Page 162 of The Spider & the Storm

“Ikilledhim, Stormy.” I enunciated every word, every painful syllable. “Doyounot understandthat? His blood was literally on my hands. His mother's last son was ripped from this world because of—”

“Don't you dare say because of you,” she muttered through gritted teeth. “Don't you fuckingdaresay that.”

“Haven't you been listening to me?” I asked, exasperated.

“Yes! And we must've been hearing two different versions of this story because what I heard was, this fucking psycho came to murder you. And you”—her hand slid down my arm to grab mine so, so, so tightly—“were the fucking unbelievably brave badass who fought back. You're not acoward, Charlie.You fought back.”

I wasn't hearing her. I couldn't. “No. I—”

“And I'm so glad that you did because if you hadn't, I wouldn't have met you. Nobody would've stopped that piece of shit outside of the hotel. Maybehewould've murderedme, buthe didn't. Because you were there, and you were there because you hadn’t died. Think about that for a second, okay? Think about that before you say anything else.”

I looked away and breathed out a quivering breath, raking a hand over my face and beard. She was right—but I was right too. Mrs. Wheeler had buried both of her sons because my brother and I had killed them. I hadn't killed Tommy intentionally, but it didn't erase the fact that it'd happened.

“Whatever happened with their mom?” she asked in a whisper.

I shrugged helplessly. “There wasn't any question about whether it'd been in self-defense or not. The 911 call had been recorded, of course, so there wasn’t any kind of investigation. Very cut and dry, the cops said, so …” I shrugged again. “Anyway, I never heard from Mrs. Wheeler again. Honestly, she'd moved on a couple of years after Ritchie died, but Tommy didn't. He just … couldn't let it go.”

“It's sad,” Stormy said, her hand pulsing around mine.

“Yes, it is.”

“But I mean it, Charlie. Stop blaming yourself.”

I returned my gaze to hers, this time without the need to defend myself. A rock formed in my throat, and emotion pricked the backs of my eyes. “He didn't deserve it, Stormy. He just missed his brother.”

“I know.”

“I tried to talk sense into him.”

“I believe you.”

“He wouldn'tlisten.”

She brought my hand to her lips, kissing my knuckles. “His mind was already made up.”

An unexpected sob forced itself past the lump in my throat. “I see him when I sleep. I-I think … I think he's haunting me. I can't get him out of my head. I hate myself. Goddammit, I hate myself so fucking much.”

Stormy dropped my hand and knelt before me. She cradled my sodden face in her hands and found my eyes in the darkness.

“Let it go, Charlie,” she whispered, touching her forehead to mine. “And until you do, I'll love you enough for both of us.”

***

When I woke to sunlight and a new day, I could hardly believe I'd fallen asleep at all after emptying my soul and crying until my eyes were swollen and my face was sticky. But by some miracle, I climbed out of bed with a lighter heart, and for just a few minutes, I thought I could look at my hands without seeing Tommy's blood all over them.

I knew trauma took longer than an overnight to scab over. But Stormy's acceptance and affection had proven to be a pretty decent Band-Aid, and I imagined that I might see a day where I hardly thought about that night at all. Maybe I could even learn to forgive myself.

I hoped so.

***

We had a nice, light lunch at a local restaurant with Stormy's family. Soldier sat beside me and asked if I felt better aftertelling her my deepest, darkest secret, and I turned to him, taken aback because how could he tell?

But he only smiled, nudged his inked knuckles to mine, and said, “I know relief when I see it. Lean into it, man. You're gonna be okay.”

For once, I actually allowed myself to believe it.

After we ate, Soldier and Ray took their boys back home, two hours away in a town called River Canyon. And at the point where we watched them drive away, I found I was looking forward to seeing them again later in the weekend. Soldier no longer freaked me out, no longer reminded me of the bullies of my past, and I hoped he had another story or two about Luke to tell. I wanted to hear them. I wanted to hear everything.

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