But I’ve realized avoidance isn’t getting me anywhere.
The rage and disappointment I felt when Dane walked out of that cell has had nowhere to go except my gut. And it’s becoming increasingly toxic sitting there.
Especially when I still don’t understand why he never helped me. Why did he let the order to beat me go through?
After talking to Mama this morning, I was forced to confront the glaring question I’ve spent two years avoiding.
Was my brother as lost as I was?
Sure, I didn’t make decisions that led to someone being hurt so immeasurably. But I also wasn’t my best self when I was trapped in Glory’s clutches.
When did Savage finally loosen his grip on Wolf?
When I was about to give up on ever having the courage to ask those questions, I saw it. A box. Tucked on the second shelf of the TV console.Thebox. The one I used to shove the letters into without even looking at them. Wolf’s letters—sent every week since I left this club over two years ago.
I had no intention of opening the damn thing. In fact, I’d spent a solid minute cursing Ruin for bringing it here in the first place.
But the pressure in my chest wouldn’t ease. Because suddenly, it wasn’t just a box filled with letters that appeared at my doorstep week after week.
They were words from someone I had seen bleeding. A real human being who hesitated, hurt, cried, and kept showing up anyway. Someone who still called himself my brother. Someone who never hid the devastation on his face when I glared at his attempts—so many attempts—to talk to me. Someone whose relief was painfully obvious every time he realized I was okay.
The letters suddenly had a person behind them.
I hated that I even had a reaction to them.
Which is probably why I ended up sitting cross-legged on the carpet of my club apartment.
Terrified.
My hands trembled as I reached into the box, digging to the bottom of the massive pile until I found the very first letter he’d ever written.
The paper was creased and worn when I took it out of the envelope.
Seeing the first words made tears immediately rise behind my eyes. By the time I finished reading the short—yet utterly devastating—letter… I was sobbing.
Not the quiet kind either.
The kind that tears out of your chest.
The kind where you can barely pull in a full breath.
Selfish.
Misguided.
Bastard of a brother.
I’m no fucking brother to you.
I know that.
Neglectful.
ThoughtlessArrogant.
I’m a danger to you, aren’t I?
Protector… what bullshit.
