Page 79 of Roaring Flames

Thirty-One

IZZY

Istep away from Hale and Gerry when I hear the front door open and slam shut.

The last thing I want is to leave Jake alone during a time like this, but I know what it’s like to want to get away. To be alone with your thoughts.

A single tear cascades down Hale’s cheek as he stares after his foster son. Gerry moves to put an arm around his husband’s shoulders and pull him into his embrace.

“He’ll be okay,” Gerry whispers, and I’m not sure who he’s trying to convince—Hale or himself. “He’s a strong kid. He’ll be okay.”

I want to yell at them, demand how they could think such a thing after what Jake was just told, but I bite my tongue. Wasn’t I the one to demand answers in the first place? It wouldn’t be fair for me to snap at them just because I didn’t like the ones I received. Jake deserved to know the truth.

But…

How can he come back from this?

From the realization that—bile swarms in my stomach—he died years ago and is nothing but memories shoved into a clayvessel. How does that work, exactly? What would happen if the magic wore off? Is that a possibility?

Fear eclipses my horror over the situation, tainting my bloodstream like battery acid.

And what if I’m like Jake?

What if I’m a golem?

“Is that… Is that what I am?” I whisper.

Hale shifts in Gerry’s embrace to face me. His eyes are red-rimmed and almost luminescent with tears. “No. No, you’re not. You’re…human.”

“Why did you hesitate before you said that?” I demand as something icy and insidious slithers down my spine.

Gerry releases Hale and takes a single step backwards. Both men stare at me with unreadable expressions.

When the silence continues, permeating the air like a damn virus, I blurt out, “Just tell me. I can handle it.”

“You’re human, but you shouldn’t be,” Hale says at last.

My brows furrow. “What do you mean by that?”

“Let’s take this back to the living room, shall we?” Gerry suggests. “I don’t think?—”

“Just tell me,” I demand. And then, as an afterthought, I add, “Please.”

I grip the granite countertop so tightly that my knuckles turn white.

Hale and Gerry exchange another one of those eloquent glances that make words unnecessary.

It’s Hale who relents with a heavy sigh. He scratches absently at the beard lining his jawline as he struggles to find the right words.

“We knew your parents,” he says at last.

It feels as if a bomb has just been thrown at me in a macabre game of hot potato.

I stagger back a step until my ass finds one of the barstools. I shakily sit myself down, wishing I’d taken Gerry up on his offer to return to the living room.

“What?” I’m not sure if I speak the word or only think it. My lips feel incapable of moving. Or maybe my tongue is simply too big to fit in my mouth.

“We knew your parents,” Hale repeats. “Your birth parents, not the ones who adopted you.”

---