Page 72 of Their Broken Legend

Bile fills my throat.

“I knew.” Luca Butcher closes his eyes, understanding the truth in each nod. The meaning. “I knew.” He holds them shut as something affects him, and it’s so hard to see such a large, powerful presence overwhelmed.

He opens his stern blue eyes, the irises glistening as he turns and leaves the room.

Max follows him through the exit, both their energy like a rising wave of turbulent and crushing agony.

“Where are you two going?” Cassidy asks from outside the door while Max follows his father to an untimely explosion of emotions. It’s not hard to see the pain surrounding them.

Returning my welling wide eyes to the doctor, I watch him walk to the window and draw the curtain across, casting the once light-filled room in a sombre grey hue. “It’s called Chronic Traumatic Encephalopathy,” he advises. “Chronic, meaning long-lasting. Traumatic, as in the trigger for the disease, and Encephalopathy, meaning it affects the brain. This is the medical term for what you call being ‘punch-drunk.’”

Xander drops his head to my shoulder, hiding his face from the room, but I hear his exhale and feel the shudder of it against me.

What does this mean?

I joked about it. Threw the punch-drunk term around to describe a mood, but it’s a disease. A real disease. That’s the word he used…disease.

Xander lifts his head as Bronson collapses backwards to the seat. The brunette I don’t recognise meets him in a flash, holding his face to her chest, hiding him, but I can hear his wheezing, and it’s utterly hysterical. I dart my eyes to Stacey, who is sobbing quietly. But I don’t understand.

I look at Clay, who has no emotion riddled in his resolute gaze, no doubt a more powerful air in such a sorrow-filled room. I can’t stop myself, clutching at straws while everyone around me clutches at themselves. “But I thought you said the MRI was okay. Normal. A bit of swelling or something. I thought that meant that he’s okay. I don’t understand.”

“You can’t see it on an MRI,” the brunette cradling Bronson, says, “There are no biomarkers for it. It’s diagnosed on autopsy.”

What?I can’t breathe.

“Dr Shoshanna Adel is correct,” Matthews continues, his voice mingling with my own internal, No, no, no, this isn’t happening.“You can’t typically diagnose a person with it while they’re alive—”

Hope clings to my tongue, and I straighten. “So, you don’t know for sure then? You’re just guessing?”

“No.” He shakes his head once. “Iamcertain. I’m the leading neurologist in the state. I know what it looks like in living patients. All the factors indicate that Xander has CTE.”

“What does that mean, though? For our—” My voice breaks onour. “I mean, hisfuture.”

“There is no cure for CTE. On one side of the spectrum, he lives a normal life with minor issues, the same ones that are currently present. Anger and impulsivity can be managed with drugs if needed. We can offer supportive care to help with the symptoms, but not the underlying cause.” His eyes are dubious. “But given that he already presents with stage-four symptoms they may get worse over the years, leading to other diseases, Parkinson-type symptoms or dementia. He’ll live with them as long as he doesn’t fight. No more boxing. One more acute concussion could mean severe brain damage or death.”

“But—”

Xander slides his hand across my throat, not in the possessive way he usually does, but in a gentle way that coaxes my attention.

“It’s cool, Woman. Let it go,” he says, but I don’t want to. I don’t want to let it go or accept it, but I allow the gentle squeezing of his hand to anchor me. “Thanks, Doc. So, no more boxing.Gotcha,” he says, bitterness in his tone, because that’s like telling him to stay in the flames, to keep burning. He nods to the door. “Can you all give me some time with Kaya?”

I feel like a Siren who has bewitched their brother, but I can’t deny it’s what I want.I need to know how he’s feeling… right now? Knowing everything is going to change… that he may degrade…My world faded to him yesterday in that damn shower. It’s now all about him.

“No.” Clay dismisses, and I frown at him, happy to trade blows with the boss for Xander to be heard. “We need to discuss this as a family.”

“Well, Max and Dad are done, clearly.” Xander’s jaw locks up, the swelling bulging at his lower lip. He’s not okay. I touch his arm. “Fucksake. I get it, bro. You finally get what you always wanted, Clay. Me out of the ring. What do you want from me now? I’m gonna lose my fucking mind. Isn’t that what you said would happen? Must feel good to be right.”

“You can leave, Matthews,” Clay orders, his sharp pale-blue gaze on Xander, his mouth a straight line while the doctor leaves the room and shuts the door. “You’re lashing out. I understand it. You’re going to struggle, and I despise that for you. What I wanted,” Clay begins smoothly, “was for my brothers to be everything they could be. What I am, is what I needed to be. What I was raised to be. You, you could have been anything in this damn world.”

Scoffing, Xander says, “No, I couldn’t. Would you let me leave? Go to another city? Become a rockstar? An artist? Live on the beach? Do nothing? When you say I could be anything, you mean intellectually, I could. You wouldn’t let me leave. Do nothing. I was to work here in the family business. Like Max. Keep the Butchers together. In the District. The city we worked so fucking hard to keep. That we bleed for. Killed for. That’s what I was to do. From the fucking start. Don’t be so egotistical that you think that you’re the only one with the legacy. We are all Butchers! Not just you, Clay!”

The brunette I now know as Shoshanna steps backwards as Bronson rises to his feet, his eyes bloodshot from tears, a crazed look painted across his face.

Clay glances through the window at the small blonde woman with the blinged-out butterfly necklace, then back to us again. “You never showed any interest in leaving the city, Xander. Is that something new?”

“Can we please just let this go,” Stacey presses, holding her hands up between the two men, displeasure rushing the length of her shaking arms. “Can you two decide what’s best for Xander on another day? Now is not the time.”

“Let them finish,” Bronson says.

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