding his prosecco is stroking along my forearm, like he’s reminding himself that I’m here. That we both made it out. That we’re safe.
Everyone around the table has a glass in front of them. Even Jules is imbibing. He’s not on Harley’s lap, but that doesn’t stop his eyes from darting over to him every few seconds. He, too, needs reassurance that the one he cares about is safe.
“All right, listen up.” Matthias raps his knuckles on the table, taking the helm. I’m not bothering with it. Even if I weren’t too tipsy to think coherently, I’m finding it hard to care about being in charge. Having Neo in my life is teaching me that I need to let go.
Almost losing him has taught me that it needs to happen now. I won’t waste another second of my life with him by worrying about shit someone else can take care of. That’s not to say I’m stepping backentirely…but letting one of the others take charge occasionally? That, I can do.
Matthias fixes me with a hard stare. “We need to have a discussion about our father.”
I groan internally. Then again, maybe I should’ve taken charge of this meeting. Then I might have escaped what is about to follow.
Knowing my siblings though, that was unlikely to ever happen.
Cade lights up a cigar. I don’t know when this became a thing with him, but apparently, he’s gone down the rabbit hole. “Yeah, about how Wylder murdered him.”
“Yes, without letting us help.” Matthias nods. Wyatt is leaning into him, their hands clasped tightly. I can’t believe I used to think that this was ridiculous, that the overbearing displays of affection were too much. Now I can’t imagine not wrapping Neo in my arms and holding on tight.
Just as I am now.
“It really isn’t fair,” Samson grumps, fiddling with his dagger. “I mean, I would have loved a turn with him.”
“Same,” Dalton adds darkly.
I finish my drink before responding, knowing I need all the liquid courage to get through this. “I’m sorry for not including you and for keeping it from you for all this time. But I’m not sorry I did it.”
Harley is the one to come to my defense. “I mean, I get why he did it. Dad was super shitty, and I didn’t even get the worst of it.”
“Why didn’t you let us help?”
That question comes from Cade. His expression is pinched, and Ansel is drawing soothing circles on the palm of his hand. Guilt fills me. I’m not surprised that he’s the one struggling to come to terms with it the most.
I wasn’t able to shield him as much as I wanted to.
“I’m sorry,” I say finally, meeting his eyes. “I truly am, Cade. But this…weight I’ve carried, I didn’t want you having to endure it too.”
“What weight? I’ve killed more than the rest of you combined.”
“There’s a difference,” I say quietly, explaining the same thing I once told Neo. “Killing the one who trained us, who created us to bethis way, that’s one thing. But killing the man who once loved us? Who used to twirl Mom around the kitchen while she laughed? That’s another entirely.”
A heavy silence falls, and I think they finally understand it. Why I chose to do it alone. Why I kept it from them for so long.
“Okay, I get it,” Cade says eventually. “But at the end of the day, he was a cunt, and he deserved to die.”
“He was,” Matthias replies, and then adds, “I also understand why you did it, but, Wylder, you need to stop shouldering all the responsibility alone.” His voice is stern, his eyes boring into mine. “So, moving forward, you won’t be making these kinds of decisions on your own. We’re all going to be there. Equally.”
“Well said,” Neo says softly.
“Everyone agree?” Matthias asks, and everyone nods, even Samson.
“Good. Now—” Matthias pauses and moves to refill my drink. He hands it to me, and I glance up at him. “—a toast to our brother, who has carried The Firm on his shoulders for far too long; an Atlas in all the most endearing ways. Thank you for what you did for us, Brother. We won’t ever forget.”
My eyes sting as I lift my glass toward the room and then swallow some of the liquid down, letting the burn in my throat carry the tears away with it.
When I’m able to speak without my voice cracking, I say, “I would have done it all over again. To protect you from the worst of him. May he rot in hell.”
“To hell. Hope his face has fallen off,” Samson murmurs.
