He leaned closer to Mercer, uncomfortably close. “Here is all the proof you will receive, Mr. Bloncourt. I give you my word that the revolutionary science I am attempting will return vampires to their normal livelihoods.”
Theirnormallivelihoods. That sounded a little less like the sunscreen and blood supplements that Mercer had originally understood his research to be, and a little more like… But no. It couldn’t be.Thatwasn’t possible…
Anthony must have seen a flash of his horror, because though his words were soft, the way his gaze shifted to Lydia was anything but. “Andyou can be assured that I willnotsee that work torn down by your cowardice. You can trust me, or you can trust that.”
A chill ran through Mercer. He let go of Anthony’s arm. He stepped back. He wasn’t sure he made the decision, but his body chose for him: chose Lydia’s medication, her life, her future. The selfish choice—the wrong one, possibly—and yet the only one that had ever been an option.
So he watched Anthony walk out the front door with his unholy gold. Mercer swore he could feel every step the man took, and he thought of Rahil.
Rahil, oh God.
Mercer pressed his palms to his face and forced himself not to scream into them or melt to the floor. His body was truly shaking now, his legs weak and his lungs catching in a brand-new way, one that felt less like suffocating and more like his body wished that were the case, as though if only he wracked his chest enough then he could convince himself to pass out and leave the pain behind. And itwaspain. Thishurt.
He took one small step backwards. Then another.
The notebook—he’d had it—yes, there it was, on the floor by the back door. He must have set it down when he’d pet Kat, and just hadn’t realized it.
Mercer wanted to rip it in two or hurl it across the room, but somehow, despite the rage and pain and fear coursing through him, he merely picked it up. Something slid out of the back—an envelope. He couldn’t remember opening it, but suddenly there they were in his fingers: a dozen pages of brain scans and doctor’s notes. They couldn’t be Leah’s—he wanted to believe that—but somehow he knew they were, knew it like he knew, logically, so far back behind his coursing emotions, that Rahil wouldn’t have brought this to him if it wasn’t absolutely true. Which meant Leah had…
Cancer, his brain supplied, but his heart fixated elsewhere. Leah hadliedto him.
The idea caught so soundly in Mercer’s throat that he couldn’t breathe again. He closed his eyes, feeling the air rattle inside him, large and painful.
Lydia’s small hand circled around his arm, fingers squeezing. “Hey, Dad…?”
He had to pull it together; had to, for her. “Yes, Puck?”
She looked concerned—conflicted, even—her brow tight and her question soft. “What were you and Ray fighting over?”
Mercer’s instinct told him to bury it. She didn’t need to know this. He wasn’t ready to tell her. He hadn’t been ready to know himself, and he’d barely accepted it, much less processed the information. But he did have to tell her, didn’t he? Someday, somehow.
Before he could spiral into all the potential future dilemmas of it, Lydia added, “That mold—that was from Mom’s vampire, right?”
A shock of cold ran across Mercer’s skin. “How do you know that?”
“You wouldn’t have, like, looked so distressed, otherwise.” She fiddled with the edge of her beanie, blinking and staring toward the silhouette of her fingers like she was trying not to let the sheen develop over her eyes. “You have asad about Momface.”
“Oh.” For all that he’d tried to hide it, she’d still noticed.
“Does that mean Ray…?” She looked so very confused, and hurt, and lost, and it made Mercer’s broken heart fly back together, if only to provide her a softer landing.
There was so much of him still in pieces, so much he didn’t understand—didn’t want to—but he had to be whole for her. He wrapped his arms around Lydia, sinking to his knees. Kat immediately snuggled between them. And as he held Lydia, felt the life he and Leah had made together beating within her, Mercer realized he was not so shattered as he’d thought. Hewaslike Lydia, confused, and hurt, and lost, but this wasn’t another police officer knocking on his door. They were all safe: him and Lydia and Kat and… Rahil.
Rahil. God, Mercer had been awful to him, hadn’t he?
That was a problem for after, though.
Lydia was still watching him, her brow tight and her lips bunched.
Mercer sighed. “It’s… complicated. But what I know is that your mom’s death was not Ray’s fault, and it’s not your mom’s fault either. They both made decisions that were probably a little selfish and ended up causing more than a little pain for other people, but we also make selfish decisions, you and me, and everyone else. Sometimes those decisions turn out fine, and sometimes they turn out… like this.”
Lydia wiped her nose. “Whatdidthey do? I’m not a kid. I want to know.”
Shewasa kid, Mercer’s heart protested. But she was a kid who deserved to know. So, Mercer drove back into his memories of that time, and tried to be honest, for both of them. “I was selfish too,” he admitted. “There was a period where I knew something was wrong. Your mother had fainting spells, then fatigue and brain fog. I was terrified for her, but she went to the doctors, and she told me her results were fine.” Mercer could feel the weight of the envelope of brain scans, and decided that was more than Lydia needed for this. “She wasn’t fine, though.”
He still didn’t want to believe it, even as he said it. She’dtold himshe was fine. She reallyhadlied, and lied about something sohuge—about seeking out a potentially deadly cure for it.
Had Leah always been like that? She’d rarely seemed to get sick, hardly complained during her pregnancy, laughed off bruises and cuts when Mercer tried to worry over them. Had she always been protecting him, quietly hiding the little things until it felt reasonable to hide the big ones too?
