Page 104 of Victorious: Part 3
And that’s when Ingrid starts to panic.
“No, no, no…” Her voice is barely there, barely a whisper, trembling like a wire about to snap. She backs up until she bumps into the arm of my chair, her hands hovering uselessly in the air as if she’s trying to physically push back the truth before it reaches her. “Something’s wrong. Something’s really wrong.”
I get to my feet, every movement pulling at the bruises and burns I’ve been ignoring, and close the gap between us. And when I wrap my arms around her, she’s shaking so hard it feels like she might vibrate apart. Her breath comes in shallow bursts, uneven and desperate. “Whatever it is…” she whispers into my chest, “… just tell me. Please. Just tell me.”
Alpha’s face is carved from grief. He chooses his words carefully, like each one might be the one that finally breaks her. “Hurricane was brave tonight, Ingrid. He fought so hard—”
“No…” It’s a soundless whimper, her hand flying to her chest like she’s trying to hold her heart in place.
Alpha presses on, his own voice tight. “He was in a fight with a bird who had a rigged explosive vest. He took her out, but the vest started a countdown—”
“No…” The word is quieter this time, weaker, like she’s being hollowed out with every syllable. I feel her starting to sag in myarms, and I tighten my grip, bracing her as Alpha continues, “Part of the building collapsed, trapping him in. He stayed behind. He sacrificed himself so the women and his brothers could get out before it detonated.”
The words hit the air like shrapnel, and for a beat, the whole room freezes.
No one breathes.
The silence is heavy, suffocating, the kind that makes your ears ring.
But then, suddenly, Ingrid’s visceral scream tears through the clubhouse.
It’s not human, not really. It’s a raw, wailing sound ripped straight from somewhere deep and primal, the kind of sound you don’t just hear, you feel. It crawls down my spine, vibrating in my bones. My own breath stalls in my chest because it’s the sound of her world breaking in half. “No!” she screams, the word bursting from her like a detonation.“No, no, NOOO!”
Her knees buckle completely, and we go down together, my own battered body taking the hit against the concrete as I wrap myself around her. Her gut-wrenching sobs wrack her body, making her shake all over, as she presses her face against my chest, her voice breaking. “N-not Hurricane. N-not him. He can’t be. He can’t be…gone!”
I feel my throat burn, my own grief bubbling hot and choking.
Hurricane. Jesus Christ. Hurricane.
The stubborn bastard who could make anyone laugh in the middle of chaos. The brother I never thought we’d lose.
Ingrid’s fingers clutch at my cut, not to hurt, but to hold on, like I’m the last solid thing in a room that’s spinning out of control beneath her. I feel every tremor in her body, every heartbeat hammering against me. And the weight of her heartbreak feels like a heaviness that is too much for anyone to bear.
Not that I can’t carry it.
I will always be here to pick her up.
But I know she’s going to feel like she is drowning, and I’m not going to be able to help her out of this—not alone.
She’s going to need me, but I won’t be enough.
She’s going to needher family.
“He was supposed to come home,” she sobs, voice cracking wide open. “He was supposed to come home and meet his babies. Kaia’s pregnant, South. He’s supposed to meet his twins.”
The words shatter me as I press my cheek against her hair, my watering eyes closed, holding her tighter even though I know there’s nothing I can do to fix this. My hand runs over her hair, caressing her, the other holding her as tight as I can. Probably too tight.
Her grief is a tidal wave, drowning the room. And I know that drowning feeling. I know the way it crushes you from the inside, the way it settles in your bones and never really leaves. It’s the same helpless, furious ache that’s been eating at me since Bella’s diagnosis, the same rage at a universe that keeps taking the best of us, no matter how hard we fight to keep them.
And right now, all I can do is hold her through it, knowing damn well there’s no getting through this without pieces of us being left behind.
In the recesses of my mind, I hear movement, the shuffling of boots. I glance up, and my brothers, old ladies, club girls, fucking everyone in this club is settling onto the floor, creating a circle around us.
Not saying anything, not trying to fix anything, just being here.
Being present in our grief.
The sight nearly knocks the wind from me as I cling to Ingrid.
