Page 107 of Seizing Control: Part Two

“Son,” Dad urges me a second time. “You needa get dressed.”

On shaky legs, I do as I’m told. Once my fresh jeans are buttoned, I accept my clean cut from Dad, and slide it over my shoulders. Following him out into the hospital room we’ve been told to wait inside, I am working hard to keep my breathing from giving away my panic. Game face in place, shoulders back, I do my best to hide my distress over Cherub’s condition as I begin to mentally catalogue the bodies we’ll need to adequately secure the hospital, my wife’s room, and the NICU.

Before I can open my mouth, I’m met with a fist to the face. My head snaps back. A flare of pain sears through my chin and into my cheekbone, then a clanging sound erupts in my ears. A pair of multicoloured eyes glare at me a heartbeat before the world turns black.

When I come to, the same gaze locks with mine.

Lazarus lifts his top lip into a snarl.

Moves to pin me to the floor with his boot against my throat.

Hunter’s arm curls around his neck. My younger brother drags my ex-best friend away from me before he can stomp me into a permanent sleep. I push upright, shaking my head when stars erupt behind my eyes. Blood runs down my face, the wound etched in my skull reopened by his punch. Working my jaw open and closed, I check that it’s not broken. Satisfied that I’m able to speak, I wobble back to my feet.

“Thought we were gonna pull together.”

“Changed my mind,” he jeers. “I don’t negotiate with cowards.”

We circle each other, too much water under the bridge to settle our rage, even in this time of crisis. I take in his perfectly tailored black suit. He sneers at the president’s patch on my lapel. Round and round we go, the other people in the room silent observers to a showdown that’s been a year—a lifetime—in the making. It was temporary thwarted by my attempt to end my life, but old animosities have risen to the surface, and they can’t be ignored any longer.

My temper sparks as I listen to his steady breathing.

The unblinking reproach in his expression is infuriating.

He believes that I’m a lost cause.

Not my wife’s hero.

Unworthy of being his friend.

“I heard what you said to her,” the arsehole formerly known as Venom proclaims. I sniff, then swipe at the blood that runs down the side of my head. Cocking my head to one side, I raise my eyebrows in a request for him to elaborate. “The bullshit you said to her. Your cowardice... that could’ve been the final thing she heard.” As Lazarus crushes the front of my t-shirt in his fist, I let him shake me. His summary is right—I unleashed the worst of my cowardice on my wife minutes before she haemorrhaged. “Guess you’ll be happy to learn the twins are mine. One less reason for the suicidal National president to stay alive. Two less people you’ll disappoint when you eventually take the easy way out like the weak prick you are.”

Mumma gasps as Lazarus spills my secret for all to hear.

Enraged by his overstep, I snarl, “Bullshit.”

“Did the test myself.” Hunter scoffs. He crosses his arms over his chest and smirks. “Ain’t a drop of Hudson blood in their veins. Thank fuck.”

“Nah...” I ignore my brother to rail on Lazarus. “That’s where you’re wrong.” It kills me to admit this out loud in front of my parents, but I forge on anyway. “I might’a lost sight of things for a minute, tried to take the easy way out, but I’ve got my head on straight now. The twins are mine. Just like Garrett is?—”

“The son you refused to acknowledge for the first three months of his life—that Garrett?”

“Listen.” I jab Lazarus in the chest, taking out the flare of remorse that sets my gut roiling as I realise that I just said my son’s name for the first time on the man in front of me instead of turning it inward. The arrogant prick grins wide, unperturbed by my hostility. This side of him is new, he’d normally be raging at this point. Instead, Lazarus is visibly amused by my floundering, the anger he feels banked behind a wall of control that I never suspected he possessed. “You left. I stayed. She’s my wife. Those are my kids.” Another jab. “You can head back into the shadows to keep playin’ the Adjudicator’s bitch boy... ’cause you ain’t welcome here.”

“Well, actually—” Hunter’s interjection is interrupted by the door being opened.

Nadia storms inside pushing a pram. “Look what the cat dragged in... a not-so-dead somnophiliac and the least-likeliest to be voted Dad of the Year.”

Behind her, Sander limps into the hospital room, and the remaining Mayberry brothers follow him. My prospect comes to stand with me, Wyatt’s disbelief at encountering a real-life ghost tempered by his duty to have my back. My wife’s twin freezes, mouth open, caught between shock and horror at the sight of his resurrected friend. Cherub’s youngest brother nods to himself, offers Lazarus a fist bump that is slowly reciprocated, then he pops a piece of gum into his mouth and leans against the wall next Hunter.

“This is gonna be good,” Nate comments.

My younger brother laughs at him.

Everett’s reaction is even stranger.

“Goddamnit.” He shakes his head as he scoffs, “Fuckin’ knew it was you that night.”

“A thank you will suffice,” Lazarus tells him.

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