“What good would that do?”
“You owe me.” A sob escaped Rowan. “For all those times you were away or were angry or too busy. Do you want to know why I’m scared of you? Because you never look happy! What can be more frightening than someone who’s always angry and so sad?”
Maybe he was still recovering from last night’s turmoil, but all his defences were gone. Rowan’s words cut him deeply. Every emotion was as vivid as the pain he so much favoured. Whether he preferred the pain or this raw emotional onslaught was debatable.
“I worked a lot, and I’m sorry if I neglected you, but everything I did, every hour I worked, I did it for our family.” He wouldn’t deny being sad.
“No. You did it for yourself and your obsession with rebuilding our fortune.”
“I care about our family more than you can imagine.” His voice broke.
“Say it.” Rowan’s voice was icy cold, and Tristan wondered if he had the same tone when he was angry. “Say that my mother will never come back.”
“I don’t want to hurt you.”
“Uncle George told me it wasn’t his secret to tell, but he was also honest and said not to hope for her return. Why did she leave? Why? Because of me?”
“Hell, no!”
“Then why?” Rowan stomped a crutch on the floor. “Why?” He stomped the crutch again.
“She had a lover!” The harsh words came out of his mouth before he could stop. He should have been gentler. But then again, that could be said about everything he’d done.
They stared at each other in silent shock.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I shouldn’t have said it like that.”
Crying in earnest now, Rowan snatched his crutches and started to walk away, but he lost his balance and fell over.
Tristan shoved the covers aside, rushing over to Rowan, ignoring the pang in his ribs. “Let me help you up.” He bent down and took Rowan’s arm.
“No.” Rowan shrugged himself free. “You’ve never cared about me because we don’t share the same mother.”
“That’s not true. You’re my brother. I love you.”
Rowan wiped his face and tried to stand up but paused when he noticed Tristan’s bruises and bumps, or at least those the bandage left visible. “Who did that to you?”
“I did.” If his brother wanted the truth, then he would give it to him.
“What do you mean?”
“I box in an illegal ring to feel pain.”
Anger returned quickly to Rowan’s young face. “You do that on purpose?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Neither do I.”
Rowan studied the injuries. “You could die.”
He stretched out his arm. “Rowan?—”
“Don’t touch me!” Rowan scrambled up to his good foot and walked out of the room as fast as the crutches allowed him.
He slowly sat down on the floor, his back against the bed. He’d horrified and hurt his brother, and he couldn’t blame Rowan. He was horrified by himself.
That realisation hurt him deeply, and it wasn’t the type of pain he enjoyed.
