His dark eyes—so similar to mine—lifted to me, slow and unfocused. Red-rimmed. “A-Ash?” His voice shook, his whole body trembling, his teeth clenched around my name.
I dropped to my knees, jeans instantly soaking through, and I brushed his hair back, trying to get a good look at him. “What happened?”
My little brother’s gaze broke from mine, filling again with tears that vanished into the wetness on his face. “He—I…”
I waited.
Seconds.
Minutes.
Hours.
Nothing came.
“Henny?” I kept my voice soft, even though panic was crashing through me.
The water still roared in the background, and I reached up and turned it off. The sudden silence was almost deafening—broken only by the pitter-patter of water dripping off surfaces.
“Henny?”
He blinked—dazed—like he was waking up from a dream, and in an impossibly small voice, he whispered two words.
“I’m… hurt.”
The dull clatter of glass rolling across the stone floor snapped me back to the present.
“Babe?” Ethan was kneeling in front of Henry, cupping his face in his hands.
A sharp, unpleasant twitch hit deep in my gut, twisting my expression into a scowl. I shook it off. That—and the panic. The panic of finding him like this again. Hurt. I was never supposed to let him get hurt.
And it was always the same people doing the hurting.
I spun on my heel and got in Mateo’s face. “What the fuck did you do to him?”
Mateo lifted his hands, eyes widening. “Nothing. We were just talking, and he—” His gaze drifted back to Henry. “I don’t know what happened.”
Ethan was saying something to Henry, but the words blurred under the hard thrum in my ears.
I shoved Mateo’s shoulder.
The contact startled us both.
“And you expect me to believe that?” My voice sounded rough, unrecognizable. “He was fine outside.” I pushed him again—not hard, but enough to force a step back. “What did you do to him?”
Mateo steadied himself, confusion flashing across his face. “I didn’t touch him.”
Another shove, both hands on his chest now. “What did you do to him?”
“Nothing!” He stepped back, a flash of anger breaking through his usual calm.
“Like fuck?—”
“Sebastian!” Ethan’s voice cut across the room, loud and stern.
I turned.
“You’re not fucking helping.” He was glaring at me. “Cut it out.”
