“Oh,” Stryke muttered as he braced his hip against the desk, “it can definitely hurt.”
Shade studied him, his eyes shadowed and so much like what Stryke saw in the mirror every morning. His mouth opened, but he seemed to think better of whatever he wanted to say.
“Go ahead and say it,” Stryke said. “I’m a big boy. I can handle it.”
There was a heartbeat of hesitation. Another. Then, softly, “We never blamed you for what happened to Chaos, Stryke.”
Stryke’s throat closed up. Turned out hecouldn’thandle it.
This was why he avoided his family. They always wanted to talk about shit. They wanted to dig up the worst day of Stryke’s life, and he had to relive his little brother’s death over and over.
The wordshealandclosuregot bandied about a lot, but how could there ever be healing and closure for something like that?
“You blamed me, Dad,” Stryke said softly. “But no more than I blame myself.”
“I did not—”
“Bullshit,” Stryke snapped, losing the cool composure he’d honed over years of practice and instruction from the Judicia. His uncle Eidolon’s mother and adoptive father were Judicia, demons who actively suppressed emotions in pursuit of perfect decision-making, and E had asked them to teach Stryke their ways at a time when Stryke was at his lowest.
Eidolon didn’t know it, but he’d probably saved Stryke’s life. Or maybe hedidknow. The guy was always a step ahead of everyone else.
Shade’s hands fisted at his sides. “I never once said his death was your fault.”
“You didn’t need to.”
The questions that day, and for several days—months—after, had been of the, “How far away from the twins were you?” and “Why didn’t you ask someone else to stay with them while you took care of yourself?” variety. Every single question had been a spear to the heart until he bled out over and over, and nothing was left but a dry husk.
Closing his eyes, Shade took a deep breath. When he opened them again, the sadness in their dark depths sent a fresh stab of guilt through Stryke’s core.
“I understand you’re in pain,” Shade said quietly. “But so are we. Your mother and I didn’t just lose Chaos that day. We also lost you.”
Stryke’s eyes stung with the tears he fought to hold back.
“Please, son—”
“I can’t,” Stryke said roughly, needing to end this right fucking now. As if on cue, his wrist comms buzzed in an urgent tap. Eidolon again. “I have to get this.”
Had his father not been there, he’d have blown off his uncle. But in this shitty scenario, the lesser of two evils was Eidolon.
Shade nodded and turned toward the elevator. “Just think about coming. For your mother.”
He disappeared into the lift, and Stryke held his breath until the door slid shut.
Exhaling, Stryke sought the Judicia calmness that quieted his mind and emotions. But it had been a long time since he’d faced his father, let alone talked about Chaos, and finding self-control took longer than he’d have liked. So long, in fact, that his comms buzzed again, this time more forcefully.
Giving in to his uncle’s persistence, he threw the holo call onto the floor in front of him. A millisecond later, the tall, dark-haired doctor stood before Stryke in a beam of light.
“Stryke. Finally. You need to come to the hospital.”
Stryke froze as he went to take a seat. “Why? Is someone hurt?” He couldn’t lose anyone else in his family. He couldn’t even contemplate it.
“It’s your test results. I need to talk to you.”
Relieved that no one was injured or dead, Stryke sank into his chair. “Then talk.”
Eidolon hesitated, and a twinge of trepidation went through Stryke. “I really think this should be in person.”
“Thisisin person,” Stryke said, not budging. “So, what is it?”