Page 61 of Savage Game
Really? I look like a fucking thirteen-year-old?
Before he could voice his concerns about his family members, the woman—Officer Rose, he now remembered—spoke with an empathetic tone of voice, “We’re very sorry to inform you that the others with you in the car sustained injuries they weren’t able to survive.”
Byron blinked as he processed her words. Dazed, he listened to the officers, robotically answering their questions until the man in scrubs ushered the policeman and policewoman out of the room with a firm, “You did your job, now let me do mine.”
They left without a protest, although Officer Savino did manage to slip a card into Byron’s uninjured hand and urged him to call if he needed anything.
“What a damn mess,” Officer Rose muttered as they left the room. “The boy is too damn young to be on his own.”
Her male partner hummed. “Such a stroke of bad luck. With the ice on the road, they didn’t stand a chance.”
But Byron knew better, he knew the cause of the accident and it sure wasn’t bad luck. He clenched his fists around the blanket and squeezed his eyes shut. A warm tear trickled down his uninjured cheek.
He wasn’t sure how much time had passed since his mind had slipped into the past. He talked about the event, he talked about his brother, his parents, and finally about his shame and guilt. He spoke until his voice was a bit hoarse, swallowing hard when the last of a story he’d never expected to share was finally uttered.
Charlotte didn’t move or talk, just listened as the beautiful, strong man revealed the scars the accident left, the scars that weren’t visible on the outside but cut the deepest.
“What you told me about Garrett…” She chewed her lip and tried to figure out how to phrase it delicately, before plunging forward. “He wasn’t just hearing impaired, was he?”
Although she couldn’t see him move, snuggled against his chest as she was, she sensed him shake his head.
“No, Garrett had several issues. He was diagnosed with Classic Autistic Disorder and had epilepsy.” Byron’s chest heaved with a mighty sigh. “He needed constant help and attention and had a profound need for routine. He used to rock in his chair and recite the chemical elements from the periodic table. It always drove me nuts.” His voice trailed off.
Idly stroking his bicep, Charlotte waited for him to continue.
“Garrett got upset by change in his routine and I was running late. So, he was super agitated by the time we started to drive. I should have left him alone and ignored him. I didn’t and they paid.”
Charlotte leaned back in his hold and tipped her head to look up at him. “Do you truly think you’re responsible? You weren’t driving. You didn’t control the weather.”
“But the fight between Garrett and me distracted my father.”
“Possibly, but people get distracted often. Have you never missed something in traffic because your mind wandered or because you were changing radio stations or answering your phone?”
“Sure,” he said with a slight shrug.
Not convinced she was really reaching him, she said, “Was that the only time you and your brother ever fought in the car?”
He snorted. “Of course not. We were kids...”
She watched as his expression began to change.
“What I'm saying is that while your fight might have distracted your dad, that most likely happened many times before without any consequences. The difference this time was the condition of the road. Even without your fight, the car could have easily slid out of control on the ice.” She placed her hand on his marred cheek. “Let it go, darling.”
His mouth trembled slightly, and she swung her arms around his neck. They sat for a long time. Long enough for the sweat on her back to cool, but she didn’t mind the chill one bit if she could help him get rid of the guilt and shame. She was aware it wouldn’t happen this night, but hoped that, over time, he would come to terms with what happened with a guilt-free conscience and a more adult perspective of the event.
28
Day Twenty-Eight
After an initial meeting with the divorce lawyer, Byron led Charlotte into Nolan House with his hand splayed on the small of her back. He’d just greeted Dan at the door, when commotion behind them made his steps falter and his head turned to peek over his shoulder. Tall enough to spot what—or rather who—was causing the ruckus, Byron sped up, wanting to get Charlotte inside the building as quickly as possible.
“What’s the matter?” Instead of picking up the pace, she slowed down and started to turn around.
“Keep walking. Liam”—he spat the name the name with all the loathing and disgust he felt for the bastard—“is behind us, no doubt intent on causing a scene.”
At his information, she paled and hurried forward. Unfortunately, her rush to get inside messed with her coordination, and Charlotte stumbled over the threshold, almost falling. Byron made a grab for her, which prevented a “face meets marble floor” disaster, but from her pained yelp and her stumbled step, he couldn’t keep her from twisting her ankle.
Byron scooped her into his arms, despite her frantic, “your leg,” and had almost cleared the door when their elderly doorman, Dan, was pushed and stumbled into Byron’s side.
